Smokey Cat is eleven years old, and has thus far in his life remained blissfully ignorant of certain human foodstuffs, until the week before Christmas.
We brought some mince pies home to eat. Mince pies - for those that are also unaware of this treat - are a seasonal British thing; tiny pies containing a mostly raisin-based fruit filling. These are traditionally eaten with heavy cream.
Smokey did what he always does at this time of year; he crept into my lap and settled down while we watched some TV. And then I had a plate with my mince pie and cream in my hands.
He took a sniff at the plate, turned around, and gave me such a look - that said, "OMG WHAT IS THIS AND HOW HAVE I NOT KNOWN ABOUT IT BEFORE NOW?" He then went into a frenzy of climbing over both himself and me in a singular attempt to lick what remained of the cream off my plate.
We have unleashed a monster. Every time I sit down to eat now, he has to know whether or not that elixir-like substance is involved in my dinner. Every plate must be sniffed and examined. He seems disappointed when he doesn't find any.
Mercifully, he hasn't yet told our other cats about this or there would be hell to pay.
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