I love cycling round DUS, especially to the river Rhine and on to Kaiserswerth and back home via Nordpark. Sometimes it’s good to have a reason to jump on the bike. Today I had a reason.
Our chaplain and his family have gone on a week’s well-earned hols. In true Anglican style a cat feeding and fussing rota has been agreed. My turn was today, and then again on Friday. I turned up, parked up my bike.
Bingo! Bingoooooo! Bingooooo!
All called out in a “goooooooooooooood boyyyyyyyyyyyyyy” tone of high-pitch voice. No response. I head into the church hall, take the cat food out of the supply cupboard and head outside again.
Whoosh! A black object suddenly appears, nearly tripping me up as I make my way to the vicarage garden.
Miaow! Miaow! Miaow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Dinner time!
(As well as Russian and German, I also understand feline.)
Tear open the sachet, slop it out.
At the speed of a thousand leaping gazelles, cat’s face plunges into the food. I’d meant to come in the morning to feed said member of family, but got delayed. I think the cat has forgiven me. I head back to the church hall to get more dry food. He’s hungry.
I come back. All the wet food has gone. Every morsel.
This time the cat is happy. He wants to be fussed. I treat him like a dog.
Lots of belly rubs. Lots of tummy tickles. Head strokes. Throat strokes. He’s a happy cat after being fed.
I go to the church hall, fill his bowl with water and come back.
He wants, and gets, more belly rubs and tummy tickles.
He sits on the doorstep. He stares at me.
Sorry, Bingo. The vicarage has no cat flap. You’ll just have to patrol round Nordpark. The other member of Team Bingo will be back tomorrow to attend to your needs.
Have a feline day, won’t you!