Cats spend half their lives sleeping. Eating and sleeping – sleeping and eating. Sometimes snoring. Twitching. Scratching. Mostly sleeping. God forbid they get off their arses and actually do something. Like cooking. All these little monsters, AKA Convention of Furry Buggers, are mine. And they run me ragged. As soon as I let them in, they want to go out. When they’re out, they want to come in. Zara the Beautiful actually circles round the house as though it’s a game. Out one door and in the other. Get the human up. Sometimes I feel like the doorman. I should charge entrance. And exit.
My cats adopted me by colour scheme, a variation of black and white. So that they match. The eldest, Kanga, has an even dose of both, in patches. He is the least pretty but the most loved. Zara the Beautiful is all black with four white paws and a white collar – like a neck tie. Kori Korou, the youngest, is all white with a tiger tabby tail, ‘cat bonnet’ and ears. All those collars you see? They don’t exist anymore. My cats probably decided they looked stupid with collars. Expensive collars with expensive name tags. One lasted three months, the other two a couple of weeks. 120 euro flushed down the drain.
Food is another issue in our house. They all want a different menu – on each day, for each one.
Kanga the Manga (AKA tough guy) has no teeth. Well, he has three. He lost the rest a few years back. He got trapped in a basement for 23 days. I searched everywhere, put up posters, asked the local school kids, knocked on doors. Finally he came back, skeletal, a bag of skin and bones. His system had shut down. It took him 2 years to recover, and his teeth dropped out, one by one over time. Kanga gets the best stuff. Mashed up fillet of chicken and fish, minced beef ‘steak tartare’, and cat paté. Sometimes he swizzles around a few cat biscuits, nostalgic for the good old days of crackle and munch.
Zara doesn’t like fish. Her menu of choice is something salty, like gammon ham, grilled meat, tinned pork salted and jellied, Greek kefalotyri cheese and sausages. Human stuff. She’s not a cat. Kori Korou eats most things, But she’s young. Plenty of time to mutate into a demanding four legged freak.
The side serving of cat biscuits is a permanent feature. To complement the main course, of course. Only the girls have teeth for that. Kanga used to love it, before he became toothless, like Toothless in “How to Train Your Dragon”. They want the most expensive brand. None of the cheap stuff for this lot. The 10 other cheaper brands I tried by the bucket, and failed miserably to convince they were yummy? – generously donated by yours truly to every other cat hanging around my house. They too dream of the day they can adopt a human.