Tweak: “What is that smell?”

Me: “Dude. You are rude.”

I am standing at the kitchen counter opening a can of solid white albacore.

Tweak: “Seriously. Are you slaughtering manatees?”

Me: “Perish the thought. My tuna is dolphin-safe.”

Tweak: “What are we talking about?”

I hold the freshly severed lid against the pink meat puck and pour the juice down the sink.

Me: “You can’t have any of this nectar.”

Tweak: “What kind of cretin eats tuna juice?”

Me: “It’s very popular on Craigslist.”

Tweak: “What are we talking about?”

I fork some tightly-packed fish tiles into a white bowl.

Me: “You’re a freak, Tweak. Most cats beg for this stuff, and it’s not a pretty transaction. I’ve seen gentler come-ons from crack whores.”

Tweak: “The other white meat.”

Me: “I killed a cat with tuna once.”

Tweak scooches back on the floor.

Me: “Oh, I didn’t mean to! It was horrible, actually. I decanted tuna juice onto his nurdles once a month for 7 years. He lapped it up like cocaine. At the time I didn’t understand that the salts in the fish brine were slowly forming oysters inside his kidneys and clogging his internal organs like asphalt on an anthill.”

Tweak covers her ears with her hands. And some whimpering.

Me: “Eventually the toxins built up in his brain and he went insane. He banged his head against walls, lost vision in one eye, and required fluid injections between his shoulder blades while screaming for encores of ‘FREE BIRD!’.”

I rinse out the can and throw it in the recycle bin. It hits the side and spins out onto the floor. Tweak sniffs it like a crime scene.

Tweak: “And how long have YOU been eating it?”

Me: “What are we talking about?”

Tweak: “Oh, the huge manatee.”

 

11 September 2014, “Tolerating Tweak”