Let’s do this together

The Lord Of The Bins has now taken up permanent residence on top of the double pedal bin in the kitchen since he’s discovered the rubbish is an unending source of food.

He sits on the green recycling lid waiting for someone to open the black lid so he can fling himself into slimy sludge again.

Twice now he’s had to be rescued from the bin depths and washed – last time he came up with a manky piece of broccoli in his jaws. Next time I should just leave the broccoli goblin at the bottom of the bin and throw scraps on his head.

If I’m trying to prepare food for dinner, I call TDL: “Can you come and collect your grubby bin rat?”

She comes and removes him and takes him upstairs, but within seconds he’s back at his post, waiting for the next raiding opportunity.

“For such a beautiful white kitten, you’re extremely unsanitary,” I tell him, while he sits there, unblinking, watching my every move.

I’m not used to having a pet that is so food-obsessed. I mean, I know the fat pug, Bozza-five-bellies, would eat himself into a coma if I allowed it, but he has no access to snacks, and wouldn’t last two minutes in the wild trying to feed himself.

And grown-up cat, Dan Dan, is more of a grazer – her food bowl is always full as she tends to supplement her kibble with the odd mouse.

She’s never been bothered about jumping up and grabbing food from plates, so I’ve been lulled into a false sense of security. And any day now, the Lord Of The Bins is going to be able to jump high enough and go full Viking in my kitchen shelves.

He’s already found Dan Dan’s food bowl where I hid it on a sideboard behind the sitting room door, and scoffed the lot. I’m just about to order a microchip cat feeder for Dan Dan’s food, and ideally I need to padlock the kitchen!

Email me at siobhan.mcnally@mirror.co.uk or write to Community Corner, PO Box 791, Winchester SO23 3RP.