Mr. Whiskers
While at uni in Belfast we lived in a small house next to the landlord's. The landlord's little daugther had a number of cats, the most entertaining for us was Mr. Whiskers. He came round to our kitchen door (a glass door which opened to the garden) every morning in search of food, which mostly consisted of cottage cheese (which we bought for him, we didn't eat it) and salami. One day the glass in the door broke and was immediately removed by the landlord to be replaced later. Mr. Whiskers would drop by later and - as per usual - sit at the "closed" door to wait for someone to open. We teased him with salami and tried to make him come in through the gaping hole left by the now missing glass, but Mr. Whiskers would not be fooled. He simply rejected the fact that we had stuck our hands through the door. Or he needed to think about what that meant. Next morning - Mr. Landlord had already repaired the door, new shiny glass and everything - Mr. Whiskers turned up. He had clearly made up his mind about the door/glass issue, because he bumped right into the glass when he tried to get the cheese we showed him through the closed door. After that he boycotted our breakfast for a couple of days.
( RedWine President of the S.C.U.M., Fri 8 Jun 2007, 18:19, Reply)