SH thought it was a good idea to let the cats lick his smoked-turkey-fat covered hands.
Which I think is gross because cats lick their butts.
But SH, who is so fastidious in other areas, is perfectly OK with cat tongue on his hands. Shirley was delighted to take what she could get. It was all going well until she, who chews on silicone spatulas, wooden spoons and chair rungs as a hobby, because her food just isn't hard enough and she doesn't get enough jaw action otherwise, bit hard on SH's thumb, shocking him.
"She bit me!" He was so surprised, as if a carnivorous animal who in the past six hours has tried to jump off the counter with a ziplock bag containing coffee cake in her mouth and also tried to tear open the plastic bag of dried lentils I had sitting out in preparation for making soup tomorrow wouldn't be more aggressive when it came to meat.
I was too slow to catch Shirley in the act. Here she is leaving the scene of the lentil crime.
It was just a test, I suppose, to see if she could break him into smaller pieces. I always thought the cats would try to eat me first, but I also thought they would wait until I was dead. Of course, I didn't turn myself into bait, either.
PS Yes, SH is still in his robe at 9:00 p.m. This is what happens when you work from home. Worry not -- he is about to bathe and dress so he can save big money at Menard's and then go sing. He might skip the bathing part. Why bother to shower if you're just going to be in a smoky bar?