Cat 1: Mom 0

We own a bread-eating cat.  Well, maybe ‘eating’ isn’t the right word.  Mauling,  shredding… molesting… To this point, we have to hide all of the bread in the house.  Putting a loaf on top of the fridge isn’t hiding– i couldn’t understand how he was getting to it until i actually saw him make a six foot vertical jump and land handily in-between the cereal boxes.  I would be incredibly impressed if it weren’t the bread that had to suffer for it.

And oh, the suffering!  We have found bread after the crime, smashed on the kitchen floor as if he tossed it off and then used it for a landing pad.  Holes are torn in the plastic and huge chunks are missing, and it isn’t like he eats it, oh no.  Crumbs of varying sizes litter the floor, and i bet you that if we put them all back together like a bread forensics team, none would be missing.

The point of my story is, we have to hide the bread.  Jesse and i own a bread box, but he goes through bread pretty fast so i have been known to buy two loaves at the store at a time.  If the bread box is full, we have been known to use the microwave.

Because nobody could put something in the microwave without seeing and removing the bread, right?

My only defense is that i was heating up my first cup of coffee.  After half a minute or so i smell something distinctly non-coffee-ish, so i stop the microwave and check.  The bread bag has swollen to its limits, and the kinda-nice smell of baking rye tinged with a burnt-plastic aroma and a tinge of sharp heated metal.  The metal tie has melted the bag where it was touching.

And my coffee is still cold.






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