minimal posting with cat story
I cook some hard-boiled eggs for dinner last night. I don't like the yolks (it's a texture thing; I'm happy to eat yolks in scrambled eggs), so I put them on a plate and put it down for the cat.
Me: Here, have some egg yolks. They'll make your coat shiny.
Cat: (sniffs) Thank you, but no.
Me: I'll leave them there for you.
Cat: If you must.
Several hours pass and now I'm getting ready to go to bed. I see the plate of egg yolks, untouched.
Me: I guess you don't like them. Okay.
I throw them in the trash and go to bed. In the morning...
Me: Oh, look. He has raided the trash can and strewn yolk crumbs and egg shells all over the kitchen.
Cat: And this is a surprise exactly how?
Oh, my silly little trash-picker of a cat. It's not as if he ever had to eat from the trash--he was found when he was maybe 3 weeks old, a tiny little mouse-sized fluffball. His eyes may still have been blue. But no, in his heart of hearts, he's some sort of cross between a lion on the savannah and a territorial alley cat living by his wits and willingness to bite.