As a kitten, he was a slave to the can opener. Truth be known, any movement or noise in the kitchen that might indicate food preparation would bring him barrelling into
the kitchen. Usually, he'd take the shortest path possible, leaping from the back of the couch across the bar and sliding all the way down the kitchen counter. He was quite
a large cat and once the momentum would start, he wasn't an easy one to stop. Many a dish and glass became casualties of his flyings and landings. As this personality trait was
surfacing at the height of the Gulf War, my dad started calling him "Scud", since he had the aim of a Scud missile.
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