July 9, 2005
I've been drinking.
Maybe it's the French influence--I don't know, but the water in the bowl on the floor just doesn't interest me anymore.
I think the drinkies started when we got to Nice, France, Europe. I was on the dinner table one night and drank some beer out of Mom's glass. Then I walked over to the other end of the table and dunked my snout into Dad's glass.
Dad and I prefer red wine. The local wines aren't bad at all and they cost little more than two bags of cat litter.
So now, every night during dinner, I go back and forth from one end of the table to the other, eating out of their plates and drinking out of their glasses.
Before dinner, if I sit up and beg a little, I get an aperitif. Mom's got some delicious new stuff called Pineau des Charentes. It's sweet and sticky and I love it more than any other drinky.
Being drunky from the drinkies makes me happy.
Mom: "Look! He's drinking! It's so adorable! Do you like the drinky, Jinky?"
Dad: (laughing) "We' can't let him become an alcoholic."
Mom: "Oh please. Growing up in France, they always put wine in my baby bottle with the water! I didn't become an alcoholic."
Dad: "He's Irish, just like his Daddy. He likes it."
Mom is half French and she's been drinking wine since she was born. But she won't let me drink as much as I'd like to. And Mom doesn't let Dad drink as much as he'd like to either. Everybody is always trying to control everybody around here and it never works.
Finley has simpler tastes. She just likes meat and mice.