This is exactly how Andrew sat during supper tonight. The entire time. Fork poised in the air just so, serious, somewhat disgruntled look on his face, barely breathing as he pondered his fate: Scrambled eggs. Scrambled isn't his choice form of egg. He prefers fried egg whites (without the slightest taint of yolk, mind you), but Mommy didn't feel like cooking 12 different kinds of eggs tonight, so everyone got scrambled. At the end of supper, he put his fork down and happily skipped up to bed not having ingested a single calorie. What a nut.
Scrambled isn't Elsbeth's first choice of egg, either. She prefers boiled. This is what she looked like about 7 seconds after I took the photo of her brother.
I used to think Andrew wasn't strong willed, but I have since realized he is simply quiet willed. He has a will of iron, but he doesn't put on the pyrotechnic display Elsbeth does. He simply will ... not ... BUDGE. It's really quite impressive, truth be told. But I'm tired of the food battle and have decided I'm not catering to his every culinary whim anymore, so I'm fine as long as he'll sit with us and not complain whether he eats the food or not. It's astonishing how quickly he'll choose no food at all over something that's he's not in the mood for, though, and I have to watch how many meals he completely skips as I've discovered after a certain number of hours with no nourishment, he gets sick. Throws up (nothing, 'cause there's nothing in there) for hours! But never in that time does he complain about being hungry. Kat VonD and I do not understand this boy.
Speaking of cat flaps, I simply must direct your attention to Mr. Tumnus and his memorizing midsection. This photo doesn't capture it at all. It's really something you'd have to experience in person. While the rest of his body is lean, his stomach is like this great jelly sack that just hangs there, or more impressively, swings violently from side to side when he runs. But wait! There's more!!!
He has the most gigantic man cat nipples in the universe!
Can you see them? They're HUGE!* Again, something you'd need to take in live, and probably over a period of time to really believe it. The whole situation continues to grow, and I'm not sure what sort of apparatus I'm going to be in the market for soon. Do they make sports bras for cats? Something in a manly blue or steel grey? Will I need to move on to a kind of sling?
Well, Phil just walked in with a container of fried pickles from the 1910 Public House. Just the thing to distract me from this terrible dilemma. Peace out.
*I apologize for the graphic photography. Please don't flag my blog.