Over the past
month, cat Leo has been subjecting me to emotional and mental abuse of such
magnitude that I am begging for bamboo splinters to be inserted under my nails,
just to relieve my agony.
It all escalated
when he started vomiting rather regularly. Now given that he eats 20 meals a
day, the statistical probability of an on-the-carpet upchuck episode was
getting increasingly favourable. There were no other symptoms and I was about
to take him to the vet when my wise sister paid us a visit and shed light.
Apparently
all these high science cat foods on the market contain protein that is so
altered in the laboratory that if they are eaten exclusively by the said feline
over a long period of time, the cat eventually can no longer digest the food
properly and the consequences are deposited on the rug.
Change his
food said my sister, which I did.
Problem was
that Leo liked – a lot - the food that was making him ill and I began tempting
him with all the other brands of food on the market. He didn’t like this one, no,
that one was just sniffed at, the one in the silver package got the one-eye,
the one in the red package generated a look from Leo that said – you having a
laugh aren’t you? And so it went.
Then I
finally found one. Yes, yes, gimme, gimme, fill the bowl up purred Leo. By this
stage I had learnt my lesson and I bought no less than three mini trial packets
of this food. Leo downed the lot and even better, kept it down. My problem was
that it was fish flavoured and boy, was it fishy. Pour a cupful into his bowl
and within minutes the whole room was filled with an aroma that was not Channel
number 5 – more like Billingsgate on a very hot afternoon. And of course
because of the cat’s bizarre eating habits, the bowl had be kept topped up all
day which essentially just stank the house out. But hey, he loved it and he was
thriving.
Job done I
thought happily as I ordered a 10kg bag which set me back almost £60.
The bag
arrived and I held my breath as I opened it up and poured out the first
bowlful. Leo was wittering away at my heels. Ignoring my nausea, I scooped him
up and put him face forward in front of his bowl.
He looked
into his bowl and then said, nay, don’t wanna it.
So now I am
sitting at my desk wondering if I could get away with wrapping the 10kg bag in
Christmas paper and delivering it to someone I really don’t like.
Begs the
question of what I get Leo for the next meal, which is due in about 19 minutes.
Given what he has put me through and the plethora of mice out in the fields, I am
tempted to suggest to the cat that he gets off his backside and goes and gets a
take away.
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