I don’t normally eat breakfast.  I’m more of a late-night-snack guy.  The other night I was sitting in my recliner watching a basketball game on TV.  It was a late game, but I was determined to see it through.  At about half-time, I woke up and became aware of the strong sensation of hunger.   I had to let that sensation simmer for a few moments while I tried to regain consciousness.

I decided a snack would help perk me up and get me through the second half wide awake.  Our kitchen is just off the bedroom where my wife was making wounded moose sounds (her version of snoring).  I didn’t want to wake her, so I didn’t turn on the light.  As is my habit, I removed a large empty butter tub from the shelf (my choice of bowl), and filled it half way up with my favorite man-cereal:  Honey Smacks.

At about that time, one of the dogs wanted out so I put the cereal on the counter and went to the back door.  It was cold out and my basset hound, Beau, is afraid of the grass.  When he needs to go, I have to walk out in the grass ahead of him so he can see that he won’t fall through, be attacked, or suddenly explode.  I’m not sure what his deal is, but by the time he got through going, I noticed that I was now cold.  I was shivering.  This wouldn’t have happened had I thought to put on a coat, but I hadn’t.  We came back in and I quickly returned to my place in my recliner.  I grabbed a nearby blanket, covered up and was quickly joined by my fifty pound lap dog who was now invigorated by his late evening jaunt four feet out into the yard and wanted to play.

At this point, I realized that not only was I cold and missing the game because of the huge beast standing on my chest, but I was still hungry.  After some wrestling I finally got my dog off of me (he thought we were playing and kept dragging out the event) and headed back into the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal.  I went to the cupboard to retrieve a butter dish and cereal.  There was very little cereal left and then I remembered, I had already pored a bowl . . . . . somewhere.

After a brief amount of searching, I discovered the cereal in the bowl on the counter.  But now that my eyes had adjusted to the dim evening light, it appeared that my cereal bowl was way too full.  I turned on the light above the stove and sure enough, the bowl was almost full of cereal.  This obviously was a waste of cereal.  I would not be able to eat that much and it would take a second bowl just to put the milk in.  I thought about this quandary and decided that some of the cereal would have to go back in the bag.

After searching diligently, but unsuccessfully for a funnel, I remembered I had one in the garage.  I went back outside in the cold and opened the garage door.  My garage is kind of disorganized and I couldn’t find the funnel in the dark.  Since the light switch is in the bedroom (I don’t know why it’s in the bedroom—I didn’t put it there) where my wife was still sleeping, I gave up and returned to the kitchen.  I was now cold all over again and shivering.  I decided to try to hold the self-sealing bag of cereal open with one hand and pour the cereal back into it with the other.

It was just at the moment that with shivering hands I began to pour the cereal back into the bag, that I discovered that I had apparently forgotten that I had already put milk in the cereal.  The Honey Smacks were deviously hiding the milk from my view and all the while pretending to be filled higher than they were.  Between my shivering, the surprise presence of the milk, and the slightly flawed plan, I wound up pouring cereal and milk all over the counter and noticed that much of it was running down past the burners and ending up under the stove top.

I knew Sara was not gonna be happy with this in the morning, so I decided it would have to be cleaned up.  I snuck into the bedroom and returned to the kitchen.  I gently placed the rudely awakened cat on the counter top and watched him go to work.  I could tell this was gonna be more than the cat could handle by himself, so I picked up Beau and placed him on the counter too.  This worked well for a moment, but apparently, Beau got a little to close to Bob (the cat), and Bob snarled and clawed at Beau.  This maneuver on Bob’s part caused Beau to bark several times in self-defense.

Beau jumped from the counter taking a few pots and pans with him, I presumed for his protection.  All of the barking, meowing, clanging and banging, brought my wife from the bedroom requiring an answer to her question: “What is going on in here?”

I answered in the only way I know how.  I told her, “Apparently, Beau got up on the counter and tried to get into the cereal and milk I had left there.  The cat was already up there and they got into a fight.”

After a late night impromptu discussion, Sara took the cat and went to bed.  I tried to figure out whether I needed a broom or a mop.  Neither seemed quite right, so I opted for the shop vac.  By the time I returned to the living room, the game was over and so was the post game.  I still don’t know who won.  But I sure learned a lesson!

And that’s why I don’t watch late-night basketball!  It’s nothing but trouble!