I came downstairs this morning to find The Boo doing circuits around the jug of tulips on the kitchen table, stopping every now and then to try and catch a wavering flower with a chubby little paw.
This is Not Allowed.
Whilst I am a relatively indulgent cat servant, the concept of animals on food consumption or preparation surfaces is a step too far in my book. So I picked her up, and put her on the floor. Like you would to a toddler, I said “No!”, and The Boo looked contrite. I could tell this because her one solitary black whisker twitched.
Turning my back to examine the fridge for vittals suitable for pre-work consumption, I heard the unmistakable sounds of a cat landing heavily on a piece of furniture. Turning round, she was back on the kitchen table, looking rather pleased with herself and being too familiar with the tulips.
I moved the cat, and I moved the flowers – not to the same place. I’m not that stupid, although I am not good first thing in the morning. Unless The Boo suddenly develops ninja skills, she’ll not get to them.
Having said that, I’ll probably get home tonight to find her sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, wearing a miniature pair of white pyjamas, a black belt, and a triumphant look upon her face as she slowly consumes the last tulip.
I should have got a goldfish.