Insoles and Sneakiness

I never turn down the opportunity to be bad.  Why should I?  Sure, when I'm good and do exactly what my family says, I get treats and attention.  But I've discovered over the years that I get way more attention and way more treats when I do things that I'm not supposed to do.  Consider this: when I steal something I'm not supposed to have, everyone in the house suddenly drops whatever they're doing, chases me down, pounces on me, and begs me to drop my prize.  When I refuse to give up what I have, someone, usually Ma or Sister, shouts "toss it for a cookie?"  Well, for those not in the know, I consider "toss it for a cookie" magic words akin (though way more powerful) than "please" and "thank you."  Upon hearing these words, I quickly drop my prize and run into the kitchen to claim my reward.

But even better than being bad and being caught is being bad and not getting caught.  You see, despite my larger than life personality, I can be surprisingly sneaky.  That sneakiness is particularly handy when I get a hankering for my new favorite past-time:  Ripping the insoles out of Sister's shoes.

Getting the shoes are surprisingly easy.  I wait until Sister is distracted (the best is when she's either on the phone with someone or working on the computer), then I go in for the kill, swiping the shoe (I take one at time) without her even noticing (sometimes, she swears that she doesn't even remember taking them off).  And because Sister is distracted and has no idea that I have her shoe, I usually have plenty of time to disappear into another room and worked my magic on it.  First, I chew on the body of the shoe leaving teeth marks in the leather.  Next, I shred the insole.  For this step, I have two techniques.  Sometimes I tear out a large piece of the insole and then rip it to shreds while other times I shred the insole while it's still attached to the shoe.

Eventually, Sister discovers my mischievousness and takes her shoe back, whimpering over the shredded insole.  She also swears that she's never going to talk to me again, but I'm not worried because I know it is an empty threat.  After about ten minutes of me looking up at her with my big brown eyes and offering my belly for a rub, she eventually melts and gives in to my cuteness.  And really, in the end, she doesn't even seem that bothered by the destruction of the shoe.  Every time I've shredded one, Sister merely collects the pieces, puts them back together like a slobbery jigsaw puzzle, and, once the pieces are dry, goes back to wearing the shoes like they didn't have my teeth marks in them.

Me and My Collection

And now on to my record:  I'm proud to say that, within the last six months, I have managed to run off with and shred the insoles of three pairs of shoes (two rights and one left).