Pancake Descriptive Writing
Every morning when I wake up I let the monster, little Mr. Mittens our cat, out of his bedroom, make Folgers coffee, whip out a pair of non-stick pans, crack open the package of apple wood smoked bacon, and make blueberry pancakes. The smell is so overwhelmingly delightful that it has become something I enjoy dearly. Today, I have yet to realize, is a little different than most days. After I’ve had my fill of coffee, Applewood smoked bacon, and blueberry pancakes I notice that the wonderful aromas are fading. Shortly after I dropped my dishes off at the dishwasher I headed back over to the couch to start reading books and doing my homework. After a while I slowly get up out of my “command center” as my girlfriend Jackie calls it and head out of the living room and walk into the dining room. I stop and think to myself its looks quiet in the kitchen, too quiet, I wonder where that little monster is at, He’s usually grazing over his dish at this time. So, I started slowly moving through the dining room to the
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Mitten’s head buried deep in the sink. He must have heard me and peered over the edge of the counter. Then it happened our else locked in a deep stare and I’m thinking, uh oh, you’re in big trouble now Mr. and I hollered “BAD KITTY!” I don’t exactly know what was going through his head at the time but I can make an educated guess. Something along the lines of OH CRAP!!! What do I do now? As usual, he doesn’t get any traction on the countertop and burns out, as if he has wheels, like a fifteen hundred horsepower dragster. As he tries to plan his escape in a split second, he sees that there is only one option and that’s to try and get around me. He thinks he’s the greatest and fastest feline ever to roam the earth but it’s my job to prove otherwise. Sure enough, he tries drift around the island in the middle of the kitchen and spins out, right into my hands. At this point I have a pretty good grip on him and pick him up and
Mitten’s head buried deep in the sink. He must have heard me and peered over the edge of the counter. Then it happened our else locked in a deep stare and I’m thinking, uh oh, you’re in big trouble now Mr. and I hollered “BAD KITTY!” I don’t exactly know what was going through his head at the time but I can make an educated guess. Something along the lines of OH CRAP!!! What do I do now? As usual, he doesn’t get any traction on the countertop and burns out, as if he has wheels, like a fifteen hundred horsepower dragster. As he tries to plan his escape in a split second, he sees that there is only one option and that’s to try and get around me. He thinks he’s the greatest and fastest feline ever to roam the earth but it’s my job to prove otherwise. Sure enough, he tries drift around the island in the middle of the kitchen and spins out, right into my hands. At this point I have a pretty good grip on him and pick him up and