Buried Treasure

Last year my arty and talented friend Seth Apter of  The Altered Page had a challenge to post your favorite post of the prior year. I met some delightful friends and of course I wanted to do it again. Last year I re-posted my favorite of that year, called And The Moon about a human variety of the celestial body (otherwise known as Mom's lily-white tush).

This year was hard too because I had so much fun with so many posts. I was going to do one of my posts from Cat-O-Lympics from February, but I decided that was too soon, and dug farther back. So I chose a post from Hunt Week called The Ham Safe. Please enjoy.


As soon as I hear her in the kitchen, I get very excited as I know she'll be opening the doorway to our hunting ground. Many of you know it as The Ham Safe.

Mom stands at the doorway, viewing the bounty within.


I run from any corner of the house as I join her for the hunt. I can always tell it's her, and not him, by the tentative and joyously slow way she lingers, surveying her possible kill. The cold wind blows through my floof, as I rest my paws on the bottom edge. I catch the smells of all the possibilities.

"You hungry?" She asks.

"Mew! (Yep. How about a snark of ham?)" I reply.

"Nah. Too... meaty. What about cheese?"

"Mew! (Perfect! I prefer the string cheese.)"

She dives down deep into the meat drawer. Her mighty paws thrusting away the rejected options. She holds her prey up to the light. Victory. She places her foot under my belly and unceremoniously drags me gently back from a kill of my own. The door shuts, cutting off my own hunt.

I lament the cruel injustice of it all, as I watch her try to rip into the plastic wrapper like a bear with a picnic basket. Wait, there's still a chance of victory for the small floofy huntress... will she make a drop? Which do you think I want more? The cheese or the wrapper?

Hunt Week - Ham Safe

Mom stands at the doorway, viewing the bounty within. As soon as I hear her in the kitchen, I get very excited as I know she'll be opening the doorway to our hunting ground. Many of you know it as The Ham Safe.

I run from any corner of the house as I join her for the hunt. I can always tell it's her, and not him, by the tentative and joyously slow way she lingers, surveying her possible kill. The cold wind blows through my floof, as I rest my paws on the bottom edge. I catch the smells of all the possibilities.

"You hungry?" She asks.

"Mew! (Yep. How about a snark of ham lunchmeat?)" I reply.

"Nah. Too... meaty. What about cheese?"

"Mew! (Perfect! I prefer the string cheese.)"

She dives down deep into the meat drawer. Her mighty paws thrusting away the rejected options. She holds her prey up to the light. Victory. She places her foot under my belly and unceremoniously drags me gently back from a kill of my own. The door shuts, cutting off my own hunt.

I lament the cruel injustice of it all, as I watch her try to rip into the plastic wrapper like a bear with a picnic basket. Wait, there's still a chance of victory for the small floofy huntress... will she make a drop? Which do you think I want more? The cheese or the wrapper?