The Day My Cat Stole My Sandwich and Regretted It
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I want to be clear: I did not leave the sandwich unattended for long. We are talking seconds. A brief, momentary turning away to answer a text — the kind of distraction that, in a world without cats, would be completely inconsequential. But I do not live in a world without cats. I live with Biscuit, a six-kilogram tabby who has been watching me make sandwiches for three years and has apparently decided that today is the day he finds out what all the fuss is about.
The Crime
I turn back to my plate and the sandwich is gone. Not partially gone. Not nibbled at. Gone. There is a plate. There is nothing on the plate. And there, approximately two metres away, is Biscuit, sitting with his back to me and his face in what I can only describe as a very large tuna melt.
He does not run. He does not even flinch when I say his name. He takes another bite with the calm confidence of an animal who has made a decision and is committed to it.
The Regret Begins
The regret arrives approximately ninety seconds later, and it arrives in the form of onions. I had put onions in the sandwich — caramelised, tucked beneath the tuna, invisible to a cat doing a rapid grab-and-go assessment of the situation. Biscuit, who has apparently never encountered a caramelised onion in his life, discovers one mid-bite and his entire face changes.
It is not a violent reaction. It is more of a slow dawning horror. He stops chewing. He sits very still. He looks down at the sandwich. He looks up at me. He looks back at the sandwich. There is a long pause in which I can see him processing something important about the nature of consequences.
The Response
Biscuit does not finish the sandwich. He does not return to the sandwich. He walks away from the sandwich with the dignified pace of an animal pretending that none of this happened, sits in the corner, and begins grooming his face with the focused intensity of someone trying to undo a mistake through sheer willpower.
He grooms his face for eleven minutes. I count.
The Part Where I Feel Slightly Bad
Here is the thing about cats stealing food: it is entirely our fault. Cats who steal food from humans have learned — correctly — that human food is often more interesting than their own, and that unattended plates are fair game in a territory they consider entirely theirs. Biscuit did not steal my sandwich out of malice. He stole it because he is a cat, it was there, and the opportunity presented itself. The onion was simply nature's way of providing immediate feedback on his decision-making.
For the record, onions are toxic to cats and should never be fed to them intentionally. Biscuit's exposure was minimal and he was absolutely fine — just profoundly disappointed.
The Legacy
Biscuit has not stolen a sandwich since. He still sits near me when I eat. He still watches with focused, professional interest. But when I turn away now, there is a moment — just a moment — where he looks at the plate, looks at me, looks at the plate again, and then makes a decision that suggests he has not entirely forgotten the onion incident of last spring.
Growth. It is possible, even in cats.
Food, Cats, and the Science of Stealing
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