A way to a cats heart is through his stomach.....

I am a foodie, there is no doubt.
In fact over the past couple of months, what with my house being filled with my offspring- at least two of whom are hollow legged 6 foot plus lads- I have been SUCH a foodie that the minute everyone gets on the plane I am off to a Weight Watches meeting.
But I am quite forgiving of myself regarding this issue. Weight- fat- comes and goes with me, and for the most part I am healthy and happy, so that seems sufficient.
However fat is not the issue today.
Food labelling is.
And not just any food labelling, namely Cat Food labelling.
Because as well as having birthed 900 children, I have also acquired a rather large, rather bossy feline named Guinness who has a thing for being fed 6 times a day.
I do not blame the cat, by the way.
My apartment is not huge, and he does not have a garden to play in, so essentially the only entertainment poor old Guinness has to to sneak into hiding spaces involving black clothing and shed white hair and eat.
He does, of course, attack peoples legs in their sleep, scratch the walls and see demons in the night time like any self respecting house cat, but in the day it's all about being fed.
So feed him we do.
All of us.
Continuously.
And because there have been hordes of devoted cat lovers in the house for the past 2 months, and no one has the where with all to ask around, Guinny the nagger has managed to eat his way through several hundreds of tins of pussy-cat delicacies, which brings me to my point.
I have in my hand- I lie not- two small cans of something called 'Fancy Feast Elegant Medleys'.
The colour of the tins alone drew them off the shelves and into my shopping basket.
They are a kind of jewel like turquoise-blue/green.
If they made earrings this colour, I would wear them. If men had eyes this colour, you would marry them.
Princess Diana herself never wore a colour this delicious.
The colour of these tins of cat food make my kitchen look expensive, like an interiors special in Vogue Magazine.
Then there is the label.
Fonts that scream 'quality' in colours that offset the pressed metal replete with a picture of fluffy white prize winning pussy-cat. The kind of cat you KNOW doesn't shed on your black clothes.
The kind of cat that would rescue you from a burning house, and then sit patiently crying tears of love into your parched throat until the paramedics arrived.
The type of cat that talks.
Actually talks.
Words.
But none of this means a jot when it comes to what's inside.
You see, pet food is no longer just Pet Food.
I am holding two cans as mentioned.
The contents of one are 'Wild Salmon and Egg Souffle and Garden Greens'.
The other?
'Yellowfin Tuna Tuscany in a Savory Sauce with Long Grain Rice and Garden Greens'.
That's right.
My cat eats better than I do.
He eats better than you.
He eats better than 99 percent of the human population, which is why, right under the name of the brand is a sticker that in 2 languages reminds us that this is 'Pet Food Only'.
NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION !!!!
You are simply not good enough to eat this food.
You are lower down on the food chain than your cat.
It's official.
Oh, I have eaten such delicacies, I have.
In restaurants, where I have paid a pretty penny.
Chefs have made me meals that sound like 'Tuscan' and 'Souffle'.
But not EVERY DAY.
Not available from a can.......
A pretty can that is nicer than my clothes.
Somehow I feel that we may have skipped a few steps when it comes to feeding our pets.
They are there for companionship, and to be useful right?
In theory, cats are in our homes to catch rodents, although the sight of a mosquito sends Guinness to his hiding spot under the bed, and forces me to call his therapist for a 'talk down session'.
Souffle vegetables and hint of Yellowfin have made our pets soft and given them an inflated sense of self.
Most cats these days could not identify a mouse from 5 inches away, but can recognise the ingredients in a 'Duck Mousse' from 500 feet.
And will reject same if they suspect the duck is not organic.
As they should, and I would too. If I had the palette.
Or the opportunity.
So there-in lays the rub.
I am a sad poor cousin in the foodie department to an animal whose sole purpose is to eat and sleep and attack fantasy feathers in his dreams.
I need a better owner.