They have now all stopped vomiting and are peacefully asleep.
Tis all my fault, you know; another of my well-meant attempts to see whether they would like to try something new to eat.
But these old boys are purrsitently loyal to their food brands (the two most expensive in the market) and I really must now give up worrying about it and just stick to what they know.
Of course, on days when one cat or the other doesn’t feel like one meal or the other – not so uncommon as they get older – one has to endure the reproachful stare. This induces temporary insanity in the human servant, and a compulsion to see if there is anything his majesty would like better. If we could ignore The Stare, and just say, ‘Well, maybe you’ll fancy the next meal,’ all would be well and the planet would not spin backwards.
Felix distinguished himself last night by being the first of the three to commit a ‘naughty’ act in the kitchen. He’d just been out, and on arriving back through the catflap he YOWLED as he usually does to tell us how lucky we are that he’s back.
Then the yowling got louder and began to take on that ‘I’ve brought you something nice’ tone that they have when they bring in mice or birds. I hastened in an elderly way to the kitchen and he was indeed crouched over something on the floor. MY sausages! (Thankfully still in a a bag.) They’d been on the worktop finishing their defrost before I cooked my tea. Felix was very hurt when I rescued them and hid them under a heavy lid.
Then when they were cooked he sat close to me and watched every forkful raised to my lips, while his big green eyes said – ‘I’ve only had three measly little meals today, you know!’
He’s a cat.