Grill it. Saute it. Fry it. Or you can just break a lamp with it on a Tuesday night.
Quincy broiled his eyebrows in a candle weeks ago.
I think he likes the light, and vanilla-cinnamon is such an enchanting smell. He's 3.7 pounds (with sweater) of lovely curiosity. So Tuesday night I lit the candle, bent down to turn on the tv, and he pounced like a tiny jungle kitten onto the side table and stuffed his head into the flame.
"Nooooo!" My yelp came out as I lunged to grab his soft underbelly and pull him out of there.
Oh please don't be on fire. I don't remember- is it a frying pan on a dog fire, or baking soda?
He was intact. But the lamp didn't fare so well. It crashed. Lovely flying glass. White shards that scattered like tiny bits of snow on the not so white carpet. And we cleaned it up. Well he barked at me from the bathroom where I stashed him so he wouldn't eat glass- and I cleaned it up.
The note to Houdini on the dry erase board reads: Q broke your lamp. Drunk again. Love T.
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