Counter Intelligence

Our kitty, Django, has some habits that I don't admire. Chief among these is his predilection for bringing live rodents into the house through the dog door, even though I hear we're supposed to feel flattered. (Or, as I have also heard, pitied, since it's obvious to him that we have really pathetic hunting skills. Thus he is helping us practice by bringing half-dead chipmunks for us to chase around the basement.)
In addition to his career as a rodent killing machine, Django excels at waking up house guests by squeezing his paw under the bedroom door and rattling it, jumping onto my back as I am bent over weeding the garden, and lolling around on the kitchen counters. To be honest, the guest-waking and back pouncing are kind of funny and clever. I don't mind them too much. The counter-lolling, however, REALLY bothers me—especially when he comes into the house from doing god only knows whatoutside and tracks muddy(!) pawprints over each of the three counter surfaces. Not only that: I caught him licking the seasoning oil off the cast iron skillet last week. Ish. And today, in the wake of another of Scooby's dessert-creation sprees (milk & white chocolate swirl fudge...) I walked into the kitchen to be presented with this:

I was not surprised to find out the Django likes sweetened condensed milk.

Contemplating a coffee chaser for his sweet treat.