The Well Fed Cats
I sometimes roast a chicken just for the sake of it. We buy organic chickens, so this isn't a weekly occurrence - much as I would like to have roast chicken every week, at around £10 a chicken, it simply isn't going to happen.
I rubbed it with garlic infused oil and sprinkled it with sea salt and rosemary. I stuck a lime up its bottom (and pricked the lime for extra flavour), along with more garlic, and roasted it until crispy, golden and cooked just right. Willow sat and watched it cook for an hour and a half, as is her wont.
It was left to cool on the side. The chicken guardians were relegated to the other side of the door for safety. Best not to leave tempation in the form of a freshly cooked chicken in their path.
I told the Baron to keep the kitchen door shut whilst it was cooling down. But he couldn't resist the crying Willow, and so went and got some for her. Sucker. She knows who to beg to.
I yelled down to him to make sure that the door was closed when he came out. He replied it was, and disappeared back to the conservatory, where he is engaged in making a clay model of some sort.
I came dowstairs a little later, frustrated with my mp3 player, which has decided that it must give my computer the cold shoulder and claim not to recognise it. So my plans of an early night listening to music have been replaced by a late night dreaming of destroying stroppy electrical items.
No cats were in sight, and the house was quiet. This, as all feline fans will know, is a BAD SIGN. No cats, and no noise usually means that mischief is afoot. I went to the kitchen with a deep sense of foreboding, and a sneaking suspicion that the Baron was going to be in big trouble.
The sense of foreboding was justified. The chicken was gone. All gone. Not a morsel remained.
Harvey and Willow were sat licking their lips and looking very smug, and Frankie and Ellie were arm wrestling for the last crumb on the kitchen floor. Charlie is above such stealing and was slumbering in my chair, unaware of the Great Chicken Theft. Hollie would have been in on it, if she wasn't hiding under the bed again.
The Baron swears blind that he shut the door behind him. But smart though my cats are, they have not yet worked out how to open doors. Cupboard doors yes, but not internal doors. They are working on it, but success is not imminent.
I think the Baron did not shut the door behind him. I think he left it wide open. I think I may have to beat him around the head with what remains of the chicken carcass.
So, to recap:
Cats - One large, slow grown organic chicken for tea.
DMouse - Cup of tea for tea.
The Baron - no tea at all.
posted by DMouse007 @ 11/13/2004 10:53:00 PM
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