I have a confession to make (I wonder how many blog posts I’ve started with that statement–I always feel like I’m confessing something here).
I haven’t always made good use of my leftover chicken bones.
In fact, I used to let my cat eat them (I think at least a hundred of you just unsubscribed from my blog–Uh oh). Well, not the actual bones, but the carcass. In college, my cat and I used to split a rotisserie chicken. This explanation isn’t making things any better is it? I feel like there is no way that I can not sound like a decidedly gross cat lady. To be fair, I was nineteen and lived alone with a slightly bossy (and always hungry) feline roommate. This isn’t making anything better. At all. I should probably erase this entire paragraph, but I shall leave it in the spirit of truth telling and friendship. […]