Panties’ cats aren’t speaking to me.
This has been confirmed by Dragon, Panties’ mother, who works in a vet’s place for some reason and therefore knows everything about all animals, as far as I am concerned.
Feeling tired last night, and being car-less due to extreme poverty, I stayed in Lilsister’s apartment as I needed her to do my hair this morning (as I am now OFFICIALLY 38, my hair has decided to celebrate by not only turning it’s grey bits snow white, but becoming white in more places than usual, resulting in many tears for my lost youth).
Hair sufficiently covered up, and any signs of old age dyed out of existence, I returned to the two cats in Panties’ house, in which I am house-sitting, allegedly to let burglars know it’s not empty, but really, because I couldn’t wait to have some alone time in a three bedroomed palace (albeit with menopausal cats). As a treat for my absence, I decided to give them their smelly wet food (they usually eat smelly dry food) and was shocked to discover that they would not eat it!!! It’s not expired, it smells as horrible as usual, and they usually climb all over each other to eat it, so a quick call was put to Dragon, who informed me that the cats were not happy I had left them overnight, and were refusing to eat the food in order to tell me so. Two can play at that game I thought, and promptly told them to get out into the back garden to sulk, so I could have my own sulk indoors.
Having said all this, it is a MARKED improvement on two years ago when I last house-sat, where on two separate occasions I was brought the bodies of little birds, one dead and one very much alive, by the cats, which upset me greatly, and Dragon informed me that this was because they loved me. If that is love, I believe I will take the grumpies any day.