2536. Cat’s meal time

They’ve given me Chicken Feast Classic pâté out of a tin. It’s for senior cats and I don’t know what makes them think I’m a senior cat. I certainly am not. I refuse to eat it.

They’ve given me instead Gourmet Natural White Chicken Meat out of a tin and it’s meant for kittens. I’m not a baby. I refuse to eat it.

They’ve given me instead some Gourmet Natural Trout & Tuna out of a tin. It’s what they gave me yesterday. I’m sick of it. I refuse to eat it.

They’ve given me instead some Gourmet Natural Wild Salmon & Shrimp out of a tin. What’s it with fish food? It’s much the same as yesterday. I refuse to eat it.

They’ve given me instead some Gourmet Natural Turkey out of a tin. One bite is enough. I’m half starved to death and yet I refuse to eat it.

What’s this? A slice of left-over chicken in the fridge from their meal last night? Now that’s delicious. I’ve already finished it but I want some more. I don’t care if there’s none left. I want some more.

I want some more.

I want some more.

I want some more.

I want some more.

I WANT SOME MORE NOW!

2493. Cat food

Stan was reduced to eating Clara’s cat food. Clara the cat had been almost twenty when she died. Given the price of things these days it seemed a waste of money to get rid of perfectly good cat food. Out of a tin!

Stan had always eaten well. Few things come out of a tin that are worthwhile, not even fish such as sardines or salmon are almost impossible to get fresh. He ate only fresh things so fish was off Stan’s diet. Besides it was rather expensive. Cat food out of a tin seemed repugnant. But food is food, and when one is out of pocket then necessity is the mother of invention. Clara’s tinned cat food. Yuk! Stan almost vomited, but he was hungry. Waste not; want not – especially these days.

After two days of eating the late Clara’s tinned cat food, Stan was beginning to develop a liking for it. It certainly was cheaper than the regular food that Stan usually had. The health benefits weren’t certain, but given the circumstances…

So Mervyn the cat lover decided to permanently feed his cat Stan the same stuff out of a tin that he had given Clara.

2111. A visit to town

Malcolm lived a good twenty minutes’ drive from town. He usually went into town about once every couple of weeks. It’s not that he was organized. Meals were planned while walking down the aisles of the supermarket. Pasta! Yeah, I think I’ll get some pasta. Rice! Yeah I think I’ll get some rice. Frozen fish cakes! Yeah! And so on.

On this particular day he arrived in town and there was no trouble finding a park. In fact, there were no cars. There were no people either. Everything was empty. Not a soul about. There weren’t any dead bodies or anything. Yet all the shops were open. One shop even had music playing: Fernando by ABBA. As if that would help a shopper buy shoes!

The experience was surreal; normal except no one about. Malcolm went into a takeaway and helped himself to a couple of chicken drumsticks and a bun. He made it his mission to go from food shop to food shop, and he chewed into fancier and fancier things. He plunged his teeth into the most fabulously decorated wedding cake. No knife! Nothing but teeth! It was not particularly nice. Too sweet! That sickly Marzipan.

He backed his car up to the main door of the supermarket and stuffed as much produce as could fit into every available space. And then he remembered something…

He had always wanted a tent. There would be no space in the car for a tent, so he drove to the Camping Store, selected an excellent tent, and pulled out a few things from the car to make space leaving a pile of produce in the car park.

When he got home he unloaded the car, packing things appropriately into cupboards and freezers. The tent he stored away to be used later in the summer.

What a weird but wonderful experience! He wouldn’t have to go into town for another six months. Brilliant! He hated going into town. Oh, blast! He’d forgotten to get cat food.

1706. The tale of two food bins

Imelda always noticed something about the two food bins placed at the exit to the supermarket. There was a bin for food for abandoned and hungry pets, and there was a bin for food for down-and-out humans. The bin for pet food was always bulging to overflowing. The bin for humans never had much; just the occasional can of soup or a packet of pasta.

Imelda had three children. Occasionally she would place something in the bin for needy pets. She usually did it when she had the children with her. She should lead by example. One should always be generous; not over the top, but generous nonetheless.

And then Imelda struck hard times. She had to go to the local soup kitchen and ask for food.

“Unfortunately we don’t have anything on the shelves,” they said.

So Imelda went to the pet rescue place and pleaded food for a fictitious cat.

(Dear All – Starting tomorrow – and for a week or so – I shall simply be posting favourite stories from this blog’s past. I’m currently bogged down with work. When a story’s numbering suddenly goes to 1707 then the original yarns will have recommenced!)

1503: Pet food

Florrie and Gordon Brawley had been married for just under eleven years. They both worked for a pet food company. Gordon was in charge of the meat grinder and Florrie was in charge of the packaging.

Their marriage was disintegrating. Gordon suspected that his wife had been having an affair with the pet food company groundsman. Why else was she constantly admiring his delphiniums? That was when she accidently slipped into the meat grinder. Gordon was unaware of what had happened until there was nothing of her that hadn’t been minced. In fact, to be honest, he wasn’t sure if she’d fallen in the meat grinder at all. She was there one minute and gone the next.

“If she had fallen in,” said Gordon, “there would be bits of cloth here and there in the dog rolls and cat sachets. There is not a skerrick of fabric to be seen.”

He continued to feed the animal carcasses through the grinder. “She’ll turn up somewhere before the day is through.”

At the end of the day’s work Florrie still hadn’t made an appearance.

“Perhaps she went home on a bus,” suggested Gordon. He set off for home alone. On the way he dropped Florrie’s clothes off at the St Vincent de Paul’s Used Clothing Store.

Florrie was the one who fed their three dogs each evening. Gordon would have to do it himself. And to think! Florrie’s last words that morning to Gordon were, “I’ll always make sure the dogs get fed if it’s the last thing I do.” Thank goodness he had remembered to bring home some pet food.