I've also been wondering how acute my cats' sense of smell is. I know they can tell when I've been visiting other cats at the shelter, because they sniff my hands in curiosity when I get back. But can they also smell how cute those cats are? Because lately I've been ending my shifts by cuddling kittens in the nursery. This means I'm often handling the 6-week-old, too-small-to-be-adopted-yet, super-cute kittens. And when I get home, Clio not only sniffs my hands, she insists on climbing into my lap, rubbing herself all over me, and generally demonstrating she is just as cute as any young whippersnapper of a kitten.
"Yes, children, there are endless vistas of sweets in the Kitchen of Plenty, but you must beware! Hidden dangers await you, not least ... I shudder to mention it..."
"What is it, Ant-ie? What is it? Cans of Raid?"
"No, children, it is: THE GIANT BLUE SPONGE OF DEATH. It will descend from the skies in a mass of wet and if you don't drown in the water, it will squish you to death. Beware!"
Last thing I've been wondering: we will have decent fishing this year at our new campsite? Because I've sorely missed the nightly fish fry of tasty panfish, perch, and bluegill that we used to have up at Canada's Rice Lake. I don't even need it nightly this year, just one will do. The big fish we managed to catch on Lake Superior last year just didn't taste the same ... and it was not worth the horrible nausea I endured, fishing in 5-foot-waves, to catch those big ones. No, give me the little tasty morsels, especially if someone else has caught and cleaned them. I'll be happy to cook. And thus I shall conclude with a haiku in their honor:
Bluegill, panfish, perchTasty, flaky, salty, sweetCatch them in my mouth