I have said it before and I will say it again – we are never too old to try a new experience.
Bungee jumping? Run a
marathon? Take up the triathlon? Yes, yes, yes. Well, not me, obviously, but there must be someone who fancies such daring exploits.
I did something I have never done before. In short, to save you guessing, I bought cat food.
I know this disclosure will have excited all my cat loving friends
(of which I have many) and my eldest grandson, Jack, who would adopt every cat he sees – so I am sorry to disappoint by saying, categorically, that I have not become a Cat Lady. Mr B is quite enough for anyone to look after.
No, truth be told, one of my cat-loving friends has fallen ill. I called round to see if I could help out with some shopping – I was thinking, like, some ready meals, tins of soup, a Crispy Creme
doughnut or two, you know what I mean. But no, like all cat lovers, my friend was only worried about one thing – running out of cat food. As far as she was concerned, she could starve to death (she was, indeed, feeling Proper Poorly)
but the cats had to be fed.
So off I went to Tescos in some fear and trepidation. I took Mr B with me because, when the Giant Tescos Store first opened,
he carried out a Major Expedition exploring every aisle and noting its contents for future reference. If anyone knew where the Pet Food aisle was, it would be Mr B. He didn’t let me down.
Have you ever bought cat food? This is not a question for the cat-owners but for the rest of you. It is a mine-field. Who would have thought there was so much choice for the Puss Cat?
My friend had specified Whiskas 100g sachets in jelly so I thought I was home and dry till I started my search of the shelves. Here was a carton marked “Kitten”. Were Avril’s
cats kittens? How big does a kitten have to be before it can be considered no longer a kitten? I try to imagine Avril’s cats, most of whom I have met at one time or another. They have a habit of uncurling themselves from the arm-chair just as you are
about to sit on them. Accidentally, of course. They appear at the kitchen window when we are playing cards and pick their way, fastidiously, across the draining board, picking their paws up to avoid the coffee cups waiting to be washed up. I think it
is safe to say that all these cats are well past their kitten stage. This is not in any way, a criticism. I, too, am long past my Kitten Days.
Next my eye falls upon a range called “Senior”.
How old does a cat have to be, in order to qualify as a Senior? Given that, according to folklore (or, perhaps, cat-lore) a cat has nine lives, does it enter a period of seniority towards the end of each life or is it only in, say, its eighth or ninth life,
that it can be considered in its dotage? More importantly, are Avril’s cats Seniors or Juniors?
My head is starting to spin with the choices before me: a
poultry selection of duck, chicken, turkey versus fishy dishes of tuna, salmon, white fish and prawns versus meaty delicacies of beef, rabbit, chicken and lamb. I never realised it would be quite so hard...
Mr B, my White Knight, rides to the rescue. He grabs two cartons from the Multi-Buy Saver pile and stashes them in our trolley. Job done, his smug expression clearly says.
We deliver the Whiskas to Avril and I express my hopes that we have bought the right food. Avril doesn't seem too bothered.
"Oh, they'll eat anything," she says.
So now she tells me.