She licks the butter too, when we forgot to lid the butter dish.

Late at night

when everyone is in bed,

the small tabby cat hops upon the counter.

She walks silently over to the stove,

sniffing and pawing at things as she goes,

until she makes her way to the frying pan.

The frying pan is used most mornings,

for eggs, bacon, and occasional french toast.

It feeds the family quite well, quite often.

She smells the pan,

tilts her head,

and smiles a little cat smile.

The cat licks the frying pan,

scraping up every bit of dried egg

with her rough pink tongue.

She hops down

as I watch in disbelief.

Night after night I witness these accounts.

I make mental notes not to use the pan,

but I always forget to tell my dad.

Sorry dad.

Happy fathers day.