As part of the decision-making process on whether to get a Burmese cat, my lovely ex-girlfriend is letting me ‘adopt’ her two prize-moggies for the upcoming weekend.
She’s also provided a handbook on caring for Burmese cats which I have been reading most assiduously over the past few days.
These cats require a mountain of maintenance as far as I can tell; thrice-weekly brushing of the teeth, daily brushing of the coats, daily playtime, twice-daily feedings, weekly nail-trimming and monthly vinegar baths. And…they must remain indoors at all times apparently to prevent to the risk of getting lost or catching cat-flu from one of the local ferals.
They are the Naomi Campbells of the feline world.
Well, I plan on re-training these pampered pussies while they’re in my care; my ex will thank me if and when she gets them back.
Bright and early Saturday morning, ‘Bollie’ and ‘Merlot’ will be taking a spin on the back of the Vespa; in a milk-crate strapped to the luggage rack. For the 10-minute dash across town they will be without their Cashmere lounge-vests in order to help better acclimatise to the harsh conditions ahead of them. You see, I’ve planned an ‘Orienteering Weekend’ for the two aristocats, whereby I drop them off in Centennial Park and they have 36 hours to find their way back to Cunt Point.
To prevent the possibility of starvation, I will incorporate a food-scavenging programme into their pre-course survival training; before their mission commences they will be shown photos of edible local fauna common to the Eastern Suburbs of Sydney. I will also teach them, by holding their pointy little heads in one, the bush-technique of puddle-drinking to avoid dehydration; the good news for them is that heavy rain is forecast for the rest of the week.
The only real danger lies in their heading south from the park instead of north, a route which would take them directly through the dark-heart of Asian-fusion cuisine in the Randwick area…