The Sausage Thief

I grill four lamb sausages, eat one and place the remaining three on a plate in the microwave.

When the spouse comes home, I heat the sausages, place the plate in the cubby above the microwave, heat the beans, and wash the dishes.

Returning to the food, I see two sausages on the plate.

"Did you eat one of the sausages?" I ask the spouse. I wouldn't blame him. The sausages are yummy.

When he says no, I check the grill. Sometimes I leave one there so I'm not tempted to eat it. No sausage.

Had one slid off the plate and fallen between the microwave and refrigerator? Shining a flashlight, I see no sausage hiding there.

I look around me. Caeli and the foster dog are in crates. Tag, the other Border Collie, is standing at my side. He is one of the few dogs I know who waits for permission to eat the food dropped on the floor -- even if it's a steak. I don't suspect him.

Louie Kitty is sitting by the window watching the birds.

DEWEY!

The cat who is always at my side is nowhere in sight.

I run upstairs to my office.

He is crouched in the middle of the floor eating the remains of a sausage.

He growls at me.

I growl back.