We've known since the beginning that Thor really wasn't a normal cat.
First, the way he came to us was strange: in late spring, during a raging thunderstorm, and right before a time in our lives when we really needed the unconditional love of a pet.
Second, his name: we gave it to him, granted, but who names a housecat after a heroic and incredibly masculine Norse god of the weather?
Third, his eating habits: I admit, even though I was dead set on never feeding him "people food", I have become the ridiculously over-indulgent squealing pet-owner who slides him nibbles of lunchmeat as I am making Ross a sandwich.
Thor has gotten to the point of exploring our kitchen in a new and fun (for him) way. If anything is in a bag, sealed, on a countertop, he firmly believes that he needs to chew the bag open and sample the contents. This doesn't apply to things that are interesting and crunchy, like potato chips and carrots. No, this applies to carbs. Pizza. Sweet buns. Jewish rye. Challah bread.
Hey, my cat is kosher!
Thor has done this at least five times. He'll nimbly leap upon the counter (when we're not home, of course), and with perfect little razor-sharp white fangs, he nibbles through the cellophane. In the case of a whole loaf of bread, each individual slice becomes a victim. I walked into the house a few weeks ago to find my delicious artisan marble rye bread all over the kitchen floor, with a kitten-sized nibble taken out of each and every piece.
Then, last night, Ross confessed as he was getting into bed, that Thor had taken his art of carb thievery to a new level. That little turd actually got into my purse, which housed a small bag of delicious, homemade chocolate chip cookies. He carefully - and apparently very quietly - gnawed off one end of the bag, selected a cookie, and began to eat it. Ross caught him in the nick of time and rescued the cookie...by eating it himself.
Like "father", like feline, I guess.