Fine weather may have returned temporarily, but Muffin was not pleased.
The 5 choices of breakfast simply did not satisfy our delicate little flower.
“Is this all there is?”
“Then I’ll just do without”
she said sadly, turning her back.
What a pitiful sight.
“How can you eat while I sit here starving?”
(and staring at you!)
What happens next is one of two things:
Often when all choices have been refused, I later come upon our fussy miss grazing on all the leftovers as if she likes buffet-style dining or perhaps a mixed grill.
“Yeah. If His Nibbs hasn’t scoffed them!”
If Muffin turns away from all food, we pray for the production of a hairball. Hers are quite extraordinary given the dimensions of her tiny throat.
Grooming long-haired cats is a good idea to help avoid these issues but try telling that to the cat in question.
Likewise the administration of Laxatone or Petromalt that help ease hair through a cat’s system.
Mo, who was short haired, loved the stuff but our current crew behave as if it is offense to even suggest they consume such a substance.
So we pray for hairballs.
Since her great flirtation with fate last year when we prepared for the worst, Muffin has become much more engaging and now regularly seeks my lap.
She loves to listen to us talk and she reminds me so much of Yeti, my first dearly beloved Himalayan.
Yeti had the same sort creamy splash on her chin and the same laid back personality.
Luckily, Yeti did not have motion sickness, taking in the air journey to Seattle as just another adventure.
3’o’clock this morning saw me grovelling around on the floor, looking under chairs and sofas for Patches.
Grant and his reprobates had gone downstairs, shutting the door against Willow’s bad overnight habits. Patches stays with me till 10 when I must let her go to join the others. After her bedtime snack.
Last night she abandoned me early and did not appear for her snack or demand the door be opened. I could not find her.
Odd, but eventually I put my light out only to wake at 1 am, so then I looked again. No Patches. Knowing better than to be concerned, I never-the-less managed to wake again at 3 and this time I really searched.
All I found was a lot of dust bunnies but no cat. Maybe she’d gone downstairs with the others, earlier?
No. I knew that wasn’t right. Maybe Grant had come up and opened the door. Puzzled, I went back to bed and then heard Patches funny little noise.
“Here I am. Snack?”
How many times have I tortured myself over a lost cat?
They never are lost. Just absent.
So why do I conjure up images of my darlings lying somewhere in extremis?
It’s what we do.
“Hey, do you mind!”
I’ll get demerits for posting this.
An email came from my brother today, telling me that in Cyprus where he currently is, temperatures were expected to reach 45C/113F. His son’s family have been shivering in Sydney and Grant has been looking at pictures of snow in Johannesburg.
My phone tells of another flood watch while others have water shortages.
But climate change is not a thing.
My pal Tim has friends in Iceland who sent him images yesterday of people walking close to the current volcanic activity, even though they’ve been warned not to.
If they get into trouble will others have to risk their lives going to the rescue?
What is wrong with human beings?