Ariel the Wondercat loooooves people food… so much so that she’ll sometimes sneak a bite off your plate while you’re distracted, and even snatches food while it’s en route to my mouth if it’s one of her favourites like roast chicken or canned corn. Eating a meal in our house usually involves fending off Ariel with one hand whilst the other hand works on finishing your dinner before she manages to work past your defences.
She’s pretty shameless about hopping up onto the kitchen counters as soon as I turn my back, too, and has occasionally made off with some big ticket items (the funniest one was an entire pork tenderloin that was almost as long as she is)
We’ve learned to put all food in the Cat Safe Place (aka the microwave) before we leave the kitchen now. That said, I’m awaiting the day she figures out how to open the microwave door, since she’s awfully clever when it comes to ways to access food.
My ringnecks once found a box of Willy Wonka Grape Nerds on the kitchen counter and chowed down on them. They did this very slowly over the space of several weeks so that while I noticed the box being moved about the counter, the disappearance of the Nerds took a bit longer to register.
Back in the days of a milkman deliveries, our family dog ate 11 of a dozen eggs that was recently delivered. Shell and all. Why he didn’t eat the last egg is a mystery.
Yes, I’ve had various pets steal food. Sometimes right out of my hands.
My husband got a cat of his very own last summer. He decided that HE was gonna pick out the next cat, and he found a kitten at the Humane Society that he loved at first sight. I have had to train my husband not to share his food with this kitten. Although it’s quite a sight to see him take a bite out of an extra spicy combo burrito, and then offer the kitten a bite. The kitten would gamely take a teensy little bite (he was a teensy little kitten at the time) and then chew and chew and chew. And then, for some mysterious reason, he’d get the most Og-awful gas. Can’t imagine why. At any rate, I finally taught my husband that he MUST give this kitten food on a separate plate, if he must feed the kitten people food.
My brother had some rescued Greyhounds at one point, and he told me that kitchen counters are just at eye and nose level for larger hounds. And that even hounds that had previously exhibited no interest in people food would suddenly become interested if the food was left out where they could get to it, and the food was expensive.
Maggie the Sheltie barked furiously at the front door. When we got up to see who was at the door, she stood on a chair and ate Mrs. Plant’s dinner off her plate.
Stella went through a phase when she really liked fruit. The strangest part of this phase was her interest in bananas. Somehow, on more than one occasion, she managed to take one banana from a bunch on the counter. I wouldn’t notice that anything was wrong until I went to bed and found a banana on my pillow. It wasn’t eaten just chewed on a bit.
She also likes butter and has gotten to it a couple of times.
Spanky the Cat stole a half a cantaloupe off the table and started munching. He’d also eat tomato, though I don’t recall him stealing any.
Trouble the Cat could not be left alone with bread in any shape, form or fashion. He’d eat as much as he could, and smash the rest.
At one time in the distant past, I had a dog, a cat, a rabbit and a cockatiel. I couldn’t snack on dry Cheerios cereal without sharing with at least one of them. The cat and cockatiel would both (at different times) come over and take them right out of my bowl.
We had a sheltie, Mac, and a cat, Smudge, who would work together. Smudge would knock bread packages off the counters and Mac would tear them open. We caught them a few times, by carefully peering around corners when we heard suspicious noises in the kitchen. But mostly they were too smart for us.
Mac also once stole a whole pack of individually wrapped twinkies and hid the still-wrapped twinkies around the house under cushions and behind books.
Hmmm, I wonder how the cat got the fridge door open.
One of our dogs came home with a deer leg once. There were no deer in our little bit of suburbia. All I could figure was that a neighbor went hunting and was successful in bagging something and our dog happened upon the bits left over after he butched his catch.
The same dog (also named Lucy, by the way) ate my sister’s one pound chocolate Easter bunny, packaging and all. Good thing it was a cheap brand (Palmer’s) so there was probably very little actual chocolate in it.
The dogs ate my fruitcake, and I’m relatively certain that Naidia the Rotten Cat knocked off the top of the refrigerator. I don’t know if they cooperated in eating it.
The dogs ate the fruitcake I made last year, and I’m relatively certain that Naidia the Rotten Cat knocked it off the top of the refrigerator. I don’t know if they cooperated in eating it, though.
I had two greyhounds, and they require constant vigilance! Food on the counter needs to be pushed way back. Food on the table requires a standing guard. Many the night we turned around to find a long greyhound tongue lapping at the butter in the middle of the table. The biggest “heist” was an entire box of Girl Scout Tagalong cookies. (No, he didn’t get sick!)
My cat, Santi, is a vegetable thief. Once, when I was chopping bok choy for soup, I dumped the veggies in the pot and turned around the discover the kitty making off with some tasty leaves from the cutting board. He also steals lettuce, strawberry leaves left on plates, and mints. Yes, he loves breath mints.
We were broke. As in “No Christmas last year” broke.
Things were looking up, however, as my father found a new job (one that eventually did him VERY well). He invites his boss over for dinner, gives us kids the LOOK and the TALK and the threatening of DIRE CONSEQUENCES if we should ever, ever MESS UP!
I MEAN IT, JOHN!
Widdle ol’ me?
So, Dad puts out this pork roast out to thaw before he goes to work (see, back in the 70’s, men who found themselves to be single parents would put a big frozen hunk of meat on the kitchen counter, go off to the office for 8-10 hours, then come back to a thawed (and warm) piece of meat that would get unceremoniously dumped in the oven. E. Coli, eat your heart out - we ain’t afraid of nuttin’!!)
I come home. Mindful of Dad’s warning, I let the dog out, start vacuuming the floor, picking up my stuff. Being the Good Son, in other words. No Christmas sucked.
Dad comes home. First words, puzzled: “Where’s the roast?”
Me: … shrugs …
“Where’s Lady?”
… 2+2 = OH, SHIT!
Fortunately, the guy was partial to Steak and Ale. Even more fortunately, my brother and I had our own booth. And to show that God Himself was looking down on us in a heavenly light, Mr. Boss picked up the tab (expense accounts were a bit… looser… in those days)
So it all worked out in the end.
I didn’t get into too much trouble. Not like the time my brother and I took a box of oranges and ran around the house, throwing them at each other. :sigh: … good times.
He knew how to pull open doors, and was both strong and determined. It was not unusual to open a kitchen cupboard and find him inside – he even did this at the neighbour’s once. Occasionally I would find my own fridge door open – eventually I caught him at it.
You realize that that link publishes your friend’s name and email address to the world…or at least to the subset thereof that reads this thread? That can be sorta risky…
