by T. Jacira Paolino
The Cat Who Likes Bread
I first discovered that our “baby” cat, Gina, had a proclivity for bread not long after she came to live with us as an 8-week old kitten. I’d found her in the parking lot of a Chinese food restaurant in Miami, across the street from the campus of Florida International University, under a parked car, drinking from a puddle on a sticky, hot July day, three years ago.
My friend Sally held Gina in her lap the whole ride home to the Fort Lauderdale area. After some initial hissing and barking, my Golden Retriever took a special liking to Gina, much to Gina’s dismay, but Frisco soon won her over and they became fast friends.
Gina regularly terrorizes the rest of her four-footed family, swatting at Scoobie’s wagging tail or chasing her feline sister Sofia or brother Donatello all over the house.
Coffee Cake, crackers, and more!
It may have been my friend and frequent house guest, Sally, who brought a beautiful coffee cake with her one time when she came to visit. I left it on the counter top for the next day’s breakfast, but during the night, as we all slept, Gina had a midnight snack attack. The coffee cake awoke on the floor, sticky side down, the wrapping torn off by sharp teeth. The aluminum tray it was in was mangled and punctured. Smudges of cherries and cream cheese were all over the kitchen counter, and the tile floors in the kitchen and living room, where she had dragged it while licking and biting about half of the coffee cake. The other half was not salvageable.
I occasionally forgot that she liked anything bread-related and would leave something out that would end up in crumbs all over the place. I learned to put fresh loaves of crusty Italian bread or the occasional bagel or cupcake into the microwave oven overnight for safe-keeping.
During a visit from my friend Meghan one night, we decided to munch savory rosemary crackers along with our after-dinner drinks. I inadvertently left the box of crackers, still more than half full, on the counter. In the middle of the night, Gina managed to not only stealthily open the cardboard flaps, but pull the inner plastic bag out. I had sealed it with a bag clip, so she just ripped the plastic with her teeth and had a banquet of crackers, leaving the crumbs strewn everywhere, even on the cushions of the bar stools at the kitchen counter.
One stormy night…
I’ve been dealing with Gina’s predilection for more than 3 years, so you might think I’ve learned my lesson, but you would be sorely mistaken. Recently, after reading through the recipe chapter of a book that makes so much sense,“The End of Heart Disease” by Dr. Joel Fuhrman, I decided that I needed to clean out my cabinets of the things that tempt me. It was late, but there was a serious thunderstorm going on, with booming lightning bolts flashing through the living room windows. I started pulling items out of one cabinet over the coffee machine. I quickly realized that, although I was determined to reduce temptations, it was a project best left for the morning. I shoved most of it back into the cabinet so as not to leave a mess overnight, but one package of Maple flavored Scone mix wouldn’t fit, and I left it on the counter.
The thunderstorm continued for hours after I went to bed. I decided to read to distract myself since the loud rumbles that followed the clap of a lightning bolt striking nearby were hardly conducive to sleep. The book mesmerized me and I read for hours, until nearly 3 a.m. As I turned out the light I said a little prayer that the dogs would let me sleep in a bit. But at 7:30 I was awakened by Frisco’s loud barking. Since he was 13-1/2 years old, that usually means, “Hurry, mom, I have to go NOW”. I rolled out of bed, threw on my glasses and ran through the hallway to the living room, turned the corner into the dining room and headed toward the back door, where Frisco was standing among scattered piles of sticky powder. The smell of dog poo was melded with the luscious odor of the maple frosted scones mix. Three fresh, large, moist turds were interspersed with the flour all over two rugs in the dining room and family room by the back door.
After only four hours of sleep, my brain had been pushing me forward through the fog of fatigue, but that smell brought me to a quick stop, lest I step in something.
In the early morning duskiness, I carefully moved toward the switch on the wall and turned on the light, which illuminated the scone flour mix scattered all over the rugs, the living room tile floors and the kitchen counter, where the attack had begun. I stood frozen only for a moment before backtracking, nabbing Gina with one hand and turning off the alarm with the other. I then gently tossed her into the garage to prevent further damage, although the jury is still out as to how eating half a bag of scone mix will affect her bowels.
I grabbed the paper towels and the trash can and picked up the flour covered turds. Then I unlocked the back door and shooed Frisco and Scoobie out into the fenced yard. I gathered up the torn shreds of the scone mix packaging and then seized the vacuum to suck up all the flour.
As I sit here at my computer writing this, all is calm again, and they are all back to sleep.
Not me!
