Friday 24 October 2008

Meals at the school of life



Everyone knows that food is the way to a dog's heart. In my case, at the age of 98, sleep comes a close second. Any sensible cat, even the most laid-back of characters, should deduce that to get in the way of either is unwise or at the very least risky. The cat to which I am referring, Marmaduke (a.k.a. The Ginger Ninja, Marmers, Marmeodukio) either doesn't realise the danger or is just too cool to worry about it. It's getting beyond a joke. First, it was my food and water bowls and I should have put my paw down there and then. But I didn't and the next thing it was my bed. I told myself that I didn't care too much because I only sleep in there occasionally and the housekeeping has been a bit slack of late meaning that my covers are rearranged as often as they should be. And so, with the dark, cosy, winter evenings drawing in, I follow my humans and add an aesthetic element to their enjoyment which would be otherwise absent. After all, I have that look about me; the sleepy dog, curled up in front of the fire (even though it's not on because of the credit crunch - I thought it was a new type of biscuit but it turns out they're saving money - gosh, humans are boring) and if I'm lucky they might toss me a treat. They're a busy lot though and I have to stay on the ball, move from one room to another whilst remaining companionable, calm thus ensuring the optimum position for being rewarded for my efforts.

Therefore, it is getting a little irritating when Marmaduke insists on curling up with me just about anywhere I care to rest. Sometimes he stretches out, does weird cat stuff with his sharp nails which keep going in and out. What's that all about? He's a big cat but there's no denying the obvious difference in our make-up. I know I have to be gentle; I've tried the odd nibble in a friendly sort of way, I've even almost accidentally bitten off his head when he's got in the way of one of my yawns. But still he comes. My new best friend. Or maybe he thinks we're related. Who knows what's going on in his head? I hope that I don't find out in the literal sense ....