He's not normal. I swear he's not.

[desperance]

...Or maybe I'm wrong, maybe all cats harbour a secret yearning for baked goods. The girls were fond of toast. Preferably buttered, and extra-preferably spread with Gentleman's Relish, but the dry bready crunchiness would always do on its own.

Barry, it transpires, hath a passion for croissants. His antennae are sensitive enough to detect the buttery flaky goodness through three layers of packaging, and his wrinkly-wet-walnut brain is smart enough not to be defeated by the zips on my bag. Which is why he had First Breakfast sometime in the night, and I was half a croissant short this morning.

(PS - yes, he still got Second Breakfast, undiminished. One does not diminish Barry's breakfast. He would sulk, for values of sulking that - well, you wouldn't want to go there.)

Comments

[desperance.livejournal.com]

I've noted before that Barry would kill for that packing material that is apparently made from popped or otherwise processed corn. On the other hand, that's neither sweet nor salty. You'd think they'd flavour it, one way or the other...