the_seed_intervention

JACK IS EDGY. It’s the pile of catalogs teetering on the end of the table here, he claims, the corner that’s just above his bed (one of his five beds, I should mention, ahem, but that’s another story altogether). This morning, he let me know in no uncertain terms (“Meow!” he said, with a forceful and foreboding intonation) that if I kept pawing their pages much longer with “that certain look” on my face, he was going to rat me out to a shrink. (I suspect the dear doodler Andre Jordan put him up to it, and that all Jack’s worried about is if I go and spend his kibble budget on not-so-tasty seeds.)