Yesterday I made a mix,
Of Chex and nuts and pretzel stix.
Worcestershire, butter, and lovely spice,
Roasted in the oven til it was hot and nice.
Then last night a marauder appeared,
Clawed and fanged and pointy-eared,
Prowling the house in search of a snack,
She found my treasure and went on the attack.
The crash was heard through the bedroom door,
As my lovely treat met up with the floor.
I tumbled from bed, made my way through the house,
Followed closely behind by my bleary-eyed spouse.
And there she sat, in the midst of the mess,
Calmly munching (much to my distress).
Now it’s all in the trash, my lovely snack mix:
Chex and nuts, and yes, even the stix.
Gone – all gone – and I’m in need of a nap,
But I can’t get up, ‘cause the cat’s in my lap.
Lovely. I hope the bandit appreciates his banditry being immortalized so.
Also, the highlighted bit is probably the root cause. I have my own little counter bandit who would claw through armor plate for something buttery or cheesy. (I don’t think she’s a Mercotan, but maybe? I’ve never seen her tongue do any zymolosely polydactile things, but I’ve never tried to block access to her prize with anything as absolute as neutronium, either.)
We’ve learned from bitter experience not to leave a croissant on the counter, even if it’s in a storage bag. Mmmm. . . butter. . .
WOOKINPANUB: Angry as I was at 0430, you can’t remain angry at an animal. They only act on instinct, not out of any human motivation, so continued anger or any retaliation is pointless. She’s a sweet cat, all in all. I just had to laugh that I was trying to type my little poem while she was flopped on my left arm and hip.
My parents had an Irish Setter, name of Clancy, who could not resist butter. He once managed to eat an entire cube that had been left out on an unguarded countertop to soften for a recipe. My parents were annoyed.
They were much more annoyed when the butter had worked its magic on the dog’s guts a couple of hours later.
I also can’t stay angry at an animal, but I did once have a dog who demonstrated quite clearly, on multiple occasions, that dogs are capable of lying, and I think the motivations matched up pretty well with human ones. It’s just that it is still somehow done innocently…
The dog’s signal that she needed to be let out for bathroom purposes was to go to the French doors and sit. Her favorite and customary place to hang out was on the couch. Sometimes, she would head for the couch, but find people were sitting on the couch, thereby occupying “her” spot. She would then turn away, go to the French door and sit, indicating she needed to be let out. When one of us would get up to let her out, she’d dash to the couch and take the vacated spot. She lied about needing to go out in order to trick someone into giving up their spot so she could take it. She did this pretty regularly, though ultimately not often, as we would usually leave her a space.
youre lucky…my bag of fleas would of watched me throw it in the trash and then would of jumped in the trash can after it and knocked it over because well shes rotund and she knows it .,
