I don’t do cooking. I mean, I can cook (and occasionally I do), and wouldn’t starve if left to my own devices, but cooking just isn’t fun for me. Luckily for me my man likes cooking and is pretty damn good at it too.
My boyfriend goes away a lot for work, and it has become a joke amongst my friends that when he goes away I survive on fish finger sandwiches or food from the chippy. This may or may not be based on actual fact.
Ok, so it’s true. Or at least it was. Since our daughter was born I have been much better at cooking nutritionally balanced meals when my man is away (fish fingers, potato waffles and peas). I am a good mother.
Basically, what I am trying to tell you is that feeding the family is – more often than not – Daddy’s job.
I do, however, assume responsibility for feeding the cats. At least in the mornings (I am first up). Their evening meal is lovingly served by our daughter. Recently we changed the amounts we feed them. Carl is a bit on the tubby side (he usually chubs up for the winter) while Lenny is always ravenous. And I mean always. Even when he has just had his breakfast. Although he looks big because of his big fur, he is actually tiny underneath. Anyhoo, long story short, we decided to cut back on Carl’s food and give Lenny some extra.
It makes sense.
Except… Carl just eats all his food and then moves on to Lenny’s bowl. And Lenny lets him.
This morning was a classic example. Lenny ate what he wanted and went out to play. Carl scoffed his breakfast and I caught him chowing down on his brother’s. Diet fail.
Being the genius I am, I picked up Lenny’s bowl and decided to put it safely out of Carl’s reach – in the oven – until such a time as I could give it to Lenny.
My boyfriend is away tonight. My friend at work asked me what my daughter and I would be having for tea – chips or fish finger sandwiches? Initially I thought ” Mmmm, chippy…” but then I thought “I should be a good mummy and cook something nutritious for our dinner”.
We got home, and having concocted a dinner plan that wasn’t too labour intensive for me, I put the oven on. Gas mark 7, just for the record.
After about 15 minutes I went to the kitchen to put our delicious dinner in the oven. Except I couldn’t because of this:
I had completely forgotten about Lenny’s breakfast, which now looks like this: