The Cat Came Back

This is how I was greeted every morning for a week. One blissful week.

I grew up without childhood pets. Yup, that is correct, we were not a pet family. So when a black cat showed up at our front door it was an unusually exciting event for us. We tried to feed him once, but he didn’t eat. From this we concluded that he has a family and a home where he is fed and cared for. As we were deducing the life story of the freeloading cat it dawned on me that as a 24 year old, living with my parents, I was not much different than this confused cat. I am taking advantage of the fact that I have a home and food, but desperately attempting to remove myself from my family and find a place in this world.

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I have a vice. Most people drink coffee, gamble, or watch porn. I eat Mexican food. On my weekly ritual to the vice gods I go to Chipotle for my share of pinto beans, guacamole, and delicious lime-infused corn chips. One day, I walked into Chipotle and, to my horror, the calorie contents were plastered on the overhead menu next to the corresponding food item. The availability of nutritional information surprisingly was not the problem. The five hundred and seventy calories sitting comfortably by the side of chips option was. Five hundred and seventy was out there. Just hanging out there. How many times have I eaten these chips alongside a meal, when the calorie contents of the chips was almost a meal itself? I suppose I should have known that salty, lime-infused chips couldn’t be so innocent, but oh the blissful ignorance. The good old days. So with that, Chipotle chips, as delicious as you may be, you are dead to me. Rest in peace, or in the bellies of others.