…which I did. From the Cat Box Hyper.
A brand I hadn’t seen before, but which had glossy packaging (akin to the packs of Whiskas and Friskies alongside) as well as some nice words in the blurb about how cats will benefit from it.
Haha. Tell that to my cats.
First meal was served.
Cat #1: What is little stones in bowls?
Cat #2: Little stones looks like foodies but gots no smell.
Cat #1: She looking at us like she done somethink special.
Cat #2: Why?
Cat #1: Dunno. Go on, tastes it.
Cat #2: TASTES IT? I don’t eats stones!
Cat #1: Don’t looks at me! Is just a suggestions.
Cat #2: [tastes a piece] What in beelzebub’s hell is this??
Cat #1: Bad, huh? [long pause] HAHA! Looks at your face! *rolls off feeding table in glee*
Cat #2: This is grossestness!
Cat #1: Imma going outside to catch a bird. If you won’t eats it then it must be bad, fatty.
Cat #2: Harhar. Very funny. You think she serious that this must be foodies for us?
Cat #1: [exits catflap without replying]
Cat #2: [perseveres with eating, but continues to give the death stare to the lady of the house; eventually gives up after lady goes out in her car] OK, bitch. Time for payback…
Cat #2 got his revenge. He puked right where I open my car door inside the garage.
The standoff lasted two days. In that time, I got baleful stares. Meows. Grumbles. Supplications of pretend-love and purring. The food in the bowls never even went low enough for the bottom to be revealed.
Eventually, my daughter said we have to surrender and buy the crack-for-cats. Whiskas. In whatever flavour, but it must be Whiskas.
I hemmed-and-hawed…until I reversed my car out the garage and saw Cat #1 busy torturing a hapless dove to death, in order to get some Real Food in his tummy.
White flag was waved. Off to Checkers to buy a large pack of Whiskas.
I came home, and their kitty-nasal-radar-sixth-sense wotsit obviously blared out over the suburb. Two cats into the house like furry barracudas…one purring as if I was The Cat Goddess of Goddesses, and the other staring at me from the counter as if to say, “Don’t try that again, if you value your life and possessions”.
However, I work on compromises. The Whiskas has been mixed in with the little-stones-from-hell so that they have to eat it all together. So far, there’s been no complaint.