Did you follow last week’s little story about the big cat?
It was recently reported that a St. Louis-area animal shelter was trying to find a new home for a 37-pound feline. Maybe the cat wore out its welcome at its previous residence because it ate more like a horse, than a cat.
The cat, whose name is Biscuit, wasn’t without a home for long. Apparently some 200 families inquired about adopting the “fat cat.” Last week it was announced that a new home had been selected for Biscuit.
Biscuit’s new family apparently already has a cat, which also falls into the “heavyweight” class. That sparked some fun-filled speculation on Twitter regarding the name of Biscuit’s new adopted “brother.” I openly wondered if the other cat’s name might be Gravy. Some of my Twitter (@Danny_Henley) followers chimed in with possibilities such as Butter, Jelly and Sausage. The fun ended when a Twitter comrade reported the cat’s name is Moe Yo.
Moe Yo the cat? Moe Yo and Biscuit? It just doesn’t resonate with me.
Unfortunately, not every biscuit story had a happy ending last week.
On the home front about a week ago, if not a bit longer, my wife, Nancy, made a double batch of homemade biscuits to go with some beef and gravy she had whipped up.
I love my wife’s biscuits. They’re fluffy, light and most important of all – tasty.
One of the benefits of having biscuits in the house is that one can eat them morning, noon and night. It’s not uncommon for me to down a couple of biscuits for breakfast.
Unfortunately, biscuits were not the only breakfast option available last week. The previous week Nancy bought a bag of raisin bagels at the store. Then my bride made a batch of Raisin Bran muffins, which also are a nice treat.
With so much breakfast bounty to enjoy, I was in morning meal heaven. The only challenge was deciding on how to alternate what I ate each morning. The last thing I wanted was one of the items to go to waste.
The muffins proved irresistible early in the week. I then switched my attention to bagels, which tend to move a little slower if I only have half of one for breakfast.
With the bagel bag empty and the muffins missing, last Thursday I turned my attention back to the biscuits, which Nancy had placed in a zip-lock bag on the flower tin in a cool corner of the kitchen. I pulled out a couple of the baked treats, cut them in half, smeared on some butter and then popped them in the microwave. Twenty-five seconds later breakfast was served. I took the steaming biscuits into the front room where I gobbled them down while watching SportsCenter or The Weather Channel, or something.
Page 2 of 2 - Jump forward with me to Thursday evening. In the hope of cleaning up some leftovers, Nancy proposed a supper of biscuits and gravy. Even though I’d had biscuits roughly 10 hours earlier, I heartily endorsed her selection.
However, it wasn’t long before I heard a groan from the kitchen.
“The biscuits are spoiled,” signed my wife.
She flipped the bag over and showed me a biscuit whose bottom was covered with dark spots. I contemplated that morning’s breakfast selection to the sound of a half dozen biscuits hitting the bottom of the kitchen’s trash can.
“I had a couple for breakfast this morning,” I reported.
“Oh, they were probably on top of the stack and were OK,” said my wife, offering some reassurance so that I wouldn’t turn green.
I THOUGHT the biscuits I had were all right, but had I bothered to turn the kitchen light on to inspect them? No. But you can bet it will be a while before I again consume biscuits in the dark.