Chicken Adventure

I am Tuffy, the least recorded of the cats, here at but that does not mean I do not have my own adventures. The simple fact is, my brand of catting is far more sophisticated than the others.

A case in point . . . the other day Mom went out to do some grocery shopping and upon returning home left the bags on a seat by the front door while she scooted upstairs to remove the winter wardrobe.

Being the curious sort of kitty and an expert with all things olfactory, I sensed there was chicken! I knew it was up to me to hunt out this delicacy. So, I fired up the old nose and rummaged in amongst the plastic bags. Rooting out the aromatic delight became my one and only focus.

There was no way for me to foresee at the exact moment I stuck my head through the bag handle that I would be caught, as it were, with my paws in the cookie jar.

“Tuffy, what are you doing?!!!!” Came the shout from the top of the stairs.

I may be an inquisitive cat but I am, also, a cagey so-and-so who will flee when confronted by hostility. And those words spoken in that unsympathetic tone sent me hotfooting it for the safety of invisibility. (I did mention that I had poked my prying noggin through the handle of the bag, right?) The plastic ripped with the weight of the offending fowl and needless to say, Mom was not pleased when I scattered . . .

. . . the chicken . . .

. . . on the floor . . .

I have to admit, I enjoyed the delicious piece of poultry that I, otherwise, might not have been privy to, had I not taken matters into my own paws.

So, the moral of this story is . . . Any ‘chickens coming home to roost’ in this house are mine!