I have two adorable "kids," each of whom has their own idiosyncrasies. The older one, Mulder, has an insatiable desire to eat people food and drink people drinks, despite having an overflowing feeder full of all natural cat chow and a delightfully streaming kitty water fountain.
He's remarkably persistent, so much so that when I sit down to eat something, I have to keep a spray bottle of water handy just to fend him off during the meal. In my old house, where I did a lot more cooking, I frequently had to use those mesh "picnic tents" to place over various dishes that were prepared, but not yet served, lest he jump up onto the island or counter to begin his compulsive noshing. And it's not just limited to food. He loves to drink ANYTHING out of a cup or glass. Coffee, Diet Coke, lemonade, beer, cocktails...you name it. If people are consuming it, he wants it, and wants it now.
Quick aside: apparently, this feline behavior is kinda aberrant. My dear friends back in The Motherland have a house full of cats, and frequently have get togethers where there are all kinds of tasty dishes setting out uncovered throughout the house, and their kids get nowhere near them. One time, at a poker tournament a few years ago, there was a huge party platter of Zaxby's chicken fingers and wings (with sauce!) on the dining room table, and none of their half dozen kitties bothered them at all. Unbelievable. Mulder would have met me in the driveway, helped me carry the platter into the house and removed the plastic dome lid himself, before chowing down and eating 50 chicken fingers in one sitting while I was busy taking two minutes to fill a cup with whiskey.
By now, after 14 years, I've gotten used to it, and almost always prepare meals accordingly (putting them in the oven, the microwave, the pantry, etc. when they're not being actively eaten) and carry my beverages around with me as I flit about the domicile. However, a couple of weeks ago, I had a friend over for movie night and we were knocking back some bloody marys. We went over to my desk - which is no more than 10 feet away from the coffee table, mind you -- to look something up on the intertoobz. I brought mine with me, because A) the habit of not leaving something unattended for fear of the feline Hoover sucking it up, and B) let's face it, I really can't be more than 10 feet away from a cocktail at any given time. However, my friend doesn't have pets like mine, and left hers on the coffee table. Minutes later, we found who played that guy in that thing, and I noticed her bloody wasn't with her. Uh Oh. I glanced over at the coffee table, and yep, there he was, snout first into the vodka-tomato concoction. We shooed him away and proceeded to make another one (in a new glass, cuz I'm classy that way). Before too long, Mulder was right in the middle of the living room, becoming a multicolored organic fountain right on the carpet. Thank Zeus for Resolve carpet cleaner.
However, I started wondering what his "tolerance" was. After some quick math, and assuming he had time to throw down about an ounce, I computed that it was the equivalent of me having around 17 ounces, or about two full bloodys in a lowball glass.
To which I say: pussy.
I mean, who is selling Buicks after two bloody marys? He hasn't had his balls in about 13 years, but still, that's not very manly. Later tonight, I think I'm gonna set up a drinking game, Raiders of the Lost Ark style, drink him under the table just like Marion Ravenwood, and take him for all his money. Or, challenge him to a game of quarters, because I'm damned good at that game. And he doesn't have opposable thumbs.
For reference, here's the lightweight who can't handle his booze: