Oh, the stories I could tell!
We currently have three cats. Every cat I’ve ever had is a rescue.
One (Max) would never, ever stoop so low as to eat human food. He deems it as beneath his dignity. We ran out of wet food once and I tried to give him human-grade canned tuna. Nu.Uh.
The other two are nearly-identical-twin litter mates, Baba and Ghanoush. Every morning when I pour my coffee, these two make a sweet little semicolon and beg for cream. I keep cream in the house at this point only for this little cuteness display that starts my day.
Ghanoush has no interest in human food outside of his morning slurp of cream. Baba, on the other hand, is the biggest mooch and thief I’ve ever had! Every night he fishes something out of the recycle bin. He will steal anything I leave out to defrost. Sausages, chickens, pork roasts, sirloins…And he has no fear of water, so we can’t leave dirty dishes in the sink. He will go “fishing” and haul them out. He will soak himself head to toe in the process, but is always proud of his “kill”.
Previous cats over many years have also had some strange food choices. My beloved Daisy loved cucumbers. And she would gnaw on a celery stalk for hours like a dog with a bone. But if you brought rotisserie chicken into the house you were taking your life in your hands if you didn’t share. On her euthanasia day, I bought her one, and when she didn’t eat it, we went straight to the vet and said good-bye.
My parents’ cat from when I was a little tot LOVED scotch. We still recount the story of my dad (an original madman at Ogilvy) bringing his boss and a client to the house for a dinner party, and Samwise crawling down the big boss’s arm to lap at his glass of scotch. They got that account and he signed right then and there!
It was Kitten’s decision to ask me that day, which she had never done before, not the client’s request.
