Bin art - the conclusion

Further to my last diatribe with reference to the kitchen bin, I can now reveal the culprit (s).  It is 4.00 am and all is quiet in the house, not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse.  Not in the kitchen anyway, until – that is – Morticia appears on an evening pad around the joint. Completely ignoring the bin at first, she is soon back to remove a scrunched up kitchen towel, then back for something else, and then on the third not-so-delicate pick, down the bin goes.   

But she doesn’t do much after that except for investigating the folded up empty fish and chip box.  Then into shot comes Lilith.  Hmm has this whole exercise merely been a training session for Lilith to learn how to hunt kitchen bins? Nearly an hour later Lilith appears slightly bored and wanders off, but comes back, listens to a few more instructions on disembowelling methods, and then disappears again. 

But that seems to have been that – Morticia merely felled the bin and then just kept sniffing around it on and off until 5.31 am, perhaps with the occasional lick of an empty sachet of cat food here and there.  Nothing occurred then until Morticia returned at 7.30 am, to take a couple of cursory sniffs and then leave  again. 

So how did the contents of the defenceless plastic receptacle end up strewn across the kitchen floor? Move forward to 8.20 am, and in comes Archie. You can almost sense his excitement when he sees the felled beast. He does not waste too much time before getting to grips with the contents and out they come.

And that is how the contents of the bin’s bowels ended up as a project of modern art in a sleepy North Devon village.

PS:  All precautions have now been taken to  secure the safety of the bin and its inner depths.  A chair was placed against it last night and one will continue  to be put there at night in the forthcoming future.    It looks like there are not only two felines here that are possible ASBO  material after all.

PPS: And it has since transpired that Morticia is a well-known felon and certainly not new to this kind of crime.  I have it on good authority that the bin at her previous abode suffered similar indignities. 

Bin Art

I have never been a fan of modern art; unmade beds or a half-open, half-eaten can of baked beans in the middle of an empty room, with one sticky bean 'artistically' left where it dribbled down the side of the can to stick itself on the floor, don’t really rock my boat.  However, as can be seen from the photos, it does appear that we have an exponent of such artistic ‘talent’ here. Yes right here, in a kitchen in deepest, darkest North Devon. 

Whodunnit?  Well I do not believe for one minute that it was one of our resident ghosts.  So there are three humans, four cats, and two dogs that are in the running.  We know that it was not Poppy McGregor, my cat of aged years, who likes nothing more than to sleep and then pop outside for a natural break and sniff round her ‘hood. We know that it was not Prudence the dog, because she was on our bed, and although she came downstairs at one point in a huff (apparently she tried to boot Jon out of bed and went off in a sulk when he chastised her for her impudence) she soon returned when thunder rumbled in the distance.

So we are down to six possible offenders:

• Jon – nope he was fast asleep and away with the faeries. He didn’t even hear the dogs barking, a foot away from him, at the thunder
• Me – well you know I am not a fan of such art so why would I?
• Graham - well he has been known to take odd photographs of things in the past, like chairs in the middle of a room, or drainpipes. These oddities, I must add, usually taken when he is supposed to be taking photographs of speakers, for example, at the Weird Weekend 
• The ginger kitten, Captain Frunobulax the Magnificent (aka Peanut) – quite possible due to him being ASBO material
• Lilith Tinkerbell the black kitten – quite possible due to her also being ASBO material and being the sister of the Captain 
• Morticia, Olivia’s black cat – a bit of a quiet one and we all know they are always the worst
• Archimedes Archibald the Archimandrite of Joppa (Archie for short) the Jack Russell – the new boy in the ‘hood

Now, it is quite possible that the two kittens could have ganged up together as they do tend to hang around in a pair menacingly, flattening everything in sight, and then chilling as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths like two spotty-faced kids  around a bus shelter plotting their next act of defiance against the system.  However, I do have to admit to have witnessed the bin going down under attack from one of them in the past.  But that was before I was alerted to the bin’s vulnerability and began to wedge it under the counter. 

So who has the crowbar and the weight behind them to un-wedge the defenceless receptacle?

Let us look at the psychological profiles of the two remaining suspects:

• Morticia:  As I have already stated, she is the quiet one. She stalks around the house like a black panther (no such thing? I beg to differ – she is one).  She has this ability to remain unseen while I frantically search behind curtains, under beds and in cupboards in a bid to check that she has not managed, somehow, to escape the house. Then she will arrive downstairs with her yellow eyes glinting at her own cleverness at hiding and relishing in her own impudence for ignoring my calls for her.  Being a black cat she is adept at putting the shadows and darkest recesses to good use. 
• Archie: The new boy.  Well his background his hazy.  There is not much information on him to form a satisfactory profile. We have given him a home due to him being under unavoidable duress at his last abode. However, he was definitely upstairs with us, at least until I went to sleep. But he is a dog, and dogs are always on the look out for a free scavenge (and some do have a penchant for bins as we all know). And he did bark at Poppy this morning - was this an admission of guilt? Was he scared she was going to dob him in?

So, readers, who is the perpetrator?  I think I know who the guilty party is.  If only I could speak ‘cat’ as Poppy may well have witnessed it all and I have a feeling she would be quite happy to squeal on the offender (or offenders).  On the other hand, she was probably also away with the faeries and missed the whole messy project as it formed itself on the floor around her.

Poppy: Fetch me Dr. Dolittle and I shall reveal all 

Where is Hercule Poirot when you need him? Probably off on some cruise down the Nile I expect. I think, therefore, that this may be a job for our very own spymaster and sleuth, Graham. Tonight, I shall ask him to open his special box of tricks. A box containing, amongst other things, cans of lager, rollie dog-ends, the occasional mug growing its own special culture, and…hopefully …a trail camera. If all goes well, tomorrow we may have our culprit (or culprits).