Married... With Children... of Fur

This is about our Valentine's Day dinner (a week late), no really. It is. We postponed the dinner because I lost my sense of taste/smell (they go hand-in-hand) on Monday, Valentine's Day. I fixed our dinner Saturday night instead. My senses had returned by Thursday evening, but we already had plans for Friday night and it worked out to have our "fancy", romantic dinner Saturday.

We had Porterhouse steaks from the cow that Uncle Ed had raised. And I made the Pasta ai Quattro Formaggi from the Pioneer Woman's website (click here to check it out for yourself). She promised and she delivered.

First, I took the steaks and sprinkled a little bit of salt and a lot of freshly ground black pepper on both sides. I rubbed in the pepper to make sure it would stick. Then I seared them on both sides in olive oil in a hot pan. Only for about four minutes each side, they weren't thick cuts. I stuck them in a warm oven just to keep them um, warm. While I was searing them I had my pasta water heating up to a boil. By the time I stuck the steaks in the oven, the water was boiling and I fixed the pasta. There are no pictures because the food didn't stick around long enough for a photo shoot. Plus, our camera doesn't take great pictures. And as Bill always points out, real food does NOT photograph well (unless you're PW and you have a fancy camera).

I am talking about that in this post because we don't have children (of the human kind). We didn't go out to a fancy restaurant (we're being thrifty) and we had a nice quiet dinner here at home. It was wonderful (sorry if I sound like I'm bragging, I did have to wait an entire week before getting to eat this dinner, my mouth watered with anticipation every single day).

The children of fur come into the picture... well, almost all the time, but mostly because of their shenanigans this morning. I came upstairs to start working and Juliette came running out of the home office in an odd, paranoid, guilty sort of way (don't ask me how I can tell that the cat looks guilty, I just can - she's my child... of fur remember). So I poked my head through the doorway, thinking the angle that Juliette came from seemed to be from the attic door, but that would be odd because that door wouldn't be open.

And yet, there it was; cracked open.

Immediately I knew that Atticus was up there. To him this is Narnia. I opened the door, stuck my head through that door way and looked up. Sure enough, there he is at the top of the stairs with the "Oh, I'm in BIG trouble" look on his face (yes, I can also read that look on his face. It happens way too often if you ask me). I call, or maybe it was more of a shout, for him to "get down here!" That had little effect on the situation and as I started up the stairs to physically carry him out of the attic, he turned and ran.

Let me explain our attic; the death stairs that lead up to it are reminiscent of the death stairs in Greece, it's insulated quite well and is littered with five+ year old mouse traps as well as neatly (newly) organized boxes (that = hiding places for cats and other small creatures). There are large planks as the flooring with patches of carpet placed on top of them. There are two windows, so it has some natural light, but the florescent lights help when you're searching for a black, mischievous cat. The chimney goes straight through the center of the room, thus creating a circular "traffic" flow (keep this in mind, it's going to become very important).

I am now at the top of the stairs and "Attic"us has run toward the front of the house, I follow and he heads over to circle around the chimney. By this point I panic thinking that I will be up here chasing this cat in circles before he ever runs back down the stairs. Alas, he is only a cat and I am smarter (sometimes) and faster (most of the time) then he is. He panicked and I struck out, scooping him up quickly and deftly in my arms before he could rethink his hesitation.

I carried him back down the death stairs, praying I wouldn't fall, only to have him meowing in protest and trying to climb out of my arms with all of his brute strength. I managed to get to the doorway at the bottom of the stairs before his claws really gripped into my shirt (I've lost two shirts to his claws in the seven months we've had him, I wasn't about to lost another) and I sort of released him into the bedroom. In Atticus's panicked frenzy to escape evil human momma's arms the vacuum, which is housed precariously on one of the angled death stairs, somehow (and I really have no idea whether it was me or Atticus that bumped it) toppled over. Down the last two steps it crashed. The cat was gone in a flash. Hearing the final crash of the vacuum, Bill asks if everything is okay??

Were you in the attic a couple of minutes ago?, I ask him. No, he shakes his head. Well, we all just were, I inform him. How?, he questions, the door was closed. I nod in agreement knowing that it was. I respond, That is why there is a latch on it. Apparently Atticus is also Houdini and he can open closed doors.

And that is Married... With Children... of Fur