Things have escalated.
Due to a error on my part, in which I forgot to put something – namely Carole’s tasty, tasty (I assume, they don’t do it for me) egg muffin breakfast -in the fridge to defrost when I went to bed, war has broken out.
Because where there were once two muffins.
There are now only one.
And Carole is not happy.
An entire egg muffin has been stolen and consumed. Or stolen and left bitten somewhere in the house. Or stolen and left bitten somewhere outside. It could show up anywhere, or nowhere. It’s gone, though.
And war has been declared.
Because it wouldn’t be Peppa that’s done it.
But it would be that interloper of a feline. The one that comes in and chows down on whatever is out for Peppa, shreds bin bags on the hunt for more morsels and, it would appear, also turns its attention to egg muffins in a bowl.
The kitchen is now on lockdown.
The cat flap has been locked into the one-way position, thwarting entrance from outside for any nefarious wrong-doers.
Except that Peppa is a very clever cat. And when she was much, much younger – not long after she started going outside – she thwarted the cat flap’s one-way system by clutching a bit of the, then, loose seal and pulling the cat flap up and outwards. She’d then stick a paw in the hole to stop the flap shutting, and use that paw to flick the flap up so her head could get in and she’d be through.
It turns out that older Peppa still remembers this technique, which is great news for us as it means we don’t have to constantly go to the door to let her in.
I have fashioned, from good ol’ fashioned duct tape, a little tab – the Peppa tab, if you will. She grabs that, and the old memories come flooding back.
She’s coming and going like the good old days, and Carole’s egg muffins are safe.