Sunday, August 1, 2010


I have a very fixed routine in the morning.  Anywhere between 4:00am and 7:15am Stuart starts sniffing my nose, licking my hair and banging the curtain cord thingy against the wall.  When he starts sniffing my nose a second time I get up.  I go into the kitchen, where Ellen sleeps, and she greets me like she hasn't seen me for months.  Then Ellen rolls over for a bit of a belly scratch, and as I loosen the detritus I tell myself I must remember to book her an appointment with the dog-wash guy.  I let her out and wash my hands.  Then everyone gets fed, I shower, scoff some breakfast and head for the door.  When I've reached the door, I realise I haven't checked Stu's kitty litter tray, so I huff a little and go back to see what surprises he's left.

So all was going according to schedule one day last week.  I poked my head in the laundry and saw the litter piled into a very neat little midden.  Sigh.  I put my handbag on the floor and picked up my trusty crap shovel.

But something wasn't right.  The litter flowed freely through the holes.  There was, quite bluntly, no poop to scoop.  I shrugged, and put down the shovel.  Then I turned, in time to see Stuart, tippy-toeing like a Warner Brothers villain, with a piece of banana cake in his mouth.

My banana cake.

Stolen from my handbag.

When he saw he'd been spotted he took off as quickly as a morbidly obese cat can when it's carrying half its own weight in cake.  I eventually caught up with him under the dining table and reclaimed my cake.

Evil genius.


  1. Stuart worries me. He hasn't been watching cartoons again has he?

  2. Entirely possible. I banned him from watching South Park after he started to get a bit too much attitude, but who knows what he gets up to when I'm not home?


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