[Editor’s Note: Lewis overhears me admit that sometimes my cooking “lacks the necessary subtlety.”]

—Or sometimes, it’s too subtle.

“And what do you mean by that?”

—I’m talking bland, dull, unimaginative, repetitive, boring.

“I presume you’re talking about your breakfast?”

—And my lunch and my supper, since everything has been rolled into one insufficient meal per day. And you must admit, it doesn’t take a genius psychic to predict the menu of that single, solitary, inadequate, minuscule meal.

“We’ve discussed this before: your delicate constitution can’t take too much variety without exploding forth with unfortunate gaseous emissions.”

—I haven’t noticed anything.

“A skunk never smells itself.”

—There’s a skunk about? Where? Let me at him.

“There is no skunk and if there were, I certainly wouldn’t let you near him.”

—I’d be careful.

“Look, I read a story about a dog who got sprayed in the mouth, then came into the house and started drooling skunk-stink-impregnated saliva all over the rug: it apparently was not too pleasant for the humans involved.”

—All right, you’ve made your point. Who cares about skunks anyway? Just cats that smell worse than regular cats . . . but to return to our previous topic: are you sure a little variety couldn’t be added to mealtime? Or even, more meals? You guys get to eat three times a day.

“Instead you wolf down your food in 30 seconds.”

—I can tell that you are not open to discussing this calmly and rationally . . . if you need me, I’ll be over here, the one with the growling stomach.