Tonkinese Food Critics
Well, it’s happened again. My cooking has been critiqued by one of the cats, and found to be inedible.
It’s like this. Every evening, as Jim and I sit down to dinner, one or more of the Tonks will sit patiently on the floor between us, looking for a taste of what’s for dinner. Sometimes they are patient, as I said, but occasionally they start clammering non-stop in high-pitched Tonkinese if we ignore them and simply try to eat our dinners.
Tonight Paddle was the only beggar, the other two still outside on mole patrole. I had prepared, from scratch I’ll have you know, a nice dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, mixed green salad and rolls. I thought it was lovely, could rival any nice Italian restaurant’s fare. Jim and I started eating, and Paddle began non-stop meowing, determined to know what we were eating. Now, just so you don’t think they beg because we deny our cats enough to eat, rest assured, they always have plenty of food in their bowl. It’s premium quality dry cat food, and whenever the bowl is near empty, we refill it. So they’re never starving, no matter that they might tell you otherwise.
I confess that even though they have their own food, we do give them bites from our plates to let them feel included in the evening meal - meat, chicken, fish, whatever. They have us well trained. We feel guilty when it’s vegetarian or pizza, since they don't like those things. Anyway, Jim obediently cut a piece of meatball for Paddle, sucked off the offending sauce, which he knows she won’t eat, and presented her with a nice, bitesized tidbit.
Here’s where it gets ugly. She gave the meatball a cursory sniff, turned tail and walked away. And Paddle is a little pig, who will eat lots of stuff that makes the others turn up their noses. Do you know what it feels like to have your cooking rejected by a cat? I suppose I should be grateful that I didn’t get their topmost rejection - which I have on many occasions - the leg shake as she walked away. If it’s something they think is gross, I get the 2-legged shimmy, or if it's really gross, an all 4-legged waggle. I kid you not! They turn tail, walk/run away, shaking their feet as if to rid themselves off even the smell of whatever revolting food I have served for dinner, prancing away in a kind of kitty jig.
There's more - the ultimate insult they offer. If they don’t like the smell of what we’re eating, they will try to “bury” it, right in front of me, pawing at the floor and covering the offending food with imaginery dirt.
Now, I have to assume, since they really are very smart cats, that this burying tactic is mime play-acting. They don’t really think there is any dirt there, they’re just saying, “Phew - this stuff belongs in the litter box. Better cover it up before it stinks up the whole house.”
So all I can say is, at least Jim will eat it.
It’s like this. Every evening, as Jim and I sit down to dinner, one or more of the Tonks will sit patiently on the floor between us, looking for a taste of what’s for dinner. Sometimes they are patient, as I said, but occasionally they start clammering non-stop in high-pitched Tonkinese if we ignore them and simply try to eat our dinners.
Tonight Paddle was the only beggar, the other two still outside on mole patrole. I had prepared, from scratch I’ll have you know, a nice dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, mixed green salad and rolls. I thought it was lovely, could rival any nice Italian restaurant’s fare. Jim and I started eating, and Paddle began non-stop meowing, determined to know what we were eating. Now, just so you don’t think they beg because we deny our cats enough to eat, rest assured, they always have plenty of food in their bowl. It’s premium quality dry cat food, and whenever the bowl is near empty, we refill it. So they’re never starving, no matter that they might tell you otherwise.
I confess that even though they have their own food, we do give them bites from our plates to let them feel included in the evening meal - meat, chicken, fish, whatever. They have us well trained. We feel guilty when it’s vegetarian or pizza, since they don't like those things. Anyway, Jim obediently cut a piece of meatball for Paddle, sucked off the offending sauce, which he knows she won’t eat, and presented her with a nice, bitesized tidbit.
Here’s where it gets ugly. She gave the meatball a cursory sniff, turned tail and walked away. And Paddle is a little pig, who will eat lots of stuff that makes the others turn up their noses. Do you know what it feels like to have your cooking rejected by a cat? I suppose I should be grateful that I didn’t get their topmost rejection - which I have on many occasions - the leg shake as she walked away. If it’s something they think is gross, I get the 2-legged shimmy, or if it's really gross, an all 4-legged waggle. I kid you not! They turn tail, walk/run away, shaking their feet as if to rid themselves off even the smell of whatever revolting food I have served for dinner, prancing away in a kind of kitty jig.
There's more - the ultimate insult they offer. If they don’t like the smell of what we’re eating, they will try to “bury” it, right in front of me, pawing at the floor and covering the offending food with imaginery dirt.
Now, I have to assume, since they really are very smart cats, that this burying tactic is mime play-acting. They don’t really think there is any dirt there, they’re just saying, “Phew - this stuff belongs in the litter box. Better cover it up before it stinks up the whole house.”
So all I can say is, at least Jim will eat it.
posted by Diane at 9:58:00 PM
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