I’m Dumpty, a Himalayan Lynx and I have been a resident here at Tom Cat Towers for eight years now. I have noticed what a very tight ship my human, Maid, runs. Human food-wise there is not very much waste. Portions are tightly controlled. However, left over cat food is something she has no control over as I am princess picky pants when it comes to food and my two house mates have a happy knack of deciding something is so delish that they can’t possibly live without it. Maid then clears the shelf of the said product in the supermarket only for it to be just sniffed at then abandoned next time.
Maid also does haggle hard (she has no shame) and bulk buys, which is good in an odd way as we do have many garden guests who roll up at Tom Cat Towers at various times of the day or night just looking for a free feed. Judging by the number of guests we have I think that the feline telegraph has rattled out the word that it really is fine dining here at Tom Cat Towers.
These guests have become regulars, so much so that with some of them you can set your watch by the time they arrive.
Maid is on a very tight budget, so feeding these waifs and strays started off with the very strict rule that they would only have the scraps that the resident cats here didn’t eat. If there were no scraps available that day, then the garden guests would go hungry.
However, Maid is rather soft in the head, and now purchases fancy French and Swiss cat food from the car boot. £3.00 for a case of 12 tins. She also buys six sachets for £1 in discount shops. I must admit I turned my nose up at these to begin with, thinking that as they were so cheap they would be all entrails and arteries. I was wrong, they are rather posh branded stuff from supermarkets across Europe.
Thus the word is spreading further like ripples on a pond as more diners are arriving on the patio of Tom Cat Towers with empty tummies and appealing faces looking for a more upmarket dining experience than scraps thrown out on neighbour’s lawns. If no food is forthcoming, then they hang around under the Leylandii bushes looking pitifully into the lounge hoping the glass door will open and a plate of exquisite vitals will be placed on the patio. The more demanding guests will come right up to the glass patio doors, stand unashamedly on the sill drooling and staring right in at Maid until she gets the message.
The garage now has a supply of cat meat tins, sachets, kibbles, 25kg bags of seeds and fatballs. It is like a well quartered garrison.
I do enjoy sitting in the sunshine which washes through the patio windows and watch the comings and goings on in the garden. I have also started to note that our diners can be plonked into various categories.
Here are my observations of Restaurant Like and the diners who frequent Tom Cat Towers.
Dumpty