Problem Solved

In case I haven't mentioned it before, I am a pretty clever guy. Yep, I'm smart, and I have good problem-solving skills. Too good, in fact, according to my foster mom.

Have I told you that I LOVE being in the kitchen? Well, I do. Lots of good things happen there, and being in the right place at the right time means I get first dibs at any tasty tidbits that fall to the floor. I'm no stranger to eating crumbs and, believe me, being small and fast has its advantages; I have out-scrambled the best of 'em for a carrot slice or a peanut. Yum. 

But I know there's more. There has to be. There are too many delicious smells wafting from the middle countertop for there not to be more than those few, paltry morsels that make it to the floor.

One day, and it was bound to happen, my natural, god-given curiosity got the better of me. I had to see what happens on top of the counter - where I can't see; where I can only imagine there is an abundance of food for the taking; where the CAT can go any time he likes (what the?); where my foster mom spends so much time!

Since I am a terrific jumper, I decided to try using my exceptional and well-rehearsed skill to get a better look. But, try as I did, I couldn't boing straight up high enough to get a good view. No worry. A guy like me always has a Plan B, and that involved me hopping easily onto the window seat and then popping up effortlessly onto the counter next to the window. Wa La! Plan B worked and I immediately had a perfect view of the main food preparation area in my foster mom's kitchen. Ka-ching and jack pot! I AM de man! Problem solved! And what a captivating view it was! 

Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. 

Now, I know that my foster mom appreciates when a creative guy like me figures out something on his own and she's the first one to applaud my efforts. But I also know that she takes her job seriously when it comes to helping me learn to make sensible choices. Apparently, jumping onto the counter to observe what she's doing or, better yet, to help myself to something that was left in the pan on the stove is not her idea of good manners. Surprisingly, she didn't scold me or yell at me or go off the deep end for what I did, but she did order a new Scat Mat. Hmmm. A booby trap. Drat. Something tells me the problem really is solved. 

A view fit for a king - or a super agile little Sheltie - even if it didn’t last long!