Friday, March 07, 2008
What are they feeding you?
Jasfoup lobbed a little more fresh trout at Gillian’s semi-feral cats, a morning ritual he’d come to enjoy, weather permitting. It was with some surprise that he noticed a fat tabby cat amongst the Egyptian Maus and squatted with hand outstretched, rubbing his thumb over his first two fingers. “Here, kitty,” he murmured, “fresh fishes for you to eat, yum yum.” He had a particular voice that he reserved for cats, for although he could speak their language, to do so would give them a superiority complex and mean they would never again bother to express their wishes by action. The tabby ambled forward, sniffed the proffered fingers and rubbed its head against Jasfoup’s hand.
“Good kitty,” he said. “You’re not fat at all, are you? Just very, very fluffy.”
He frowned as the cat sprayed the nearest plant pot, looked up at the half-dozen Mau queens and sighed. “And you’re a tom.”