“Lunch? Did somebody say lunch?”
Actually, today there was no such announcement!
“Mummy’s cupboard” remained closed!
“We’ll see about THAT!” said Dee Dee
“Reduced to filching bird seed” moaned Tinks
“Fatso got his grub. So where’s ours?” asked Willow
“Oi! Who are you calling Fatso?” “Watch your manners!”
Oh, the poor little things.
When lunch is late they turn on those looks…
…or they collapse, weak from starvation…
“Ah! It’s all too much!”
“Even His Rotten Nibbs that swears at us gets a meal!”
“then struts off like Lord Muck!”
What a ghastly state of affairs.
It’s really not so bad. I can take a hint. Besides I needed a cup of tea. Just what was going on in the catering department this morning?
Truth is, I had a feeling lunch would be late.
Grant came home yesterday with the makings of curry and I had heard the rattling of pots.
Additionally, he had called out to me:
“Where’s my red pot?”
“In the fridge with leftover pasta.”
Pretty soon spicy odours were easing out last night’s sausage odours.
While I have been vegetarian for over 30 years, I try not to make a nuisance of my choices, so of course I don’t expect my housemate to alter his diet because of my sensitivities.
By which I don’t mean that it freaks me out to have meat products in the fridge. I simply avoid looking at them.
What I am sensitive to is cooking odours. I don’t know if other vegetarians react as I do, or if it is just another way in which I have become annoyingly super-sensitive to just about everything. Anyway, it’s not important.
But I knew that Grant was cooking and that it meant that cat lunches might be delayed.
But not for long.
Surely you didn’t think I would ever let the little darlings go hungry?