While Irene was still shaking from fright, out sauntered Timbo, who gave her a contemptuous look, as if to say, “How can a fellow get any sleep around here, with all of this racket going on?” then casually strolled out into the corridor.

Of course after sleeping a cat’s favourite pastime is eating.

Timbo was only a few months old when he discovered that cat food came out of cans.   So naturally, for the rest of his life, he assumed that all cans contained cat food.   He would rub around our legs yowling for his share whenever we opened cans of beetroot, coffee, or tinned peaches.   And he would almost bowl over our young nieces and nephews in summer if they dared to open cans of Pepsi or Coca Cola.

Then, of course, he would give them a dirty look if anyone actually put any Coke or Pepsi into his milk bowl.

And there were other things Timbo did not like to eat.   To cut his food bill, mum took to buying giant, economy sized boxes of dried cat food.   The only problem was that they took a long time to empty and quickly went stale after the box was opened.   And naturally the King of the Cats would never eat stale kitty bits.   So mum bought some cheap clear plastic containers to empty the cardboard boxes out into.   This way the cat food kept fresh until it was eaten.

Unbeknown to my brother David, mum kept other foodstuffs in similar canisters.   One night he was getting himself a midnight snack and Timbo was making a nuisance of himself, rubbing round David’s legs, demanding his share.   Sensing that Timbo would not really like peanut butter sandwiches, Dave started looking round for some kitty bits, not knowing that we had run out of them.   Finally he located a canister in an overhead cupboard and tipped a generous helping into Timbo’s food bowl and was amazed when Timbo took one sniff, turned up his nose in disgust, then went back to yowling to be fed.

It was only then that Dave took a close look at the canister and saw that it was not kitty bits that he had tipped onto Timbo’s plate, but a large supply of raisins.

Another thing Timbo definitely did not like was lemons.

Being the one most prone to colds in our family, I spend a great deal of winter squeezing lemons to make myself lemon drinks.   And naturally Timbo would rub around my legs, demanding his share.   One day I was too sick and miserable to put up with his antics.   So, after squeezing a lemon, I held the empty rind down to Timbo’s face and pushed his head into it, forcing him to taste it.

From then on Timbo gave me a wide berth whenever he saw me squeezing lemons.

Of course all cats possess an uncanny ability to know when people are cutting up raw meat.   Timbo could be outside with all the doors and windows shut, yet in minutes of mum starting to cut up good steak, he would be at the door yowling to be let in for his fair share.   The only problem was that Timbo could eat faster than mum could cut, so he always seemed to get much more than a fair share.

Sometimes mum would put up with his yowling for as long as she could before letting him in.   Only to find that he took one sniff at the meat, then turned tail and headed back outside.

“That’s good rump steak, you wretch!” mum would say.   “Good enough for us to eat!” Timbo would stop in the doorway and give her a withering look, as if to say, “Just because it’s good enough for you humans, doesn’t mean that it’s good enough for a cat!”

Like all cats, Timbo never liked any cat food very long.   Mum would give him a new type of cat food and he’d gulp it down eagerly one day, unable to get enough of it.   Then the next day he’d take one sniff, then head outside in disgust.   When Timbo was eight years old, there was a new pet food released, called “My Dog”, with which they gave a money-back guarantee that your dog would eat it.   My sister Christine was quick to point out, “They’re smart to stick to dog food.   Because if they ever brought out a product called “My Cat” and guaranteed your cat would eat it, they’d go bankrupt in under a month!”

THE END