Рецепт Flan Tres Leches Cake
Before I say anything else, I have to make sure you understand that this post contains a recipe for a Flan Tres Leches Cake. Like, Flan and Tres Leches Cake in the same dessert (which turned out even more delicious than it sounds, if you can believe it.) Did you get that? Just checking.
Other than that, this post is about Buckle and my $600 leather couch, which was a hand-me-down from my sister because you guys know I’m a teacher, right? My furniture generally either comes from generous family members or Goodwill. Ikea is my splurge.
So owning a $600 leather couch was decidedly awesome.
“I was told there’d be cake.”
Buckle is also awesome. He’s a good cat. He’s sweet and fun. He looks and acts just like Milton from Office Space. I really couldn’t ask for anything more. Except, maybe, for him not to ruin my $600 leather couch.
Upon letting him out of his little cardboard carrier when we got home from the Humane Society, as a matter of fact, that was the one thing I was very clear to him about (well, that and not shredding the poodle): Please do not ruin my couch.
The first time I left Buckle alone, I was terrified he would decide my couch was a scratching post. But he met me at the door when I arrived home, purring and cuddly, and I didn’t find a single scratch. It was a kitty cat miracle.
As I left him alone more often and continued coming home to intact furniture, I think I got a little . . . overconfident.
Finally the weekend came where I needed to leave Buckle alone to visit Mike in Raleigh. I hired a petsitter to check in on him (Buckle, not Mike, although perhaps I should consider that), and everything seemed to go fine. I found a cheery note from her when I arrived home. But something just smelled a little off. I figured it was his litter box. Except that when I went to check, the door to his litter box closet was closed. So that couldn’t be it . . .
Wait. Closed.
The door to his litter box closet was closed.
Bless Buckle’s sweet kitty heart (which those of you who are Southern will be able to translate appropriately), he had apparently rubbed against his litter box closet door and closed it. With nowhere to potty, he had made the very best choice he could. You guessed it: to use the couch.
He couldn’t have used the carpet or, even better, the linoleum kitchen floor. It had to be the $600 leather couch.
If you’ve ever tried to deal with the uniquely pungent problem of a cat accident, you won’t be surprised that after a month or so of cleaning the cushions with every method known to humanity, the $600 leather couch ended up by the dumpster. All’s well that ends well, I guess: I received my tax refund, splurged on an Ikea couch and coffee table, and wedged a billion washcloths in Buckle’s litter box closet door so that it will never close again.
Buckle is helping me get used to the new furniture by using it as a jungle gym. One of my students actually asked me after the incident, “Are you going to take him back to the Humane Society?” But I’m happy to say that Buckle’s a part of my family now, flaws and all.
- One year ago: Gooey Butter Strawberry Shortcake
- Two years ago: Mini Doughnuts for Your Coffee Cup (a creative use for yeast dough scraps!)
- Three years ago: Pasta Carbonara