MEAT UNDER THE TABLE

This is a strange memory that surfaced while discussing vegetarianitis, that disease that some people develop when they forget that they have canine teeth and want to lose their memory. Kidding! And for all intensive purposes, if I never ate animal flesh again I would not miss it. As a descendent of Sicilian country folk, meat was not something that was enjoyed daily and much of the protein in the Sicilian diet is derived from plant protein and legumes like those delicious fava beans we so enjoy.
As a kid my parents rarely prepared meat, but when they did it was the driest chewiest steak ever. For the record we never had chicken because Rocco hates chicken, the reason: he thinks chickens are descendants of dinosaurs. I hated that steak so much, but the parentals insisted I eat it. If you don't know, I am verging on crazy-cat-lady-itis. Growing up we had lots of felines in the house, and they were more than happy to accept my steak handouts. My brothers also didn't like the steak so between the three of us, the cats filled up very quickly. What to do with those extra meat pieces sitting on my plate? We had this strange octagonal shaped table and under the table was a shelf, so the logical thing to do was the shove the meat onto the shelf and the rest is history. Until one day my parents upgraded to a new table and I remember the horror on my face when they turned that octagonal table on its side and all the rotten meat fell out onto the floor. I quickly scooped it all up and hid it somewhere else in the house and to this day that rotten meat still hasn't turned up! Hopefully Rusty the cat took care of it.