Finickiness

I often think back fondly to a time when I visited my husband on one of his trips to LA, where occasionally he stays with an acquaintance of his.

A beautiful place in one of the LA canyons, with pool, and beautiful garden.

Didn't get to swim that time, as it was just a bit too early in the year and I wasn't up for a freezing dip.

This couple, a lovely English couple who have lived out in LA for quite a while now (didn't stop them requesting that I bring them a jar or two of Bovril, though), also have five cats.

What I remember best, is the evening I arrived, I watched as the woman lovingly prepared five separate bowls of cat food. She mixed some dry in with some wet, seemed to spend an awfully long time getting it just right, and I thought to myself, "is that how it is done, then?".

But what I found most gratifying, the recollection that pleases me most as I have been in the same situation almost nightly, is that once all the bowls had been carefully placed in the places that obviously each cat expected their food ... not one of them touched it. Turned their noses up, turned tail, and walked away.

Food that I gave Ginger the night before, that he scarfed down, is not to his taste the next day. The amount of cat food I scrape into the bin is shocking. After a bit you just have to give up on it, as it becomes inedible (even to a cat!).

The LA cats all seemed to like to drink from the pool, though ...