Burritos

"Burritos!" Flavorcat shouted as he bombed the hill from his house down to the tiny taco shack on the edge of the dried up creek. He'd been craving burritos for weeks. 

Flavrocat had cruised in this morning on the last leg of his epic bike ride from San Francisco. He unloaded the touring bike and laid out his gear to dry. The front room looked like a backpack had exploded. There was a tent on the couch, a bivysack over the back of a chair, a sleeping bag hanging on the mantle above the fireplace, and stinky lycra and sweat-stiffened socks of an indeterminate color scattered everywhere. Flavorcat had showered and was ready for a meal. What he really wanted was a meal he didn't have to cook himself. 

He jumped on his other bike and hit the street carefree and happy. 

As he got closer to the taco stand he noticed something was maybe a little different about Izzie's. Not bad... just different. He couldn't quite put his paw on exactly was it was. He wasn't sure, but he thought it seemed a little different. He'd been out riding bike all over the country, and hadn't been to Izzie's in almost 6 moths. Still, he'd eaten there hundreds of times and he couldn't imagine what may have changed since the last time he was there... maybe it was the smell? Was there a new smell at Izzie's? 

With the wind in his fur and his ears and his eyes, he couldn't quite concentrate enough to pinpoint the change - the new smell? He slowed in front of Izzie's and parked his bike and the change setled over him like a savory, hickory-smoked and pepper-filled cloud. As he recognized the smell his eyes landed on the sign out front and it confirmed all the smoky signals his nose was sending him. 

Izzie had added bacon burritos to the menu. 

Flavorcat didn't know quite what to think about bacon mixed in a burrito. He loved burritos, and he liked bacon, but he wasn't convinced that mixing them was the best idea Izzie had ever had. Some things are best left alone. Some things you just shouldn't mix. Like bicycles and blindfolds.