I had a bit of a moment this morning, involving our cat, Vincent. Who happens to be in my black books now. This creature, while absolutely gorgeous and incredibly affectionate, not to mention a hell of a mouser, did something very naughty, which I discovered first thing this morning. That something might be completely unforgivable, were he not so darn cute.
Yeah, he looks all precious and innocent, doesn't he? But check out that cheeky smirk, which I know says: "That's for kicking me out of your room last night!" (Cue me, shaking my fist, while muttering: "You're bloody lucky you're so cute, cat.")
The back story: You know I've been a little busy lately. And you also know I need to find a wee moment of peace, often in the kitchen, in order to breeeeeeeathe... Last night was no exception. The Kiddos in bed, the Mister recovering from a cold, I retreated to my favorite place with a yen for something sweet.
And the Halloween candy is now untouchable.
Another back story: After sharing this bit with the Mister and the Kiddos, from Jimmy Kimmel, where he charges parents with the undeniably cruel, yet hilarious task of pretending to have eaten all their kids' candy... and after the four of us bust several ribs laughing hysterically... AFTER all that, the Girl looks at me, deadly serious, glowering, and warns: "You better not touch my candy." I have to say, I was a little frightened. Mainly because I caught a glimpse of a face with which I'm sure to become all too familiar in say, oh, the dreaded teenage years. (Cue shudder of fear, and worries that karmic law will apply.)
So yes, we often sneak a piece or two of that candy after the Kiddos are asleep. What? Like you don't! I'm just watching out for childhood obesity. Dental bills. Come on, people. Who walked those kids around the neighborhood in the cold? And who made those costumes, anyway? Yeah, that's what I thought.
But alas, the first evidence of my child not trusting her parents (perhaps deservedly so) has asserted itself. The candy now abides downstairs, in their bedrooms. (Note: Do I trust them not to eat it on the sly, at all hours? Hm.) And I had an ache in my sweet tooth, that longed to be satisfied. (And I could hear the Kiddos chatting across their rooms, so sneaking in and snatching a piece was not an option.)
Cue this recipe, for Snickerdoodle Brownies, that appeared the other day, on a friend to knit with. It looked simple enough, quick to prepare, and obviously, super tasty. After a little time bustling about in the kitchen, the Mister and I sat down to sample those babies, at about 9:30, which I hear the experts say is the best time to eat sweets. We went to bed a while later (which I also hear, is a good move, you know, lay down while you digest, right?). Since the brownies were still warm (Leslie's right, in her post she alludes to the impossibility of waiting til they cool to consume), I covered them with a tea towel, and left them on the counter.
Cue photo of what I woke up to this morning:
Oh, did you not get that? Here's another:
Hm. One...two...three...PAW PRINTS! Seriously?! Why, that little bastard. (It's true, I'm not swearing. Vincent is a bastard. His mama was a bit of a slapper, and his paternity is in question. It's probably the alley cat, though.)
Thank goodness I put that tea towel over them, I suppose.
And that, my friends, is the convoluted story of how Snickerdoodle Brownies came to be desired, to be made, and ultimately, to be walked on. By my cat.
They are damn tasty though, paw prints or no. Go make some, here. But perhaps store them in a cupboard, out of the cat's reach.