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I was watching television and heard a squeak. Then I heard another. I knew it wasn’t the show as I was watching “Murder, She Wrote,” and it was a pretty somber moment. Then I noticed the cat was messing with something behind the couch under the kitchen table. At first glance it looked like one of his stuffed toys, but I didn’t remember that particular toy squeaking or being that color. As I moved a little closer to see what it was, it MOVED. And then I moved, quickly, right out to the garage to freak out in relative safety.
I was alternately scared it would get away, hide under some furniture somewhere, die and become a festering mess of stink, that the cat would hunt it out in the middle of the night tearing apart the house at 3 a.m. to capture its prey or that the cat would dispatch it right there under my table. I considered trying to rescue it and move it outside, but then I imagined it biting me in protest and me trying to explain yet another emergency room visit as a result of my own stupidity to my insurance company, my family, and my coworkers. The subsequent need for a series of rabies shots was not too inviting either. I wasn’t happy with any option my imagination conjured.
The cat did what cats do. In hindsight, I’m quite thankful for his feline instincts. My neighbor took pity on me and removed the expired uninvited guest from the house after seeing me flail around in my driveway in my general state of freaked out-ness.
It was several hours later, after scrubbing the floors, that I remembered the nectarine butter in the oven. By then, it was burnt. So disappointing. So, so disappointing.
I salvaged what I could, leaving the really, really burnt stuff in the pan, but it's got a bit of a smoky flavor to it. And by smoky, I mean slightly burnt flavor. Who knows? Maybe I can use it as a glaze for some pork tenderloin and redeem my efforts. I used it as a learning experience and took pictures anyway.
Sometimes you just have one of those days where a baby squirrel gets in your kitchen and you burn the nectarine butter.
Life goes on.
I picked up some peaches this morning, and, hopefully, round two goes a little better. Minus the squirrel this time.
