Miss Dilly: Raider Of The Last Fridge

Dilly queen smallNever mind Pavlov’s dog.

In this house we have Coleborn’s cat!  

Feeling peckish (and still up at 1.30 waiting for that dirty stop-out Oberon to wander back home) I went to the fridge and got a stick of celery. (Yes – I am one of those strange bods who actually likes celery!)

Open the door, reach in for  the packet, close door.

From upstairs comes a gentle *thump* followed by *stomp stomp stomp*

By the time I had sat down again, with said snack, Dilly is circling the sitting room with frantic *meow* *meow* *meow* s that no amount of shushing or ignoring will quieten … So – I offered her the celery.

Much sniffing is undertaken –  as she moves around my outstretched hand to examine the morsel in minutest detail. She sneezes over the offending tidbit – and returns to her shark-patrol of the fireside rug –  shouting at the top of her voice.

She heard the fridge (I hear her saying) and she ‘KNOWS’ there is something good to be had, so would the human staff kindly stop trying to fob her off with pongy rubbish!

I proffer the celery a second time. (Which I have no intention of eating now that it is covered in cat snot.)

Again with the extensive sniffing from every angle, and then back to the frantic pacing and meowing!

There was no telling her that the opening of the fridge door had not produced something delectable because in Miss Dilly’s teeny tiny brain the fridge – like the ark of the covenant – contains riches beyond all measure and is the centre of her universe!

 

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