A cat is not a guinea-pig. Repeat.

All my life, I've been a fan of fungi. In the wild or on the plate, I love 'em. I want to grow closer, I want to know them; especially, of course, I want to bring them home and eat them. Safely.

I have established a habit in recent years, where I find a fungus and bring it home, use my book to try to figure out what it is and whether it's edible. Um. I have never actually succeeded in this - nothing ever looks quite like the illustration, unless I'm just not finding the right illustration - but I still think it's a noble effort.

I may have to abandon it.

I found a little brown flat-capped mushroom in the cemetery today. Fungus that feeds on bodies! Super-cool! I brought it home, and couldn't find my book - and then there was suddenly a chirrup at my feet, and an eruption of cat onto the bread-bin. I haz a shroom! Mac wants it! Chirrup! Snatch!

If I can't tell whether it's safe for me, how on earth can I tell if it's safe for cats? There isn't even a book for that...

So no, Mac did not get the mushroom. Neither did I; it went into the compost, all unidentified, alas.

And no, I did not for a moment think of feeding it to the beastie as an experiment, on the principle that if he could eat it, it must be safe for me. That would be both morally appalling and scientifically unsound.

I did vaguely think that if he spurned it, that would be a useful guide that I should spurn it too - but then of course he didn't spurn it, and I decided not to treat his enthusiasm as a sign of beneficence. I don't think he's reliable that way.