Cats can do smug like no other creatures on this planet – and my cat is better at it than most other moggies I’ve known. Right now, it was looking as if it had secured the copyright for the word (and the T-shirt franchise.)
Admittedly, it had some right to look smug: I’d left it to the greedy care of its baby-sitter, locked inside my Dutch apartment – and here it had arrived in Prague before me, while I had taken the fastest route possible to get here. Fastest for humans, that is. The cat had somehow managed to arrange a more speedy ride.
“You’re going to open that damn door?” the cat asked.
I opened the door.
“I’m hungry.” the cat said.
I walked through the hallway, shaking my head. This was so not the way I had envisaged my return to Prague. I unlocked the door to my apartment. The cat sneaked in before I had the chance to fully open the door.
“What a dump.” it said; “Where’s my food bowl?”
“In Holland”
“My Prague food bowl – you idiot. And I need a drinking bowl, and a cat flap and a litter box – a bigger one than in Holland, mind you: I’m sure the food here won’t agree with me… And while you’re at it… Hey! Where do you think you are going…?!”
“Out. If you need me, you can reach me somewhere in outer Mongolia.”
I didn’t stay away that long though. Tempting as it was to leave the cat without all its normal creature comforts, I was rather attached to my Prague apartment and I knew what a seriously miffed cat could do in terms of interior redecorating, if you let it on its own for too long.
So, I went to the nearest pet shop – luckily there are many of those in Prague – and bought the full set of ‘keep your cat moderately happy’ paraphernalia. Food & drink bowls, scratching posts, a bed, a litter box, some small play things. The lot. Then I bought cat food and returned to my apartment.
“What took you so bloody long?” the cat complained; “Let me smell your breath. I’m sure you’ve been in the pub!”
“Go fuck a duck.” I muttered, putting food in the cat’s new bowl.
“I heard that.” the cat said.”
“Good.”
“There are bunnies on that bowl.” the cat said; “I hate bunnies.”
“Tough. All the other ones had butterflies, or dancing mice.”
“Liar! I’m sure you bought the most disgusting bowl they had.”
“You know me so well.”
“And where do you think you’re going now?!”
“Out.”
“Bloody boozer!”
“Fucking felix!”
Outside, the sun was shining; about a hundred cellar bars and garden pubs awaited me within less than half a square mile. Life wasn’t all that bad – but for that bloody cat of mine…
Ah well, the next few hours at least would be a feline-free fun fest. I had money in my pocket, a good book, some notebooks & a few pens in my trusted plastic bag – and a major thirst.
Obviously, I was still wondering how that bloody animal had managed to arrive in Prague before I did but I knew it would have been a major mistake to ask.
Let the animal believe I didn’t care; then it would tell me soon enough, just to brag. Show any sign of curiosity though and it wouldn’t tell me in a million years.
Bloody cats.
(To be continued.)
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