Thursday, November 23, 2006

My cat's breath smells like cat food

I remember a cartoon – probably several – from when I was a kid – Garfield or Heathcliff or Marmaduke or whatever – in which an animal comes running from like a mile away when he hears a can opener. This always struck me as very silly – aren't dogs and cats all about smell? – but in fact Radish comes running if I so much as touch a pouch of wet food or trats (but not, say, a bag of Craisins). He's apparently learned the sound of those specific plastic crinkles.

He also gets very friendly if we open a can of tuna or salmon, but not beans or corn, so I figured that one was about smell. But last week I popped a can of chicken to make some chicken salad, and suddenly Radish was rubbing all over my legs like the whore that he is. I tried to explain to him that I didn't have what he thought I had, but that didn't work 'cause, well, he's a cat. Well, he likes chicken-flavored cat food, I thought, and I put a small piece of it in his bowl. He sniffed at it, then gave me a look that would have clearly said "What the fuck is this supposed to be?" even if I didn't project and over-anthropomorphize. I suppose it's for the best that we don't have a cat who'll eat anything, but I do sort of wish he were easier to please.

Today I took one step closer to becoming one of those cat people. I gave him his weekly wet food a few days early as a holiday treat. I can't tell the difference between "Turkey Dinner in Gravy" and any of the other varieties, except that it smells less fishy, but it seemed appropriate for Thanksgiving. You know, as if he has any idea. It's probably just as well he doesn’t like cranberry sauce.