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tuna loaf

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I came home from work the other day and saw a barely touched can of tuna sitting on the floor. What you need to know is that Zac is a tuna freak. He will eat tuna sandwiches, tricked out with mayonnaise, lemon juice and toasted bread any day of the week. He’s trained our cats to suck out the last bits of juicy fish and lick up the watery residue in the can. They come running when they hear the can opener motor start up.

When I spotted the can on the floor, I figured Ruby opened a can for the cats as a treat. I guess they didn’t approve.

“Hey Ruby,” I called. “Please don’t put full cans of tuna on the floor. The cats don’t appreciate it. They’ll never finish it.” I pointed to the can lurking near the entryway.

“Oh, Diego gave that can to me. I thought the kitties would like it,” Ruby said, walking in from the family room.

Diego is a school friend Ruby’s had since kindergarten. He and his family used to live next door. He cut her bangs once with orange safety scissors, leaving her with teeny  yet raggedy bangs. This resulted in a corrective bob haircut she wore for several years. He also gave her a stuffed animal and chocolates the day after Valentine’s Day a couple years ago, too.

“Why did Diego give you a can of tuna?” I asked, flummoxed. Is there some 4th grade going-steady ritual I’m missing here? Does tuna plus bread equal a kind of dowry?

“I don’t know. He also gave me a loaf of bread. He asked if I liked bread, so I said yes and took it.” Her brown eyes, all innocence, looked up at me. Nothing out of the ordinary in my world here, Mom.

I let it pass as one of life’s inexplicable moments, possibly out of an alternate universe. Then it happened again yesterday. I found an unlabeled tuna-sized can on the counter.

“Oh, Diego gave me tuna gain. He also gave me another loaf of bread,” she said. “I pulled out some slices, put hot sauce on them and ate it all out of a bowl. It was good.”

It must be love.

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