The thing that gets me about mashed potatoes is the way that he goes for them.
He knows when we’re making food and usually works out pretty quickly if it’s something he’s going to like or not. Things containing fish are a good bet, for example, and various meats. Then there was something I couldn’t understand.
I don’t eat meat, there seems to be something in it which makes me throw up, certain types of fish do it too. I’m not sure what it is or why this is, but even things like eating an egg that’s been fried on the same griddle as bacon without being cleaned will have an effect. That sucked until I worked out what was causing it – no more fried egg sarnies on the way to work 
Anyway, I digress. Since I don’t eat meat, there’s often a lot of meals where Spenny knows that I have something, and will try to investigate it, but goes away disappointed. Except for a few. Quorn sausages and mash was the first I noticed this on. He would always stick around and wait despite my protestations that there’s nothing for him, but I didn’t know why. A little after that, my boyfriend has had a pie and mash, but not eaten all the mash which has been left in it’s container.
There was this … sound. So many things with Spenny begin with a sound, as I’ve mentioned before I have become attuned to things out of the ordinary. Usually I like to transfer these sounds to ASCII, but in this case it’s far too complex, so I’ll try to describe it; imagine the sound of an asthmatic suction pump that’s trying to suck up something that’s rather too viscous for it, but it’s making a damn fine effort at it anyway, and there’s an organic squelching component to it as well.
I turn around slowly, as the sound contains none of the usual Spenny-chaos hallmarks, and search for the source. My eyes settle on a black fluffy shape perched on boyfriend’s desk with it’s head in the container for the mash. It turns out it was indeed an organic suction pump, of sorts, and Spenny is well dug into the mash and completely oblivious to the outside world.
– “Watcha doing Spenny?”
– *schlurp* *schlurp*
– “Spenny?”
– (Looks up, irritated) “MEeeaaaooaarrr?” *schlurp* *schlurp* *schlurp*
– *poke* “Are you sure you’re supposed to be eating that, Spenny?”
– (Jumps off the desk and saunters off, offended)
Five minutes later he was back on the desk, imitating a suction pump once again.
Never mind the remains of the steak next to it, the mash is obviously where it’s at.
What I’m never sure quite where it’s at, is Spenny’s mind.
A little later, there’s a noise, gradually getting louder …
scr-scr …
scr-scr …
scr-scr …
scr-scr …
scr-scr ….
BANG
– “MRRAAaooooaaaaAAAAaaoooAAAAOOOooooo!”
– “Spenny, are you ok?”
– “mrrmrrbribribibribribib” (The sound Spenny makes running up the stairs)
He then arrived at the top of the stairs and came into the room to be rubbed.
Now he’s just lying on his back at the top of the stairs looking down them. I have no idea what happened either, but lying like that can only end badly.
