Dinner Time
Sometimes I won’t see Wubert for hours at a time. Most likely, he’s holed up in a closet somewhere snoring—and getting cat fuzz all over my clothes. However, no matter where he is (or what state he’s in) he’ll find his way to the kitchen whenever I start cooking.
I sometimes jokingly (I think) threaten him with a “Just in time, Wubert. We’re having cat stew tonight!” but he just ignores me. He knows I don’t mean it.
And that he’s too big to fit in the pot.
