Murray is fodder for hundreds of stories. But for whatever reason, the stories that make us laugh the most – the things that stop us dead in our tracks, uproot our days with comedic relief – have to do with food. To be honest, I’m not sure if these stories are even remotely funny when they stand alone. I think it’s whenever you put them together that they begin to individually stand out a bit more, warrant a chuckle or two.

And so today I have yet another story about Murray stealing food.

TobyJoe went away on business last week and since I am having some trouble holding it together these days, my mother came to the city to keep Emory and me company. She came bearing cookies and soup. She even watched Emory for a few hours so I could attend a yoga class. What more can a gal ask for?

On Wednesday night, we were sitting on the sofa talking and snacking when a loud THUMP! echoed throughout the kitchen.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.” She answered.

“Shit! Where’s the cat?”

The moment the word “cat” came out of my mouth, but before I could get up from the couch, Murray rounded the corner carrying the entire bag of cookies my mother so kindly baked and brought along with her. (The picture below was taken after the fact. He reenacted it for me today with a much lighter bag because he’s Murray; he’s predictable yet totally bonkers.)

We made eye-contact, the cat and I.

The bag of cookies was difficult for him to carry around in his mouth. They weren’t nearly as difficult to carry as the sack of diapers he decided to move from below Emory’s crib to under our bed a couple months back, but the bag was still unruly. In order for Murray to carry these heavy things, he walks with his two front legs really far apart so he won’t trip as the loot can swings freely from side-to-side. There is nothing funnier than watching a small cat walk like he has a giant load in his pants.

“MURRAY!” I yelled out from across the room. My angry voice was spiked with laughter and did nothing to convince the small creature to drop what he had stolen. Instead, he began to trot, his legs spread even further apart, and he ran directly under the sofa with the bag and (most) of the cookies in tact.

My mother and I laughed heartily. And methinks that Ziplock is missing one hell of a advertising campaign here.

(P.S. Murray is for hire.)