What's wrong with my cat?

teeka keeps telling me that there's something wrong with my cat. I'm not sure what she's talking about. Just because Marley (the cat) will:
a) dig fortune cookies out of the trash so she can pop the bags and eat the cookies;
b) will try to climb into my wastebasket to find the corndog stick so she can eat the last of the breading (and try to bury the hotdog part if you give her some); and,
c) when doing the tuna dance this morning because I was opening a can of food, upon being given some of the corn I was putting in lunches will lap up all the corn juice, but ignore the corn itself.
I'm really not sure what makes teeka think my cat's weird.

We're almost out of barbecue sauce!

It's only taken a year an a half, but we're finally almost out of barbecue sauce.

When we held the wedding reception party, we bought two cases of sauce from Smoky Jon's in Madison, and our catering staff (well, ok, really two poor college student friends we hired as slave labor) forgot to put it out until everyone had been eating the roast pig for a while. As a result, we took home a lot (like 18 jars) of barbecue sauce. When we run out, we'll either have to buy more, or get some back from teeka's parents, who still also have four or five jars.