It’s not easy being green, Kermit the frog sang long ago. No doubt having legs that makes millions of French mouths water isn’t much of a picnic either. Still, as far as I know, nobody knows or has ever recorded songs about the plight of your average cat owner – let alone the not-so-average-owner of a cat who gets from Holland to Prague faster than its plane-sailing cat food provider. And it wasn’t even as if the plane had been flown by some Stevie Wonder wannabe pilot who took the scenic route via Vladivistok or Sydney.

Anyway, so here I was in Prague again, which was great – and so was the cat; which, on the whole, was as welcome as Yeltsin’s knocking on Heaven’s door or George Bush posing for even more action shots in Iraq.

What made matters even worse was that the damn animal flatly refused to say how it had managed to get to Prague before I had done so. In other words, it had become time for desperate measures.

“What’s this?” the cat asked, looking like a guy who’d finally found out why the curry had tasted so weird, the last few weeks.

“The best pet food money can buy.” I assured it.

“It smells like shit.”

“That’s just one cat’s opinion. Millions of dogs love this crap.”

“You’re trying to feed me dog food? You want to kill me?”

“Weeelllll…”

“I’d rather starve to death than eat that stuff.”

“You know that old proverb?”

“What?”

Curiosity killed the cat. Well, I’m curious and till you give satisfaction in that regard, you will eat dog food or starve.”

“Blackmailing bastard!”

“Mutinous moggy!”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.”

“Finally…”

“It’s like this…”

(To be continued)

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