I suppose this is not without fault of my own: I only need to enter the kitchen to trigger alarm with the cat, wherever he is at the time. Initially, he’ll be monitoring the situation with one lazily lifted eye, but as soon as a chopping board and knife emerge, he’ll be on full alert.
He’ll come over and give periodic meow, approximately once every 5 seconds. Eventually, he starts making figures of eight, brushing against my legs to ensure that I shall not forget him entirely. I can show him a carrot or an onion for deterrent on rare occasions, but when red meat, white fish or seafood comes out, there’s no deterring any more.
I notice that his anticipation is building up to such an exciting level that he begins salivating at this point, frequently and audibly swallowing and licking his lips.
Thankfully he’s usually content with a small morsel, but he makes me roll me eyes, then laugh, every day.
- Pavlov’s Cat (mountainmae.com)
- Ivan Pavlov (russianloyola.wordpress.com)
- Pavlov’s Dogs (stevengoddard.wordpress.com)
- Cat in tumble dryer man jailed (bbc.co.uk)
So, London had its own whale. Great. Whale died. Bad. What do we now have instead? An 18m corpse and a farce: £300 in parking tickets for whale rescuers’ cars, and a corpse that no one wants. Classic kick-off is the Maritime Coastguard Agency’s statement that the whale was not its responsibility because it died on a barge rather than land. I wonder who’s next to deny responsibility and refuse to take charge.
Fortunately, the corpse will turn smelly and disgusting pretty quickly and a solution must be found. Burning and burying has been suggested. I guess it will spark an outcry to suggest making dog food or cat food, or anything similar of that nature.
A shame, really. When it comes to whaling otherwise, with the whales far away from our doorstep, we normally approve of the approach taken by the Inuit or the Native Americans or other non-industrial whalers: catch a few, and use them as a whole, so that the animal at least didn’t die in vain.