‘Ooh. My little tweeties has woken up. Aren’t you a gorgeous cat. Look at your pretty fur and your sweet little legs! Would you like something, Sasha?
Oh, your plate is empty. Would you like some of your jelly food? Or aren’t you hungry?’
Starts patting.
‘What a pretty kitty!’
I bolt out of my cat hole. So what if it is a heatwave outside. I can’t demonstrate how tough I am with this sort of conversation going on.
Is there something nearby I can stalk and then bound up with deadly intent and slaughter for lunch? No! It’s too hot. Everything tasty and wriggling is hiding at high noon under the relentless sun.
No showdown is possible.
Perhaps I will . . .
