Cataphatic

A friend dropped by for lunch. We were yakking on about something or other of enormous interest and importance. Yak, yak, yak, rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb we went while I made coffee and he leaned on the kitchen counter.

Meanwhile there was a background noise of which we were both, it subsequently transpired, subliminally aware without giving it sufficient consideration. A sort of viscous wet slapping noise. Suddenly there was a piercing scream.

Ok, I admit it, it was me. But tell me what other reaction would be appropriate when realising that the insistent slurping noise was the cat licking the custard out of the pastéis de nata we were supposed to have for pudding.

cat tart

An affirmation. About the cat and his dietary proclivities. Which will, if left unchecked, no doubt lead to more phat than the vet would feel appropriate for an oriental breed to have about its belly.

cat tart

I ceased worrying about my belly a very long time ago. And luckily the vet doesn’t weight me each time I go there, plot the numbers and print out a graph to demonstrate its increase.

7 Replies to “Cataphatic”

  1. Oh no. What a dreadful story. I adore pasteis de nata and would have been completely beside myself. In fact I’m finding it exquisitely painful just to think about this. I feel so bad, I may have to buy myself a pastel de nata on the way home.

  2. Oh for God’s sake.

    Our phat cat was out on the field this morning, doing his gopher vigil, while we were looking at a ferruginous hawk through the scope (with me frantically sketching). Charlie-cat then ran, ran, ran towards us, looking like a tiny tiger splashing through the alfalfa. I had to towel him off, he was so drenched in dew. That’s how you know how phat they really are.

  3. Jean, stop torturing me! I have nada nata.

    Pica, if I bound through the dewy alfalfa like a tiny tiger do you think it would result in a diminished appearance of phat?

  4. Can you get the almond-filled ones there? I don’t know what they’re called. Your cat, not surprisingly, has excellent taste and a terrific sense of timing.

  5. I found my old dog licking the cheese spread out of a bowl on my coffee table once. She’d licked the top layer, so I brought it back into the kitchen and cut the top layer away and put it back out! Told my date later (he not being of delicate sensibilities, to say the least) and he thought it was pretty funny.

  6. Very poor and hungry years ago, coming back from somewhere found just enough spaghetti, a spoonful of tomato puree and a just gratable amount of dried up cheese, starvation was, we thought, averted, until the cat ate the cheese from the kitchen counter. Times was hard but I was at least thin to show for it. So was the cat, mind.
    I don’t know pasteis de nata at all…

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