Crumple, crumple, crumple.

I'd wondered what the noise was. I knew the cats were making it, but it never dawned on me that they were doing anything particularly wrong. After all, they were playing in the vicinity of the stack of newspapers that are ready to be recycled.

Crumple, crumple, crumple.

Boy, whatever it is they're doing, they sure are engrossed in it.

Crumple, crumple, crumple. RI-I-I-I-IP.

OK, now whatever it was had probably gone too far. "I'm hearing noises I'm not supposed to BE hearing!", I called out. That's my version of "Don't make me come over there!", and the cats are well aware of it. The crumpling noises stopped.

Mark, however, DID get up to see what was going on. "Aw, for gosh sakes. They tore the bag!"

"What bag?", I asked.

It turns out that Mark went food shopping yesterday on his day off, and purchased two large bags of cat food. Unbeknownst to me, the bags were right next to the stack of newspapers. Captain and Stanley, the mighty cat-food-bag hunters, had struck again. I suppose I should have been mad, but actually I thought it was pretty funny. Boy, what a pair of gluttons... They have more than enough food in their bowls, yet they'll still go after the mother lode and rip open a cat food bag if they're given half an opportunity. Spoiled pair of furballs.