I crinkled my forehead in concern for a sobbing Pooh Bear. Her huge blue eyes streamed the kind of tears I associate with real indigo bruises and scarlet bleeding scrapes of everyday life. Me: "What's wrong, baby?" Pooh: "Mom! It's the cat?" ooh, ohh, oooh Me: "Did Patches scratch you, honey? Let me see." Pooh: "No! It's not a scratch. He did something TERRIBLE." sniff, sigh Me: "What in the world did he do?" Pooh: "He ate my black eyed peas all gone." Me: "Huh? He never eats from the counter. How did he get to your bowl?" Pooh: "I put them on the floor(?!), because I didn't think cats ate black eyed peas." Me: (somehow managing to suppress laughter) "Neither did I. Sometimes we leave bowls on the counter or in the sink." Pooh: "Yes, but I didn't know where else to put them when I finished. Now I don't have anymore dinner." Me: "Wise One may let you eat the rest of his. Right, Wise." Wise: "Sure, go ahead. I'm full." Pooh: "Thanks! We just never have black eyed peas, and I love them so much."
I want to personally thank Svetlana for introducing this smashing new food into the Vyne family diet the last overnight Pooh Bear spent with Svet's daughter, Anna. I'm ever so grateful it's the food and not the music.