No, funktacular is not a new medical term. It’s the mind-addling, inescapable smell wafting through our whole house, courtesy of Simon. And no, it’s not poo-poo.

This morning I was fixing breakfast for the babies. Toast for Simon, hotdogs and banana pudding for Ramona, and I started to smell something really awful. So I checked diapers. I scooped the cat box. I took out the trash. Still stinky. Burning-hair-and-sewer-gas stinky. All of the sudden I notice that one of Simon’s bibs is hanging awfully close to the toaster. I rush over sure that the burning smell is coming from there. Nope. But as I’m leaned over the toaster I do notice the smell is stronger. So I lean closer. Bam! The smell is super-duper strong.

So I look in the toaster. And what do I find? I find that some little hands have jammed about a cup and a half of CAT FOOD into the slots of the toaster. At this point, I have already run two rounds of toast through the toaster, baking the cat food and releasing it’s yummy animal-by-product aromas. So gross. And I can’t get it out. I shook and shook the toaster every which way and only dislodged a few little morsels. I think I’m gonna need an alan wrench.

I guess I’m going to have start storing the cat food a little farther from the toaster. Or look into boarding school. Here’s a shot of our little trouble maker and his partner in crime…

Love, Jane

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