Bread Bandit

We've either got a big rat in the villa or a sneaky kitten. "It" is still nameless since Karen's post about her male dog named Tara has made me a little paranoid on the kitten's sex. So for the sake of this post, we'll just call it "Pat". Pat has been a great kitten thus far. It was very wary of us at first and didn't socialize and hang out with us unless forced. Pat has really come around and knows its place, curled up at our sides. This cat is a far cry from the psychotic Sykes of yore. I sort of miss the mischievous craziness that he exhibited, but life's a lot more relaxing without it. It seems that Pat has the same hankering for bread that Sykes had. Sykes preferred his straight from the toaster when it popped up, but this one wants it fresh from the plastic bag. Two nights in a row I went in the kitchen to find bread crumbs strewn on the cabinet. I thought it was just a fluke the first night, since its food bowl only had a few crumbs in it. But the second night confirmed that I'm not going to be able leave my bread on the counter. Where's that bread box that David bought me for our first Christmas...the one that I made him take back to the store. Seriously, what was he thinking? Oh, I bet my new bride would die for this. Ok, it's a few years late, but I'm coming around, dear. Bring it on.


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