How to Torture a Shiba- Part 1

Buy a slow cooker.

The People have some silly rules which periodically affect me. One of those rules is while The Woman is cooking, I am not allowed in the kitchen (there was an incident of me attempting to clean the floor when The Woman turned around and deliberately stepped on me, causing me to "yelp", and then somehow in all the mess of her interference of my duties, she was lying on the floor and I was standing over her, wondering why she was lying in the spot I was attempting to clean. Since then, I can't clean the floor until after she is done).

Sometimes, I sneak in when there are really good smells. Like when she microwaves up some salmon or leftover Thai food. I like to sit underneath the microwave and just smell the air as the belly goodness of food smells journeys to my sensitive nostrils. It is glorious, and as long as I do not attempt to go to the side of the kitchen where The Woman is, I am safe to savor the essence of reheated cuisine.

But this Christmas, The Woman told That Guy that she wanted a slow cooker for her present. That Guy was not surprised. Usually for Christmas she asks for something related to the kitchen. I guess she and I have differing views over what we perceive as "toys."

The slow cooker arrives to the house, and at least once a week, it is used. This means, that at least once a week, the delicious smells of red beans and rice, or stew, or subtle blending of curried spices are spreading across the chicken for 5-8 hours. 5-8 hours!! And often times, the people are not even home while the belly filling deliciousness is delicately cooking and I suffer, alone, knowing that not only can I not reach these delectable goodness of magnificent mixtures of tastes and smells, but that I have to have this around me ALL DAY!

The person who invented this machine had no love of Shibas.

So while I enjoy the end result of what this machine so mysteriously creates, the eight hour wait is almost intolerable. So I sit, watching this machine, meditating that somehow it will mysteriously fall to the floor, and I can sample its belly teasing goodness before The People return home.



I Am Shiba. This May Be The Right Time to Recruit The Feline for Assistance.