Cats seem to be a theme with writers: there is a long list of them who had them as pets and who wrote about them. My family always had them, and although I do like dogs, if given the choice, I’ll choose a cat every time. They seem to have a stronger personality than dogs.
There is a black and white cat at the hotel where we’re staying and he seems to know how to tug on the heart strings of women who love cats and have ordered the catch of the day at the hotel’s restaurant. Yesterday afternoon I saw a woman feed him a French fry (I was puzzled by this, as she was having fish and chips and the cat was probably hoping he would get the former).
I always want to give him some fish or other seafood from my plate (I know for a fact that cats have a thing for coconut shrimp), as when I don’t, he looks at me with pleading yellow eyes and meows longingly as he watches me eat. The Angry Chef insists this is not prudent as the sauce and Bajan spices in the dish will probably make the poor cat sick.
Having once fed a cat some Calabrese sausage from a pizza because he wouldn’t stop meowing (or watching me eat), and having been there to witness the results, I decided not to feed the monochrome cat.
It took about five seconds for The Angry Chef to put the pizza story together with my third trigger word and declare the cat’s name was now Chunders. Chunders The Cat, he thought, had a nice ring to it. I would have agreed with him, but I was using what little breath I had left to laugh myself silly. As I still do when The Angry Chef walks into the restaurant and asks me nonchalantly if I think we might be seeing Chunders The Cat.
Don’t ask me why the word Chunders became my third trigger word; as I explained previously, some things just happen for no particular reason. But I’m going to hold on to the idea of Chunders The Cat (I’m giggling as I write this) in case it might develop into a new story. I’ll keep you posted.
Thank you for reading, and have a fantastic weekend!