Butterfinger

I caught Scott in the act at last. Red-handed. Or should I say grease-fingered?

I thought the markings in my butter looked suspicious. They were in fact finger marks. I came into the kitchen without him hearing me and finally witnessed him scrape his finger through the butter and take a snitch.

So maybe this is how he can survive without ever actually eating any dinner. Or often lunch for that matter. Almost every night I serve him about 1 tablespoon of dinner and he cries and says, "No, it's so gross to me!" Then he cries and shoves his food away from him. And then he cries when we won't give him anything else until he at least tries the perfectly good food served him. Then he cries some more. Then dinner is over. I keep thinking he's bound to cave eventually and actually eat the apparently atrocious spaghetti or the like that I serve him. I mean, if he gets hungry enough... But now I know his secret. He's compensating by sneaking butter behind my back.

All right Scott, bring it. I'll stop forgetting to put the lid back on my butter dish and then we'll see how you like those "gross" hot dogs.