the ingrate, the dust bunny and makhani

Rather like The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe

Or in my case the Cat, the literal queen of the dust bunnies, and our dinner.

Lets start with the makhani. Or Butter Chicken for those of us who don't speak any form of Indian. Chicken in tomato/sour cream sauce with a whole host of spices thrown in. Can be as mild or spicy as you prefer and I would imagine could be made with any meat or vegetarian substitute. Quorn would be good here or some extra firm tofu, well drained.

As I said, I made this tonight and for some reason my brain seemed to be malfunctioning as I added twice the amount of cayenne pepper I normally do, then almost forgot the extra butter and lemon juice. Which I almost always forget. So, hot, but edible. Served with cous cous with curry mix, and whole wheat Rotis. mmmmmm. If you like curry I highly recommend!

Okay, the queen of the now vanishing dust bunnies! I as sitting here and something caught me eye, when I looked over the Queen of the Dust Bunnies was rolling across my floor, bold as brass, like I had invited it to tea! I reached for my camera, which was conveniently across the room. When I got it and came back to get the picture, her highness has utterly disappeared. There is no piece of furniture in previous rolling direction under which to hide! Alas, no photo. Where do those things come from? Where did it go? OOHHHhhhhh I know....outside and under the dryer to live with the little green men who steal the socks! What? Never heard of them? They need the socks to build their sock city. Obviously.

The Lion, I mean, my cat. He sits on the couch, bold as brass, cleaning himself. When I huff at him for using my seat as a bloody bathtub he looks at me like how dare I?!? As if I am not the giver of food, water and love, as if I am not the litter scooper (blech!). As if I am not the one he follows around ceaselessly and cries for when they leave the house. It's funny how much like children, cats are inherent ingrates who only appreciate you when a: thier needs are no longer seen to, or b: you leave and they decide they miss you. Gus is a bit nuerotic, like most cats, but his manifests itself as Seperation Anxiety. If I leave the house to GET THE MAIL, as in leave his direct line of sight for more than 30 seconds, he cries. Loudly enough that I have heard him from across the street about 50 yards away. And my building is enclosed. And the window is closed. ButI love him, what can I do? We'll call these "Pet me or go away" and "Can I eat that clicking thing?"

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