Henderson, the bad boy

This morning I was fixing my sandwich to take to work.

I decided to break the rules and give everyone a little piece of lunch meat. Well, I had a little piece left over and decided to take it outside to CJ.

When I came back in, guess who was on the counter helping himself to my sandwich? Henderson. I don't know what I was thinking- not putting stuff away before I went out. It's not like it's a surprise that he was up there. I can't EVER do anything in the kitchen without having to physically remove him from the counter at LEAST three times.

Does my sandwich have hair on it? Yes, yes it does. Am I eating it anyway? Yes, yes I am. Do I care? No, no I don't.

Was I surprised to find a prize on the floor a few minutes later (comprised of chicken lunch meat)? No, no I wasn't.