KAT
Power in Names
The craving hits me at four AM like a freight train of irrational need. Pickled herring. On chocolate ice cream. With crushed potato chips for texture. My mouth waters at the thought, which should horrify me but instead sends me stumbling toward the kitchen while Dave sleeps like the dead.
"Weird cubs want weird food," I mutter, rifling through our freezer. No chocolate ice cream. This is a crisis of epic proportions. "Can't you just want normal things? Pizza? Burgers? Not fish-flavored dessert?"
The cubs, predictably, don't respond except to make my stomach growl louder. I settle for vanilla ice cream, dumping half a jar of pickle juice over it and crushing an entire bag of sour cream and onion chips on top. The first spoonful tastes like vindication.
"That's distu
