When it comes to the crunch

Next door’s cat is forever visiting me – a small thing, I think she is the only cat in the village that allows you to stroke her, having been brought up in an affectionate environment. She will often stroll in and of course head straight for TT’s food bowl which is generally piled high with crunchies and chocolate – clearly a balanced diet (!). She turned up yesterday and I know that only five minutes previous to this, TT had tucked in heartily until she couldn’t eat anymore and was now upstairs rearranging my shoes (you can generally hear a crashing and banging noise as she carries a boot up and down the stairs, stopping at each landing to chew on it). Hearing someone eating her crunchies, she darted downstairs clearly furious at having to share her food reserves. Not content with grabbing the cat by the scruff of the neck and dragging her out, she had to make a point of eating MORE crunchies lest she be deprived herself so there then followed a frantic scrabbling around on her plate as she literally wolfed down as many crunchies as she could. She wasn’t even hungry!!! But no, they were hers and she was going to eat them. Next door’s cat, looked on from the doorstep with an expression on her face which said ‘I think your dog has psychological problems’ and had she voiced this, I’m sure I would have agreed. It reminded me of that scene from Mr. Bean when he stays in a hotel and sees a fellow guest helping himself to various items at breakfast; of course, he has to better that and helps himself to double the amount. Finally TT finished stuffing herself and I heard a distinct growling from her stomach area. She looked up at me suddenly and whined. Yeah, I thought, indigestion? That will teach you, but of course, it won’t because she’ll do exactly the same thing next time.