Ham & Stuffing

I am going to teach Tequila how to grab ham out of the refrigerator and then blame its disappearance on Big Guy's favorite cat Slim Jim. I see no other way to rid my life of last week's fresh baked ham. Similar to the leftover turkey guest of honor--and by that I mean an actual turkey--not Candy Squared, Grandma or Daisy--after a while, what started out as welcoming symbol of holiday cheer has morphed into big pink chunks of garbage-day-can't-get-here-soon-enough. And I like ham. But not day after day of it. Leftover bird stuffing is also hogging refrigerator space. And I have no idea how to guide Tequila's nondiscerning nose away from a ziploc bag of stuffing and toward the one filled with ham. Not that I'm saving the stuffing for nibbling. I will need it to patch up the holes I'm expecting. Sooner or later, someone will start another round of Alvin & The Chipmunks Christmas music. That turkey, whomever it might be, will fly hard enough to make a good-sized, well-deserved in the wall.