Our cats have a sweet tooth.
Two nights ago, I was working in my office when I heard stealthy little rustlings in the kitchen. It didn't sound like cats playing in a paper bag. I went into the kitchen to make sure it was not suddenly, horribly mice.
It was not mice. It was cats. Two cats on the kitchen counter where I had left the last sliced rectangle of honeycake wrapped in aluminum foil for later. One cat had its head inside the foil, busily eating. Rustle, rustle. I didn't even see if it was Autolycus or Hestia; I said firmly, "NO!" and pulled the one cat off the honeycake while the other made its escape from the kitchen and vengeance.
The cake was . . . still mostly a rectangle. The delicious honey-soaked crust was missing. There were little fang marks along the edges. I couldn't tell if it was the work of one curious little cat or two, but the miscreant(s) had a healthy appetite.
(We got a second honeycake from my parents at break-fast of Yom Kippur last night. This one is not being kept anywhere cats can get near it.)
Tonight, I was working in my office when I heard noises suggesting a cat on the dining room table. Day before yesterday, I had brought home some lemongrass ginger macarons from Boston Bonbon—Dave's was selling them, with the baker offering samples. They were exquisite. I ate one,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
derspatchel ate one, the cats pounced on the plastic container and scuffled over it until it popped open and ferreted out the broken pieces of a third; we closed the container firmly and put it on the dinner table, where cats are not allowed to go. Time passed. A fourth macaron disappeared by human intervention. And then tonight the container was open again. There was one macaron left inside. I said to Rob, "Did you eat another macaron . . . ?"
We found the pieces. Some of the pieces. The ginger-flecked, lemon-yellow outer meringue, not the chewy center. Scattered on the floor between the table and the hutch. Rob took a picture, although in the low light they are indistinguishable from shattered corn chips. A little cat came up to nose around them hopefully as Rob adjusted his phone. [edit: See comments for photographic evidence!] I expect we will never see that chewy center again, unless someone gets sick from all the sugar.
Our cats really do not mooch a lot of human food. They like goat's milk, but it is apparently the Platonic form of cat's milk after actual cat's milk and I was prepared for it. They show a great deal of interest in food while we're cooking it, but they don't really try to get it from us afterward. They are notably, totally indifferent to seafood.
I would not say they're indifferent to desserts, no.
Two nights ago, I was working in my office when I heard stealthy little rustlings in the kitchen. It didn't sound like cats playing in a paper bag. I went into the kitchen to make sure it was not suddenly, horribly mice.
It was not mice. It was cats. Two cats on the kitchen counter where I had left the last sliced rectangle of honeycake wrapped in aluminum foil for later. One cat had its head inside the foil, busily eating. Rustle, rustle. I didn't even see if it was Autolycus or Hestia; I said firmly, "NO!" and pulled the one cat off the honeycake while the other made its escape from the kitchen and vengeance.
The cake was . . . still mostly a rectangle. The delicious honey-soaked crust was missing. There were little fang marks along the edges. I couldn't tell if it was the work of one curious little cat or two, but the miscreant(s) had a healthy appetite.
(We got a second honeycake from my parents at break-fast of Yom Kippur last night. This one is not being kept anywhere cats can get near it.)
Tonight, I was working in my office when I heard noises suggesting a cat on the dining room table. Day before yesterday, I had brought home some lemongrass ginger macarons from Boston Bonbon—Dave's was selling them, with the baker offering samples. They were exquisite. I ate one,
derspatchel ate one, the cats pounced on the plastic container and scuffled over it until it popped open and ferreted out the broken pieces of a third; we closed the container firmly and put it on the dinner table, where cats are not allowed to go. Time passed. A fourth macaron disappeared by human intervention. And then tonight the container was open again. There was one macaron left inside. I said to Rob, "Did you eat another macaron . . . ?" We found the pieces. Some of the pieces. The ginger-flecked, lemon-yellow outer meringue, not the chewy center. Scattered on the floor between the table and the hutch. Rob took a picture, although in the low light they are indistinguishable from shattered corn chips. A little cat came up to nose around them hopefully as Rob adjusted his phone. [edit: See comments for photographic evidence!] I expect we will never see that chewy center again, unless someone gets sick from all the sugar.
Our cats really do not mooch a lot of human food. They like goat's milk, but it is apparently the Platonic form of cat's milk after actual cat's milk and I was prepared for it. They show a great deal of interest in food while we're cooking it, but they don't really try to get it from us afterward. They are notably, totally indifferent to seafood.
I would not say they're indifferent to desserts, no.
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