JoeyWalnuts
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Nov 25, 2008
- Posts
- 102
It comes down to a battle of wills. I have this cat named Peanut, and she is old and set in her ways--much as I am. The most recent challenge is her opinion that dry cat food is for the lower class cat. I often believe that she watches way too much television and those commercials encourage your cat to have hissy fits about not getting Fancy Feast made with real lobster bits, or filet meow made with Kobe beef. So it begins the battle of wills.
A very good friend, a woman who is wise to the value of coupons to a fault, managed to obtain a sampler pack of these delightful good to eat cat meals and gave it to me. I, being male and thinking “cool, free cat food”, didn’t realize what was going to happen. When I opened the pouch and poured the meal into a dish I was immediately set upon by the cat. She is tried to climb up my leg to get this food. It must of smelled good to the cat, stronger than catnip perhaps they put something in it. To me it smelled like stink bait left in the trunk of a car for 3 days in 100 degree weather. I detached her from jeans and set the plate down and she began devouring it. I got a beer and headed for the recliner.
I stretched back took a sip, turned on some music and closed my eyes. Now I can appreciate the fact that she was pleased with me for finally doing something right and wanted to thank me by doing the kiss the nose of the guy who gave me this yummy food, but. . . Her breath, now reeking of 3 day old 100 degree stink bait, left nothing to be desired. I insisted she step down and every time I put her down and closed my eyes she was back until she finally settled on the back of the chair.
I gave up and fell into a nice slumber. It was great nap till the cat farted. Oh my God! I thought it was bad before but it was worse now. I sat straight up as the hairs in my nose began to smolder. Both eyes teared up to the level of sightlessness. My stomach knotted and threatened to void itself of all content. I had to leave the room.
I made my way to the kitchen and paper toweled my eyes dry. She followed me, sat on the floor in front of the cabinet with the yummy 3 day old 100 degree stink bait and meowed. I told her, “No, you’ve had some,” and immediately thought I should give this crap to the dog; he can share his farts with the terrorist squirrel that lives in the tree above him. It was then when she opened the cabinet. Not a new trick by any means but once again a battle of wills. I close the door, she opens it, I close it again. It goes on.
Day 2 of the now kitty hunger strike. . .
Every time I go in the kitchen she is staring into the open cabinet looking at the box with large fluffy pug nose cat with the Cheshire smile. She cries out for me to open another stinky packet but I pour her a bowl of dry food and give her fresh water. She ignores it while staring at the Cheshire cat.
Day 3 she is irate. Her once melodious meow is now a guttural growl. She is like a drug addict pining away for one more pouch. Intervention is the only way, I stick my hand in the cabinet pulling out the stink bait as she cries in a pitiful voice, “meow precious” . I should have never let her watch “Lord of the Rings” with me. I take it outside leaving her behind, her tiny kitty nose pressed against the door screen. I open all 3 packets and give them to the dog who apparently also likes the smell of 3 day old 100 degree stink bait. He ate it in two bites and smiled at the cat while the terrorist squirrel eyed me with malice.
As I enter the house there is disgust in her eyes. I freshen her water and shake the dry food. She opens the cabinet and stares at the now empty space. Later as I walk past the kitchen door, I notice she has lowered herself to the working cast of cats and is begrudgingly eating dry food. She looks at me and turns a tail to me giving me the brown eye.
The next day as I hurried through my morning routine, rushed as usual. I slipped on my shoes only to find a present from the cat. I threw away my socks, tossed the shoes in the trash and I saw her sitting in the door way. I swear she was smiling.
A very good friend, a woman who is wise to the value of coupons to a fault, managed to obtain a sampler pack of these delightful good to eat cat meals and gave it to me. I, being male and thinking “cool, free cat food”, didn’t realize what was going to happen. When I opened the pouch and poured the meal into a dish I was immediately set upon by the cat. She is tried to climb up my leg to get this food. It must of smelled good to the cat, stronger than catnip perhaps they put something in it. To me it smelled like stink bait left in the trunk of a car for 3 days in 100 degree weather. I detached her from jeans and set the plate down and she began devouring it. I got a beer and headed for the recliner.
I stretched back took a sip, turned on some music and closed my eyes. Now I can appreciate the fact that she was pleased with me for finally doing something right and wanted to thank me by doing the kiss the nose of the guy who gave me this yummy food, but. . . Her breath, now reeking of 3 day old 100 degree stink bait, left nothing to be desired. I insisted she step down and every time I put her down and closed my eyes she was back until she finally settled on the back of the chair.
I gave up and fell into a nice slumber. It was great nap till the cat farted. Oh my God! I thought it was bad before but it was worse now. I sat straight up as the hairs in my nose began to smolder. Both eyes teared up to the level of sightlessness. My stomach knotted and threatened to void itself of all content. I had to leave the room.
I made my way to the kitchen and paper toweled my eyes dry. She followed me, sat on the floor in front of the cabinet with the yummy 3 day old 100 degree stink bait and meowed. I told her, “No, you’ve had some,” and immediately thought I should give this crap to the dog; he can share his farts with the terrorist squirrel that lives in the tree above him. It was then when she opened the cabinet. Not a new trick by any means but once again a battle of wills. I close the door, she opens it, I close it again. It goes on.
Day 2 of the now kitty hunger strike. . .
Every time I go in the kitchen she is staring into the open cabinet looking at the box with large fluffy pug nose cat with the Cheshire smile. She cries out for me to open another stinky packet but I pour her a bowl of dry food and give her fresh water. She ignores it while staring at the Cheshire cat.
Day 3 she is irate. Her once melodious meow is now a guttural growl. She is like a drug addict pining away for one more pouch. Intervention is the only way, I stick my hand in the cabinet pulling out the stink bait as she cries in a pitiful voice, “meow precious” . I should have never let her watch “Lord of the Rings” with me. I take it outside leaving her behind, her tiny kitty nose pressed against the door screen. I open all 3 packets and give them to the dog who apparently also likes the smell of 3 day old 100 degree stink bait. He ate it in two bites and smiled at the cat while the terrorist squirrel eyed me with malice.
As I enter the house there is disgust in her eyes. I freshen her water and shake the dry food. She opens the cabinet and stares at the now empty space. Later as I walk past the kitchen door, I notice she has lowered herself to the working cast of cats and is begrudgingly eating dry food. She looks at me and turns a tail to me giving me the brown eye.
The next day as I hurried through my morning routine, rushed as usual. I slipped on my shoes only to find a present from the cat. I threw away my socks, tossed the shoes in the trash and I saw her sitting in the door way. I swear she was smiling.
A happy cat is a happy home. And that Friskies silver tabby is a terrific actor, btw!
