Intruder alert. We have a full systems breach. Our position has been compromised. Radio HQ and tell them the fox is in the turkey house. No, I don’t mean hen house. I mean turkey house. Like, you know, where you keep the turkeys. Well even if that doesn’t exist, it should. Give me a break, alright? I’m not a farmer. Where was I? Oh, right. We were under attack and I was panicking. Why, you ask? Because every time I open the refrigerator, Cat jumps up onto the top shelf – the shelf with the deli sliced turkey – and attempts to eat his way to the center of the resealable packaging. Now, I don’t know if this is learned behavior, or so ingrained in Cat’s DNA that it was only a matter of time before we witnessed Full Feline Refrigerator Hull Penetration, but either way it’s bad. Not only do I not want Cat traipsing his filthy paws all over my precious pepperjack cheese and assortment of various sauces and tubs of flavored mayonnaise, but I am also downright horrified by the sheer gall of His Royal Clawness. If there was any doubt that we were living in Cat’s house before this horrifying act of defiance, it’s long gone now. If only there were some way I could teach Cat a lesson to not mess with other peoples’ food. Perhaps I could do a belly flop onto his water dish right before breakfast. Or maybe I could make him watch me stick all my dirty fingers in a can of his wet food. Yea. That’ll show him.