As I savoured the last minutes of my 'lie-in' this morning, I heard Himself exploding at the other end of the house.
There-in followed the thump of feet up the corridor. His enraged visage popped around the door jamb, the steam fairly issuing from his ears.
"You know those sausages we left out on the counter last night (I know, I know....don't say anything....)? Well the BL***Y cats have EATEN THE LOT! There were about TEN of them!!!!!!"
I processed this information.
Firstly, it was unlikely that there were ten left over, but I decided to let that anomaly pass.
"Well, surely they wouldn't have eaten all 10? Surely No 2 Son might have come home late and had some?"
"There was one left out on the counter!!! No 2 Son wouldn't have done that!!!" Himself roared.
"To be fair, he might have if he was....ummm....indisposed."
The thunderclap clanged shut and Himself humphed, set his jaw and stalked back down the hallway muttering under his breath:
"Bl***y cats. You can all go and live outside. Waste of bl***y space all of them. Bl***y cats. Mutter mutter mutter. Animals don't belong in the house! Mutter mutter etc"
Slightly perturbed, and concerned for the safety of the cats if nothing else, I levered myself out of my prone postion and wrapped myself in a dressing gown. As I pattered down the corridor towards the kitchen I tried to analyse the situation in my mind. Firstly, Pippin doesn't eat real meat, raw or cooked. He rather likes the idea of raw meat and hangs about my feet if I'm cooking (he's way too savvy to hang about Himself's feet!) but if I toss him a sliver of raw chicken, or open a tin of tuna when the dry cat food has run out, he looks at me in confusion. Surely that jelly like stuff cannot be the source of that delicious odour? He paws at it and walks off in disgust. So the culprit was unlikely to be Pippin.
Now Mortisha leans a little more towards whole foods. She is our mega hunter, bell and all, and frequently brings home a mouse or a bird. Mind you, she never eats the whole thing. We are frequently dodging a mouse head or pile of disembowelled, slightly sticky feathers in the laundry, or outside the bedroom door; highly dangerous whilst barefoot first thing in the morning! The thought of her scoffing ten whole sausages (or even the more likely count of 6) seemed highly unlikely.
Now, Lily. Lily is a wild card given her feral beginnings. She has been known to get up on a bench, she certainly enjoys a bit of raw meat, but she too never finishes the whole mouse and if truth be known, she's often out at night.
By the time I reached the kitchen I was feeling less and less convinced that the cats were to blame. This feeling was confirmed as Pippin dashed in, squalling and rubbing up against me, ready for food.
"Sweet heart, I really don't think the cats could have demolished all of those sausages," I said as I surveyed the lone sausage which had obviously been dragged across the bench. "For one thing Pippin is waaay too hungry to have pigged out on sausages last night." I glanced around at the scene of the crime.
"Oh, and also," I said, my eye lighting on a large, nearly empty glass bowl nearby,
"I really don't think they would have eaten the salad!"
We have yet to catch up with No 2 Son to confirm my suspicions. Nevertheless, the cats get to live indoors a bit longer :-)