The Adventures of PadFoots & ToeBeans #012

THE GREAT FOOD SECURITY CRISIS

An entirely preventable incident caused by inadequate human supervision.

There is a problem.

Finan is getting fat.

This would normally be none of my concern.

I do not involve myself in the personal dimensions of my subjects unless those dimensions begin interfering with matters of state.

Unfortunately, Finan's dimensions are increasing at an alarming rate.

And mine, I can only assume, are decreasing.

I have studied the evidence carefully.

Finan eats his food.

Finan eats near my food.

Finan has, on more than one occasion, eaten my food.

Therefore, the fatter Finan gets, the thinner I am becoming.

This is basic mathematics.

I am wasting away.

Big Human has apparently failed to notice.

So I have been forced to take matters into my own paws.

For several mornings, I observed Big Human's routine.

Before leaving the estate, she feeds the Padfoots.

Matilda.

Malachi.

Large creatures requiring an unreasonable quantity of provisions.

And where, you may ask, are these provisions stored?

The hallway coat closet.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Each morning, Big Human opens the closet, retrieves cups, scoops food from a large container, fills the Padfoot bowls, returns the empty cups to the closet, closes the door, and leaves.

I also discovered something else.

There is a small table inside the closet.

A table with space underneath it.

A space approximately...

Marlowe-sized.

The mission practically designed itself.

The following morning, I waited.

Big Human opened the closet.

She filled the bowls.

She stepped away.

And I slipped inside.

Silent.

Invisible.

Magnificent.

I positioned myself beneath the table.

Moments later, Big Human returned the empty cups.

She did not see me.

The door closed.

Success.

I had infiltrated the food-storage facility.

Alone.

No Finan.

No sharing.

No competition.

And scattered across the floor...

Morsels.

Several pieces of Padfoot food had apparently escaped during previous distributions.

I ate them immediately.

Excellent.

Crunchy.

A little pedestrian, perhaps, but these were emergency circumstances.

For the first time in days, I could eat without wondering whether a tuxedo-clad opportunist was approaching from behind.

I had done it.

I had secured an independent food source.

I was a genius.

After some time, I decided I had eaten enough.

I approached the door.

It did not open.

I waited.

Still nothing.

I gave it a polite tap.

Nothing.

A firmer tap.

Nothing.

...

Finan?

Silence.

FINAN.

This was precisely the sort of situation for which I had allowed him to remain in the household.

Co-napping is lovely, yes.

Mutual grooming has its benefits.

Kingdom surveillance is considerably more efficient with two sets of eyes.

But surely his primary purpose is to provide assistance when his monarch has become accidentally sealed inside a food-storage facility.

FINAN!

Nothing.

Useless.

I called for Big Human.

No response.

Lil Human?

Nothing.

Matilda?

Malachi?

ANYONE?

Silence.

It gradually became apparent that the estate had been abandoned.

With me inside the closet.

This was no longer an infiltration.

This was imprisonment.

Eventually, the morsels were gone.

All of them.

I checked twice.

Possibly three times.

Nothing.

And now I was trapped.

Without food.

While Finan was undoubtedly outside becoming fatter.

Which, according to the mathematics previously established, meant I was becoming thinner at an accelerated rate.

This was serious.

I began assessing emergency provisions.

Coats.

No.

Plastic containers.

Difficult.

Then I discovered something promising.

A pair of Big Human's flip-flops.

I recognized them immediately.

She wears them frequently.

I believe they may even be her favorite pair.

Under normal circumstances, I would never interfere with Big Human's personal property.

These were not normal circumstances.

I was facing starvation.

I examined one carefully.

Rubber.

Substantial.

Potentially nutritious.

I took a bite.

...

Not nutritious.

I took another bite to be certain.

Still not nutritious.

Nevertheless, I continued chewing for some time, as one cannot afford to be overly selective during a survival situation.

Eventually, I abandoned the footwear.

