Kat the Cat is off her food.
I realise this is not the most exciting introduction to a post, but you have to work with what you’ve got, and I’m running on empty. Unless, of course, you’d rather hear specific details of what I’ve had to eat over the past couple of days. Or complaints about the weather. Maybe some sort of poem about coffee? No, wait – I’ve already done that.
Anyway, it is interesting, the cat thing. As long as you’re someone who defines ‘interesting’ as ‘doesn’t quite make me want to stop reading just yet’. Kat the Cat is a fussy eater, a problem that has only developed very recently – to be specific, when we returned home after staying with The Parents over Christmas. Apparently dried cat food and those disgusting-smelling pouches just don’t cut it once you’ve experienced glazed ham, turkey legs, and bacon-wrapped cocktail sausages with cranberry sauce and a glass of Shloer. I combined a stern tone of voice with an “eat what’s in your bowl or starve” attitude, and reluctantly Kat resumed her pre-Christmas menu. She used the old Peeing On The Cruel Owner’s Bed strategy as a form of retaliation, but I stood firm and normality was restored.
Until, that is, I returned from Tesco’s on Monday night with some sort of own-brand dried food instead of Go-Cat, having been scolded by The Sister for wasting money on brand names for an animal. Kat has not eaten since that moment, and I am beginning to get a little concerned (although, obviously, am not letting that steely exterior crack in front of the feline). She hounds me with her usual deranged mewing from the second I open my eyes until the food goes into her bowl, but the bowl is never empty any more. She then follows me around pathetically, howling like some sort of zombie but refusing to eat even when I top up the bowl.
“Look, there is food in your bowl, you stupid creature, would you just go and EAT it, arrrrrghhhhhh, my head is going to explode, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!!!” I said this morning in a gentle and loving manner, after falling over her for the hundredth time this week.
What to do, what to do? On top of everything else that I’m putting up with right now, I am not going to be dictated to by something that can’t even speak English. I just won’t, and that is that. The stand-off continues until one of us dies, or goes insane.
If only I could be certain that it won’t be me…