Tuesday, 25 May 2010

Cruisin for Cats

imageIgnoring for a moment the inevitable fleeting images involving owls and pea green boats, but I was thinking the other day (yeah, yeah, always a dangerous thing) that to save money and to save me from having to constantly keep trekking to the kitchen to feed them, I should send my cats off on a cruise.

The last time I went on a cruise (OK, the only time - bobbing up and down in stormy January seas off the Canary Islands), the food impressed me:

  1. There was yer typical breakfast that could be as full-English (and then some, as you wanted it - and my cats just love a bit of scrambled eggy.)
  2. Mid-morning elevenses were served out by the pool.
  3. A four-course lunch at 1.00.
  4. Afternoon tea and sandwiches and cakes ...
  5. At least a 5 course dinner.
  6. And, just in case you were still a bit peckish later, there was an all-you-can-eat buffet supper at around midnight.

To be perfectly honest, food-wise, any ONE of these meals in a 24 hour stretch would have done me, but since there's nothing much else to do at sea ...

This almost drip feeding routine would suit my cats down to the ground, with a little napping on the sun-loungers before the next chow time.

You see, once-upon-a-time, when these babies were little orphan urchins, taken in off the streets of the Canary Islands, they got (like all the other animals in my menagerie then) one meal of dry biscuits a day and were grateful for it.

Now they have me feeding them mushy food for breakfast, which they wake me up earlier and earlier for every day, usually starting around 6 am.

They queue up (if 2 can be called a queue), for another handout when I go to get my lunch at 1 pm, although one or other or both will probably have spent all morning following me about like a lost dog or begging for it already.

Heck, I can't even go to the bathroom without one, other or both.

imageIt's still more than an hour to dinner time, but there's a little lad here now, revving up his purr like a Harley with no silencer, meowing in curt tones and tapping me on the shoulder constantly to demand fud right now.

I shall make him wait until the regular time, but we'll have a repeat performance leading up to supper time in a couple of hours.

In other words, they now have me at their beck and call for 4 meals a day.

Yes, I keep reducing the quantity of each when the number goes up, but this is the only way I can keep them placated long enough to get some peace, save them destroying stuff in tantrums and avoid some nasty scratches.

Sending them off on a boat, even with plenty of money, seems like a pretty tempting alternative right now. What I wanna know though, is at what point did they stop being sturdy, capable African Wildcats to turn into typical spoiled, Westernised Ingrates? Is it something in the air or the water in Britain?

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