Hellim

OK, I have got to tell you that I have made the most fantastic discovery.  I mean, here I was, just kicking back after welcoming "him" and "her" home from one of their mysterious outings that seem to involve running until they are about to drop dead and then going out for something they call lunch.

So I'm saying I'm just snuggling up to "him" and about to drop off to sleep when they decide to do yoga.  I'm cool with that, so I drop down from the bed and demonstrate a couple of downward dog poses the way they are meant to be done by real dogs not pretend dogs and what should tickle my little nostrils but the scent of some heavenly delight of the cheese variety coming to me from, of all places, "her" purse.

That's right, straight out of the phoney-baloney Louis Vuitton knockoff itself and direct to the super-sensitive olfactory processor known as my nose, sadly still somewhat winterized despite my best efforts.

Needless to say, I raised quite a fuss, an intolerable, ungodly, noisy yet discreet fuss that resulted in breaking down "his" defenses.  "He" located the delectable morsel wrapped in a napkin and covered by a kerchief right smack in the middle of the zippered container.

It was still warm, a scrumptious grilled slice of bliss, a cheese unknown to my palate until this day, something called Hellim or Hallouma.  It is a Turkish delight made from sheep's or goat's milk or something.

How it got there, how it somehow burrowed into the bowels of that bag which heretofore has held little if any interest to me is beyond understanding.  I mean, "he" had some long blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda story about a Turkish restaurant and well, I didn't buy it, not one bit of it.

Loyal followers, this is the joy of the hunt.  This is what I do.  This is why I live.