The Cat Who Loves Chicken

Updated: Dec 18, 2020

Maggie had been night shift and she was wakened by her tortie cat tugging at the covers. It was twenty minutes before the alarm was due to buzz. 'Twenty minutes of sleep lost,' she thought as she dragged herself out of bed. Tootsie (that's the cat's name) was hungry and Maggie knows what she wants; fried chicken and she wants it now. Maggie was sure that this cat was really a dog; she likes her chicken seasoned with paprika and a touch of salt, served in a small china dish that Maggie bought from the charity shop.

Maggie's daughter visited for the first time in months, because of the Covid travel restrictions, and she gasped out loud when she saw Tootsie. Over the last few months, Tootsie had acquired a paunch and she seemed to live for eating, as long as it wasn't cat food. Cooked ham, raw steak mince and most of all chicken.

Maggie worried that Tootsie wasn't getting all the nutrients she required from purely meat and she bought every different type of cat food, to no avail. Until she brought home the most expensive box of cat food she had ever seen. Bingo! Success at last, but only in the morning; evenings are for freshly prepared pieces of seasoned chicken breast, followed by a small amount of cat milk.One time Maggie tried to serve up chicken thighs, which were on special and Tootsie just looked at her and walked away in disgust. Hunger strike begins; Maggie left it there until the next morning, but no joy. Tootsie waits on her ridiculously expensive cat food to be served. She really taught Maggie a lesson that time, didn't she?

25 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

The demise of spaffer is a long haul; he doesn’t want to go at all. No longer in number ten, he can’t accept he’s a has been. Squatting at Chequers with all his pals, arranging titles to give them all

They’ll be here today, better get to work. Floors cleaned, beds made up; I can’t remember when I last worked so hard, for free-really, it not like me. Time to stop, have a cuppa, have a pee. The music

Hot June, hip Paris, hurrying and harassed, as we run to board the cramped and crushing metro carriage. And then, a voice from behind-‘Excuse me sir, but would you like to sit here? You look tired, an