This weekend, we left Waffles by himself for the first time. I put his cage, open, in our bathroom. I laid out a towel and scattered his toys around. I gave him three separate bowls of vegetables, each containing the amount he would normally eat in one day and told him not to go crazy and eat it all at once.
The whole weekend, I imagined coming home to Waffles, dead on the floor of the bathroom, having succumbed to GI Status or Bloat.
At lunch at Babe’s Chicken on Sunday, I asked, “is this the kind of place that serves fried chicken on top of a cornbread waffle?” To which Luke’s cousin Paul responded “Oh you know what sounds so good? Rabbit Stew. Poured over waffles.”
HAHAHAHAHAHA. Not Funny. Actually, it was funny.
But when we came home, Waffles was in disbelief. He stared at us, wide eyed, nostrils flared, ears stuck out horizontally. Once he got over the shock that we had actually come home, he followed us around the rest of the night, nudging our ankles with his nose.
PS What is going to happen to me when I have an actual baby?