Thursday, October 16, 2008
After returning to the neighbourhood from English lessons I was too late for the corner shop and even too late for the other corner shop. I was ravenous.
The cats were catered for as there was plenty of the outrageously expensive food I buy for them. They ate contentedly while I systematically probed the refrigerator for something to sate my hunger. Nada. Equally, the kitchen shelves, while hardly bare, promised only dried pulses, farfalle pasta, a sad motley assortment of Asian condiments and a tin of green beans that has maintained its current position for two years.
And then I spotted it. Thank you Damon, ex-flatmate and procurer of fine German food stuffs. Lyoner canned meat from die Schwarzwald. Over the years I've learned that the Teutonic peoples manufacture all manner of excellent product. Cars, whitegoods and a lot of wurst.
The tin winked and gleamed and flirted with me. Greedily I snatched it. Within an immeasurably short space of time I'd defeated the ring-pull and was devouring the can's contents. In between mouthfuls the phone beckoned.
Naturally, I left the can long enough for my cat to wander onto the scene. Whilst I chatted with someone I can't remember about something no doubt of little significance, Kebap savoured the finest Bavarian fare in the town. He wasn't even hungry. And he didn't even bother with a spoon.
Still gabbling, I returned to the kitchen and resigned myself to sharing the wurst. I kind of spoil my cat. In turns we both ate from the same spoon, since if I was going to catch something unpleasant from my cat it would've happened long ago. Besides, I already scratch more that he does.
And, in our quest to get as much of the quality German victuals down our respective gullets we failed to notice our elderly neighbours looking down on us from the opposite balcony.
As I looked up at their horrified expression, the best I could stammer was '...but it's not cat food'.
Well done me.