This Week: Persistent Paws Try To Steal My Bliss
I have a confession to make. My name is Vickie and I am a Crazy-Cat-Lady.
Every day my cat and I fall deeper and deeper in love. I don’t need an alarm clock as my cat ceremoniously paws me in the head at 6.30 every morning when he wants his breakfast. And I must confess that the privilege of going to the bathroom alone is all but a distant memory.
Yes, I admit it. When it comes to Cat-Lady-Craziness, I’m a few slices short of the full pie.
The object of my crazy affections? Dave the Cat, an astonishingly handsome marmalade tabby with the heart of a lion and a penchant for belly rubs.
And my Crazy-Cat-Lady issue this week? Chocolate.
When this Crazy-Cat-Lady isn’t busy cleaning up fur-balls or plotting ways to get Dave the Cat off her keyboard without causing massive, outrageous offence to his feline pride, there is one pastime that I like to occasionally indulge in that, if I was a cat, would make me purr with sublime satisfaction.
It’s selfish; it’s sweet; it’s satisfying. It’s a moment of exquisite pleasure, opulent indulgence and unquestionable delight…
While some of you are busy picking your minds up out of the gutter, I can reveal to the rest of you that I’m talking about wine and chocolate. Australian Shiraz and Green and Black’s organic milk chocolate with whole roasted almonds, to be precise.
It’s a cold fact of life that, apart from our cats, the blissful marriage of wine-and-chocolate is a Crazy-Cat-Lady’s best friend. In a world of wars, pestilence and litter trays, stealing a moment out of my Crazy-Cat-Lady day to ecstatically whoosh this sensual concoction over my yearning palate is one of the life’s great pleasures. It’s bliss. And it’s even better-than-bliss by candlelight.
It’s that good. I tell you, if this experience had a theme tune, it would be Mozart’s Magic Flute.
So, where does Dave the Cat come into this selfish scenario, I hear you say? Well the problem is this: Dave the Cat – despite all of his many irresistible attributes – is something of a porker. A hog, a glutton, a little piggy gourmand.
If it was up to Dave the Cat, life would be one massive, debauched feast of Roman proportions. He would breakfast on smoked salmon at around 5am. He’d then have a couple hundred grams of ham as a light snack at around 8am. By 10am he’d be pawing a tuna casserole and by noon he’d be tucking into a rotisserie chicken.
You get the idea; he’s a bit of a pig. And he’s absolutely shameless in his endless pursuit of culinary gratification. No bagel, no sandwich, no humble bowl of cereal is safe in my apartment. Everything – EVERYTHING – must be guarded, or he’ll be off with it in a flash.
Dave the Cat has no shame.
And whereas my heavenly wine-and-chocolate combination is not at the top of his epicurean list, he’s still keen to risk humiliation, scandal and a scolding to try to get his sticky little paws on my chocolate bar.
It’s almost as if it’s a sport for him; a hobby he indulges in just for fun. So, my moments of wine-and-chocolate nirvana are always rudely interrupted by the persistent paw of a gluttonous, brazen marmalade tabby cat.
But there is a moral to this tale of disrupted treasured moments of rapturous chocolate-and-wine bliss. And it’s something I’d like you to take a moment to consider if you have Easter eggs around the house this coming week: Chocolate can be toxic to cats.
Whereas few pussies have a sweet tooth, there are those – like Dave the Cat – who will still pursue chocolate with all the dexterity and deftness of a kitty-ninja. And those cats can get into some serious trouble at this time of year.
Chocolate contains caffeine and theobromine. These chemicals stimulate the heart and the nervous system, which creates a sense of mild euphoria in this Crazy-Cat-Lady, I can tell you. However, for felines it can lead to vomiting, abdominal discomfort, muscle tremors, irregular heart rhythms, seizures and even death.
So, my advice to all of you Crazy-Cat-Ladies and Crazy-Cat-Gentlemen out there? Be selfish with your chocolate this Easter. Keep it all to yourself and don’t cave in to psychological pussy cat pressure (they are masters of this, I know). You’ll need a will of steel, but it’s for the best, I promise.
Okay, I have to go now; I have lots of Crazy-Cat-Lady things to do.
Now, does anyone know where the corkscrew is?