My attention turned to a cardboard box.

Also not particularly appetizing.

But considerably easier to chew.

I removed a corner.

Then another.

This would have to sustain me.

By this point, I had accepted the very real possibility that I might never see my dining-room-table pillow again.

Would Big Human eventually discover my remains here?

Would she understand the sacrifice?

Would she look upon the shredded remains of her favorite flip-flops and realize that I had fought valiantly until the end?

Would the estate erect a memorial?

Would Finan inherit my pillow?

...

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

I redoubled my efforts at the door.

Hours passed.

Possibly days.

Time has very little meaning when one has been abandoned in a closet and forced to survive on Padfoot crumbs, footwear, and cardboard.

I called periodically.

No one came.

I rested.

I inspected the floor for additional morsels.

Nothing.

I considered another portion of flip-flop.

No.

Even starvation has limits.

Then—

Voices.

Keys.

The front door.

The unmistakable sound of Big Human and Lil Human returning to the estate.

BIG HUMAN.

I summoned every remaining ounce of strength.

MRAAAAAAAOOOOOW.

Footsteps stopped.

“Marlowe?”

MRAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOW!

Footsteps approached.

The closet door opened.

Light flooded in.

Big Human stared at me.

I stared at Big Human.

“You stinker! Did you sneak in there when I fed Matilda and Malachi this morning?”

...

I emerged.

Slowly.

With dignity.

Or as much dignity as one can reasonably maintain after spending an entire workday imprisoned beside winter coats.

Big Human looked down.

First at me.

Then at the cardboard.

Then at the flip-flops.

Her expression changed.

“MARLOWE! Those are my favorite flip-flops!”

...

I found this response remarkably insensitive.

I HAD NEARLY DIED.

She was concerned about footwear.

I had been abandoned.

Imprisoned.

Forced to forage.

Reduced to eating Padfoot rations from the floor.

Compelled to test the nutritional properties of synthetic footwear.

Driven to consume portions of a cardboard box.

And Big Human's primary concern was a pair of flip-flops?

Frankly, both the confinement and the resulting property damage could have been avoided had Big Human properly accounted for all household leadership before securing the food-storage facility.

This was clearly a failure of human procedure.

“I'll have to watch out for that from now on,” she said.

Yes.

You will.

At least someone was beginning to understand the seriousness of the situation.

I proceeded immediately to the dining room.

There remained one final matter.

My food.

I had been gone all day.

Finan had been left unsupervised.

Surely he had discovered my absence.

Surely he had taken advantage of it.

Surely my bowl had been emptied while I languished alone in that closet becoming thinner by the hour.

I approached cautiously.

I looked inside.

...

My bowl was full.

Completely full.

I stared at it.

Then at Finan.

Finan stared back.

I looked at the bowl again.

Untouched.

Finan had not eaten any of it.

Not one bite.

I looked back at him.

There he sat.

Tuxedo immaculate.

White gloves neatly positioned.

Apparently innocent.

...

Interesting.

This changes nothing.

The threat remains credible.

I ate immediately.

I had, after all, nearly starved to death.

Marlowe's Journal

Today's food-security operation produced mixed results.

Successful infiltration of Padfoot food-storage facility.

Several unclaimed morsels recovered.

Independent food source confirmed.

Exit strategy requires improvement.

Finan failed completely in emergency-assistance duties.

Big Human's favorite flip-flops are unsuitable for consumption.

Cardboard is marginally better.

Big Human has agreed to improve closet-security procedures.

My food remained untouched.

...

Finan may not have eaten it.

This time.

Investigation remains open.

— 🐾 Marlowe - ToeBean-in-Charge 🐾
Director of Food Security
Survivor of the Hallway Closet Incident
Currently Accepting Applications for a More Useful Finan

POSTSCRIPT: Big Human has apparently implemented a new procedure requiring her to check beneath the closet table before closing the door.

Good.

At least someone learned something from this experience. 🐾