The Whiskas Chronicles – No Hiding Place

Posted: August 10, 2009 in animals, Life, Spain, Tenerife, The Whiskas Chronicles
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There was a moment on Saturday night when I re-evaluated my belief that having children is more of a burden than having a cat… or, more accurately, a cat having you.

We were at a barbeque at our neighbour’s house. It was a sort of united nations affair where we were the only Brits amidst a small gathering of French, Spanish and someone who could have been Canadian French, or Canarian French – I didn’t quite catch that part. Shortly after we arrived, a noise on the roof of the alcove above the barbeque attracted everyone’s attention and we looked up to see a leering cat perched above the sizzling beef and lamb steaks.

Nicole, our neighbour, tried to shoo the cat away, but it simply jumped to the ground and legged it behind a hedge before emerging a few seconds later on the opposite side of the barbeque, ready for another attempt on its glistening prizes.

“I don’t know whose cat this is?” Nicole said, “But it is always coming around trying to steal food.”

“He’s ours,” I mumbled. “That’s Whiskas.”

I took a sip of wine and buried my head in my hands in embarrassment.

To be fair to Whiskas his eating pattern had been noisily disturbed. Our other neighbour had hired out her house for a christening and a huge bouncy castle had been erected in the garden. This freaked Whiskas who must have viewed it as some multi coloured monster which ate children.
From the position of his bowl on the front terrace he had a partial view of the monster so when it came to time for me to give him his ‘dinner’ before we went to Nicole’s, he was distracted by the orange and yellow beast to such an extent that he couldn’t eat. His untouched food was taken back inside the house for safe keeping – away from other cats in the area that weren’t quite as precious about needing a tranquil environment when dining.

By ten o’clock, the bouncy castle must have been taken down and Whiskas clearly had discovered his appetite again which meant tracking down the source of the nearest foodie smells and embarrassing us in the process.

After a few ninja attempts on the barbeque, it was obvious that Whiskas wasn’t leaving the area of his own accord. I apologized to everyone and with a deft manoeuvre, grabbed the cat and without further ado escorted him from the premises. Surprisingly, despite an initial bit of bitching, he didn’t make too much of a fuss.
I carried him back to the house, noticing that his purring was getting louder with each step. By the time we reached the house and I plonked his bowl of cat food in front of him his purr-o-meter was in overdrive and he lapped it up. I realised that this was what the disruption at the BBQ had all been about. As usual Whiskas had got the result he wanted.

I left him with his dinner and went back to the BBQ where Andy and I were finally able to relax and enjoy ourselves for an hour or so until Jerome, a Parisian student, tapped me on the arm.

“Jack, Jack, look.”

Sneaking across the roof again was an unmistakeable white shape with half a tail.

At least kids don’t scramble across the rooftops to follow you when you go out for the evening.

  1. Doreen says:

    reminds me of my cat baby who is a manx. she will follow me anywhere and clinbs everything. I love her but she is a menace! she has starting eating my food if I am looking elsewhere.

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