I head downstairs this morning before getting my shower. I make a salad for my Lovely Wife’s lunch. I brew coffee to take to to work. I get us both a bowl of cereal for breakfast.

And for my lunch, I make a sandwich.

It was a good sandwich. Flax seed bread, fresh greens, thin slices of mozzarella, a nice, hefty layer of smoked turkey, and a generous dollop of Dijon mustard. Oh, this was a sandwich to look forward to, a sandwich that was likely — nay, destined — to keep me going throughout the day.

I finish the sandwich, look at it on the plate, and I smile. Then, putting the sandwich out of my head for the moment, I bustle around on various other morning tasks and, taking my Lovely Wife her breakfast on the way, head upstairs to have my shower.

(Jump forward 15 minutes.)

It is two minutes before we are going to leave. I’m clean and dressed and heading downstairs to pack everything into the car for our commute into Halifax. I step into the kitchen… and stop dead.

The sandwich is destroyed.

The two pieces of bread are at least half-a-foot apart. The fresh greens and mozzarella are strewn about like shrapnel. There is a scum of Dijon mustard over everything in a square foot area.

And the turkey is gone.

I look down at the floor. Looking up at me are the Large One and the Small One. I have my suspicions, but I need proof.

I pick up the Large One, bringing his face up to mine. I sniff.

Cat food.

I pick up the Small One, bringing his face up to mine. I sniff.

Dijon.

The culprit is found.

I put him down and proceed to make a new sandwich.

This entry was posted on Friday, December 9th, 2005 at 10:42 am and is filed under cats, me. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.