My Freddie is an extremely picky eater. He won’t touch anything smooth. Pâté? No, thank you. He’s a texture guy. There are also certain flavors he can’t stomach. Beef? He’ll pass. Turkey? He has to be in the mood. Chicken? Um, not today, thanks.
When I find a type of food he’ll eat, I tend to buy a lot of it. My sweet guy has kind of expensive taste, too. I go to the pet store, load up a basket, and wince when they give me the total. Darn cat does insist on eating every day. So when he suddenly decides he doesn’t like a type of food he ate happily just the day before it makes me want to knock my head against the wall.
You know how this works, but as always, a gentle reminder:
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“Are you hungry, Freddie?” I asked, getting up to feed my guy.
“Am I?” he called, excited, and raced past me like his tail was on fire. I found him in the kitchen in front of his dish, dancing excitedly.
“Are you hungry? Hmmmm?” I asked as I got a clean dish from the cupboard.
“I just said I was.” He pushed his head into my calf.
“Are you, little guy? Are you hungry?”
He stopped rubbing and looked at me. “You always do this. Yes, I am very hungry.”
I tore open the pouch. It didn’t smell so good to me, but Freddie had been favoring this brand for a while. “Are you sure? I don't want to feed you if you aren’t hungry.”
He huffed. “Yes! I am hungry!” He butted his head into the cabinet.
I scooped the food out of the pouch and onto the plate. Freddie butted his head hard into the back of my knee and I almost went down. “Hey! I know you’re hungry but if I fall and break something you aren’t going to be getting this for a while.”
He took a step back. “I don’t want you to fall, I just want to eat. It’s been so long! I’m so hungry! I thought you forgot!”
“It hasn’t been that long,” I said with a laugh. “It’s been about 12 hours since you got the canned food and you’ve had kibble in your bowl all day!” I picked up the plate and walked over to the mat, being careful not to trip over my excited pootie as he raced me to it.
“The kibble is OK,” he told me. “It’s not really a meal.”
I set the food down and took a step back. He eagerly lowered his face to the plate, sniffed the food...and then stopped. “What is this?” he asked.
“Um…” I picked up the pouch. “Skipjack tuna and shrimp in gravy,” I read.
He smelled it again.
“Oh, come on!” I said. “You liked this food a few days ago!”
He walked over to me and sat down at my feet. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” I said patiently. “You like this food. You’ve been eating this food for a while. You inhaled the same brand last night and the same flavor just a few nights ago!”
He looked over his shoulder at it and then back at me. “It’s just not doing it for me today.”
“So you’re a food critic now? You lick your own butt.”
He snorted. “That’s hygiene. It has nothing to do with this. My palate is very complex.”
“Uh huh. Well. Walk your complex palate back to that dish and finish your dinner. That’s all you’re getting.”
He sighed and walked back over to it. He lowered his head and gave it another delicate sniff. “Nope. Still terrible.”
I shook my head and left the kitchen. He wasn’t going to starve. He’d be fine. A few minutes later, he joined me on the couch.
“Did you eat?” I asked.
“Yes. It was not very good, but you left me no choice.”
I rolled my eyes. “You liked it just fine before.”
“I don’t remember that.”
I laughed because there was nothing else to do. He rubbed his head against my bicep and I reached up to scratch between his ears. “I’ll pick something else up tomorrow after work,” I told him.
He purred. “That’s good. Because I’d hate to go hungry all the time. There’s only so much terrible food I can eat.”
Peeps, thank you so much for your love and support while we dealt with the loss of Desi.
A extra special thank you to strawbale, elenacarlena, and Meowsker for taking the Caturday posts. You all did an amazing job. And of course, to the Martigress — thank you for all you do.
❤️ 💛 💚 💙 💜