Black Acid Betty. The Cattery. 2006
If you have been following this blog with any kind of regularity you will have gathered that I have an inordinate fondness for cats. When I am not molly-coddling those that deign to call me their own, I am pretty much at the mercy of a rather tenacious little feral gang that has set up camp outside my front door.
It all began as an act of kindness to a very starving little animal who exhibited the most delightful manners and graceful charm. I now run a daily 'soup-kitchen' for all manner of down-and-outs much to the horror and disapproval of my neighbors. Much of the time these little beasties dine on the leftover scraps from the 'Indoors Royal Dining Establishment'. What with the Indoors cats being of extremely superior taste and finicky palette, most of the time these second hand meals are fresh from the tin. Knowing this, it is no wonder that word has travelled far, that the line at mealtimes grows exponentially and that the cats are becoming increasingly intimidating.
Black Acid Betty. Untitled. 2006
An incident this weekend however, reminded me of what it is about cats that makes humankind's relationship with them such a paradoxical one. Either you love them or hate them. There is nothing lukewarm about one's feelings towards a cat. Money has been a little tight around Dark Knoll of late and this weekend in particular was a rough one. So while my husband and I eeked it out on a peanut butter sandwhich I simply could not explain to all the little souls standing at the front door with their begging bowls in hand, that there was simply nothing for them. So I fashioned a delicious meal from some ground beef and rice that I scrounged from a neighbor. On offering this wonderfully sustaining gruel to my little beggar family I was greeted with expressions of such horror and disdain that I could only but laugh! After a few minutes in which they stared at me intently, trying to figure out if this was maybe just a test of character, they stalked off tin cups in hand.
Not a single cat even tasted my gruel. If I peep out the window now I can see it still, coagulated and crusty. Every so often a fly settles on it and then hastily pushes off. I have yet to see one of the gang. I think my soup kitchen has been closed down for the interum until our finances allow us to offer a more reasonable fare!
Black Acid Betty. Love Cats. 2006
