Sophie has a voracious appetite for…well…everything. The kitty likes to eat, and her tastes are undiscerning. I have seen her chase down pocket lint seconds after it fell to the floor. We do not let her eat outside a fairly strict diet (courtesy of the vet) because she'd probably up and eat herself to death if we didn't. Still, there are times that the scents from the kitchen drive her a little crazy and a lot naughty.

Yesterday, we had tuna for lunch. TUNA. Upon opening a can of that stuff, Sophie hurls herself at us, a fuzzy bowling ball, in effort to take us down (along with the open can). She's very strong and insistent, but we hold our ground.

Still, the scent lingers. Long after lunch was over, long after dishes were clean and put away, she walked the kitchen moaning like lovesick bovine. Nick and I were lethargic in the other room. I could not see into the kitchen, but Nick could. He kept calling her name, "Sophie. Sophie. Sophie." He was taking pictures all the while, so I assumed he was just trying to get her to look at him.

Eventually he handed me the camera. "See what your daughter is doing?" I looked at the picture above and my nostrils flared.

I wasn't sure if I was angrier at Nick for letting her get to the counter or at Sophie for getting there. A split second later I shouted, "Sophie!" and made to get up from the couch. I heard the ting of her collar bell as she sprinted down from the stool and tried her best to look innocent. Obviously, I'm the disciplinarian.

(And a total pushover.) Those big doe eyes make me forget all the naughtiness as I pat at my lap inviting her to come up for a cuddle.