Or anything on a dish. Chicken, meat, butter, chocolate cake with sprinkles and icing. The cat will eat anything.
And he does. Leave nothing uncovered. He’ll get into it. Don’t drop crumbs! He’ll hoover them up with his whiskers.
I’ve lost count of the times I’ve bundled him up, still licking his chops, and thrown him out into the garden.
What is wrong with him? He never used to do this. One stern look and away he’d run.
Have I lost my touch? Where has my authority gone? All he does now is prance about on the countertops with a chicken drumstick hanging half out of his mouth, daring me to tell him off.
Little does he know it’s his annual injections next week. He’s got to make the awful, perilous journey 5 minutes down the road to the vets, sitting in the wicker ironing basket with a blanket over the top.* He’ll miaow pitifully all the way.
I’m not even going to murmur sympathetic loveliness to him.
That’ll show him who’s boss.
*This is because I’m too mean to buy a proper cat basket. It works perfectly!
PS: If you have any ideas of why the cat is behaving so badly, do let me know. Is he lonely do you think?
PPS: Update: I decided not to run away with the circus to help in the refugee camps – yet. I hope I will another time. I did apply, and got as far as being invited to the training week. Yay! But the practical logistics of getting to that week, as well as fulfilling all my responsibilities here, made me wince a little bit. Maybe there will be another time when everything is more easily achieved, and I can help without neglecting my own people. In the end, I decided to keep sailing along in my own life instead, for the moment. I’ve got lots of ideas for how to do that this Autumn, and there are flowers blossoming in my hat.
Feels good. Thanks for all the advice and encouraging messages – from friends and internet friends. You’re great. xx