Our little Jedi cat, an otherwise loving, affectionate, bundle of fur who squirms like a Slinky on his back at the slightest touch, has recently laid bare another side of his personality.
The problem started when Jed discovered that food comes in crinkly plastic bags. He’d lurk in dark corners and take notes as my unsuspecting husband, settling in for a relaxing night of crime show TV, ripped open the Chips A’hoy.
Jed often practices what he’s learned and the hunt has become his life’s mission. He has been known to climb the fridge to find security vulnerabilities, launching loaves of bread to his recognizance team – his brother Jackson – below. He darts for pasta on low pantry shelves each time the door is opened. He even launched himself into the freezer to sink his teeth into a bag of frozen corn. Whether sealed, stored in the furthest recesses of a cupboard or secured behind 5 inch thick doors of steel, our very determined Jed will find what he’s after.
In defense of our food, we’ve locked it all away. Bread is now in the protective custody of the bread box and we’ve rubber-banded cupboard doors together longing for the days when they still had magnets. Effectual to a point, we don’t always remember to re-band the knobs. Nor do we always hear when Jed has chewed through our defenses. We learn of our failure to protect and defend only after the kitchen floor is littered with plastic shrapnel and the sad remains of broken rotini.
(Our war chest doesn’t provide for surveillance … yet.)
Last month, Jed found a very special bag, indeed. The vet had given us a sample of treats. I wish I could remember what kind but the bag was eventually decimated beyond recognition.
(Our war chest doesn’t provide for DNA forensics … yet.)
We stashed these treats in the dish cupboard where Jed wasn’t prone to go and promptly forgot about them. Jed didn’t. One day, he stealthily climbed the counter and breached the unbanded doors.
I heard the dull thud of the package hit the floor and stiff plastic scraping tile. I sprang from the couch and hauled ass to the kitchen. There was Jed dragging his kill off to the basement for a celebratory feast. He cast a sharp glance over his shoulder and crouched low to aerodynamically expedite his escape.
I grabbed the corner of the bag and the camcorder. It was Ninja vs. Jedi and combat was fierce. Requiring little movement on the ground, this was a battle of disciplined wills. Early on, I offered reason. This was my bag and Jed could have ONE treat, maybe 2, but not 200. Jed wanted no part of reason. For him, the win was worth a fight to the death of the bag. While I may have walked away the victor this time, it was a narrow win. And the war rages on.
PS: One thing our war chest does provide for? … Child proof latches. Coming soon!