the first meal

My grandmother just tried to feed me cat food.

She doesn't own any cats, of course, so this was cat food that she thought was REAL food. After rousing herself from a deep post-Bridge-party nap she announces that we are to top yesterdays leftover salad with chicken. CANNED CHICKEN. This is dinner, she explains calmly.

Her Ukrainian home health aid, Mona, buys all her groceries for her (a responsibility soon to be thrust my way, I imagine) and has a membership at Costco. Costco sells massive cans of food for unreasonably low prices. Why in gods name anybody would pay ANYTHING for canned chicken (in water!) is beyond me, Costco should be hard pressed to GIVE it away! However, if Costco were in the business of handing out white hunks of chicken suspended in cloudy water, I would probably find myself eating it more often, so thank heaven for whatever minimal price they ask! I say RAISE the price of this horrible hacked up floating non-food!

Cautious of things in cans, I mention to Grandma that I am skeptical, that I didn't know chicken CAME canned. I volunteered to try it, but suggested that I probably wouldn't eat it. Given Grandma's advanced arthritis, it was up to me to crack open the mysterious aluminum vessel. I began to gag as soon as the viscous "water" started to drain. There was no way I could give this a good old brownie bite. Oh no. I was a serious cat sitter in high school. This stuff is meant to be dumped in a heavy ceramic bowl, and put on the floor. That is all.

I managed to avoid Grandma's proffered bites and subtle hints to try it. She, evidently, quite enjoys canned chicken. Or her taste buds just aint what they used to be.

There's another half-can in the fridge to avoid tomorrow. Wish me luck.