in the manner of feeding cats . . .

there are those that don't care as long as you slap some food into a bowl and leave them be.  and then, there are mine.

ninji needs to fed in the nest created between the bathroom door being open and the bathroom wall.  her bowl needs to be tucked in that angular corner with her body blocking any intruders until said bowl is completely consumed.  nothing else will do.

bear noses his bowl into his preferred feeding location.  this is usually dead center of the door sill of the other bathroom door.  you know, so you trip over it nine times a day.  his logic being that possibly one of those trips will urge you to feed him extra.  i, of course, kick it out of my way, knowing it will be back in place at the proper time. 

bear and ninji would both like to be self feeders.  and they were.  and they were balloons.  puffed rice on four legs.  now they are limited to specialized food for fatties. 

pippin on the other hand gets pretty much anything her little heart desires.  it has nothing to do with the fact that she will let me sleep in rather than stomp on all parts of my body or gently paw at my hair.  i'll let you guess who the stomper is.  neither does she urinate inappropriately to show you how truly hungry and empty her tummy is.

nope, she gets a huge bowl of gluten free goodies.  all the extra treats her little stomach can hold and an entire can of whipped goodness that smells like one of the great garbage dumps on the new jersey turnpike mid summer.  she eats and eats and is not picky but still, she weighs only seven pounds.  ah, to harness the energy of that little ball of fluff.

and so, there are rules to be followed and rules to be broken.  they eat between six and seven depending on who puts there wet snoot on mine first.  they eat again at eight p.m.  well, they did eat at eight, then daylight savings time pushed it up to seven.  and then they demanded to dine at six.  they are currently pushing for four.  i have dug my heels in at 4:30.  and yes, it gives me perverse pleasure if i don't make it home until six on the occasional afternoon.  the welcome reception varies from bear's stink eye, to ninji's pitiful demeanor to pippin jumping up and down hollering "mommy's home." 

i love them all, my piggish furballs.