“Grady! Here boy!” Libby hollered, squeaking the little dog toy in her hand. She walked past her eldest son who was sitting with a small heater between his legs. The thick aroma of bacon hung in the air.
“Tommy, why in hell are you frying bacon on a heater? You’re going to burn the house down!” she demanded as he turns a lean strip of bacon on the makeshift grill.
“I’m not going to burn the house down. Besides, “ he said, as he carefully flipped over another piece, “what makes you think this is bacon?”
He looked up at his mom and waved the heater in front of her. “I improvised on the method of frying. Why not improvise on the meat?”
Libby didn’t know what to say – what to think. A cold chill brushed against her spine and she suddenly didn’t want to know the answer. Instead, she asked another.
”Tommy, have you seen Grady?”
He nodded to the squeak toy in Libby’s hand. “Yep. Go ahead and give it a squeeze, maybe Grady will leap off the heater.”
First I have to apologize for this little morbid story. It is more than 100 words and it was brought to you by the way of my curious kitty cat – Bella. I was making supper last night, had pots going on the stove and went to check on supper, only to see my cat sitting on the stove with her tail wrapped around one of the boiling pots. Yes, I think she is down one of her nine lives….