It seems that my beloved fur-boy, about whom I've written lovingly and tenderly many times on this blog, tried to rip me off last night. I cooked a meatloaf in the microwave and left it in there to cool for a few minutes while I tended to business in another part of the house. When I returned to the kitchen, there was Butch, his nose pointed into the corner directly below the microwave. He makes frequent surveillance trips into the kitchen, so I wouldn't have given it a second thought, except that his behavior totally gave away his intentions.
He must have heard my footsteps at the exact moment I saw him, because he gave a quick sideways glance (listen?) over his shoulder and began backing up so fast he couldn't get any traction. His toenails scrabbled against the floor and he danced a funny little backward jig, until he could finally turn around and hurry back into the living room to join Kadi. "Who me?" he seemed to say as he passed me. "I wasn't doin' nothin'."
Butch's blindness let him down in this instance. He obviously didn't realize that the meatloaf was inside the microwave, out of his reach. Judging by his guilty body language, he must have thought he had a really good shot at getting it.
Poor little guy. He was sooooo busted! I enjoyed a good laugh, but I felt sorry for him, too. He's succeeded in getting food off the kitchen counter exactly twice in his eight and a half years (both times when he could still see), and it must have been disappointing to have his plans foiled when he thought he was so close to the prize.
(First published at Velvet Sacks on October 25, 2006.)