The Green Can

Most cats do not scintillate as conversationalists. Then there are the Carreras cats. They’ve been asked their opinion so often that by the time they reach feline adulthood, you wish that they’d shut their traps. There is certain jeopardy involved in asking Xenia ( Empress of all she surveys) about what she wants for supper. She’ll shoulder her way into the cabinet where the cans are kept, blocking your view, and declaim loudly about the low stock and lack of choice.

Variety and the avoidance of fish other than salmon, she claims, is a requirement. “please avoid that awful brand in the green can you bought last week. It tasted of sardines. I hate sardines.” The lecture continues becoming shriller and more petulant. The preponderance of the evidence she lays out is the usual stuff. Humans are incompetent, unable to complete basic tasks without oversight by cats, and next to dogs, the universe’s most imperfect creature. The shrieks and meoowrs continue until the last of the food (from the green can) are consumed.

“There,” you say,” was that better.” “purrrrrrrrr, meop!” ( you got it right, idiot!). I block her view of the can of “sardine tasting” food as I move carefully dispose of the empty. Just once in a while, you get to pull one over a cat.

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