Curses! Foiled again!

So I'm peeling and sectioning a blood orange -- my first time trying one, by the way; unfortunate name for a decently tasty fruit -- and Peanut, he of the ever-raging appetite, stands below me in the kitchen, looking hopeful, while Schooner, the cat who does not grasp the concept of boundaries, comes up along the sink to me to see what I'm fixing.

I offer both a whiff of half-peeled orange. They shrink back, wrinkling their whiskery noses in distaste.

I take the bowl to my recliner in the living room, sit down, and begin eating as I proofread. The ever-raging appetite and the boundaryless one observe this and lock radar on the bowl. "Food? You eat, we eat. Yes?"

I hold the bowl down toward them as they close on my chair. They sniff, pull back in dismay, and stare bewildered at me. I'm eating it; it must be good; they should get some; what has gone wrong? Surely if they stare hard enough at me I will relent and produce the good stuff that must be in that bowl?

I offer it again. It is, alas, still not good stuff. They wander away, disconsolate.

I am a hardhearted woman, and not at all a good mom. I chuckle.

Addendum: Every few minutes Peanut comes back to check: "Has the icky stuff turned into FUD? For ME?" Bowl proffered. Cat repelled. Again.

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Update on Peanut: Yesterday he was cruelly disappointed when the bowl I was eating from proved to contain icky orange slices rather than FUD! he'd like.

Today, however, his luck had turned. When I'd finished my snack of chips and dip I offered him the dip bowl to see if he'd like the scanty remnants, and he did.

He licked up every minuscule bit of mashed avocado coloring the bowl.