So, Liz and I are working our butts off to clean the kitchen for Thanksgiving dinner (and I will then have to re-clean the place, so I think there is a flaw in the logic somewhere, but I digress), and we’re actually having a half-decent time, with music and conversation. What can I say, my baby sis is fun to hang with.
But as Liz is putting the giant-ass bag of potatoes into the cupboard—you know, where they belong—she realizes that something’s amiss. At first, she just thinks that she’s having a hard time reorganizing the cupboard to fit the sack of spuds, but just as she manages to make everything fit (and I’ve no idea how), she notices something. A small, black, furry something.
Because, as it turns out, one of the kittens had managed to get himself stuck in the giant-ass bag of potatoes, and was almost relegated to a dark, starchy grave.
So, Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians, and don’t forget to check your spuds for stowaways!
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