Nourriture Pour Chats.

Hello are you faring today? I had a marvelous night of beauty sleep! After taking a long walk in the brisk New England air early last evening, I prepared a sumptuous dinner for myself and my two pussies. Our delightful gastronomic foray began with some light hor d'oeuvres, followed by a lovely bottle of 2013 Crozes-Hermitage from Maison Nicolas.

Which I must say did pair spectacularly with our Steak Frites.

Another romantic dinner at Chateu Chat Lunatique.

Wait. No. That simply can't be. I had a dinner date with Javier last night! That must have been a dream. The cats weren't even home...they were spending the night at my mother's!

Am I going mad??

No, I am not. And neither are you, dearest. But if we look around for evidence of the rising sea levels of madness that surround us, one of the first places we must look is...our local pet store.

Clearly, the world is coming to an end.

Yes, mon cher. We can now buy Steak Frites. In cans. For our cats.

Mon Dieu!

Now please do not misunderstand my obvious state of disturbance. I love animals. And I love my two felines. They are part of my family. But, as

a gentle reminder, may I point out that cats (and their canine companions) although adorable and a blessing upon this earth and marvels sent to us by the Great Creator ~ are not human beings. And yet, somewhere along the way, they have been elevated to a status that gives one pause and makes the mind spin.

When did cats first begin wearing clothes? And ice skating?

I am imagining Fluffy and Jingles don't know the difference between basic, good quality cat food and something involving a fragrantly seasoned pumpkin gravy. Or that they appreciate the effort put forth by someone named Grandma, as she slaves over a hot stove for the larger part of a weekend, preparing their homemade chicken soup. As far as I can ascertain, most cats in les États-Unis do not understand what French food is and they do not require anything that looks and sounds considerably more palatable

than what many humans on our planet are currently enjoying for dinner.

Additionally, when did cats start eating noodles?

If your grandmother is missing...she may be being held against

her will at the Weruva company kitchen!

Left to their natural devices, cats eat...mice. Raw mice. Furry (albeit adorably!) diminutive creatures that most humans wouldn't be pleased to see on the menu at any reputable restaurant. And dogs, I have heard, charming and companionable as they are, actually eat their own poop upon occasion.


When women wore girdles and dog food food.

My Darling...The madness must end! We must band together and take a stand. We are being baited with the idea that we are bad pet-people if we don't purchase Steak Frites or Grandma's Chicken Soup at approximately two dollars (or more!) per can for Cuddles the cat. It's lunacy. Meanwhile,

many a homeless person is lucky to feast upon a can of Cambell's soup. And most of us don't seem to really comprehend that, as Miss Clavel so clearly declared in the beloved Madeline children's books...

"Somezing is not right!"

This hasn't happened all-at-once. It has happened slowly, over time.

It simply seems to have reached new heights of ridiculousness right now. We are like lobsters in a pot of cold water that is slowly being heated. We think we're just having a hot flash...or that we need to remove our sweaters...until, one day, voila', we find ourselves cooked!

Evidence of things already beginning to go very wrong. Magazine ad. Circa 1960s.

(Plus...I'm pretty certain that kitty is thinking "You really think I'm sleeping in a piece of decorated cardboard?"

Please do not misunderstand...I am not meaning to imply that I am above the fray. For indeed, I have purchased cat food cans printed with labels containing words like "liver mousse" ...and worse.

I don't know how most people are even able to own animals anymore, given

how costly their upkeep has become. And maybe this is for the best. Because wild things are wild things. Maybe an animal revolt is being planned in the wee hours of the morning. And if we don't meet their demands, they will show us who truly owns whom.

I only pray, dearest, that when you wake up tomorrow morning, you don't find a note from Buttercup or Rover, written on their monogramed stationery, informing you that they have absconded with your Visa card and are headed to Paris. Because you clearly don't know which wine pairs well with the duck paté!

All of this excitement has left me a tad woozy. Excuse me while I locate the tiny enameled pill box containing my aspirin and recline in my velvet lounge chair. ;)

Until tomorrow, I bid you a gentle adieu ~ Sandi xo

"Quand le chat n'est pas là, les souris dansent."

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