salad for breakfast

Over a week ago I received a beautiful posy of flowers, now a bit worse for the wear.  This morning Henry jumped up on the sideboard where the vase stands, nudged the flower head until a single petal let loose and slowly floated to the floor. Henry hopped after it and proceeded to eat it.  Up he went on the sideboard again, nudged the flower, hopped after the petal and ate it.  Hop, nudge, repeat.  I put a stop to it after a while because I have no idea whether wilted daisies are actually good for cats and I don’t want to clean up after him.  But it seems I had pegged Henry all wrong: he is not a gardener who delights in growing things, he is a gourmet (or possibly, a gourmand).

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