Every cat in Vietnam looks as miserable as sin. Vietnam is not a place for cats. Although have you ever met a cat brimming with optimism, with the world at its feet? I love cats. My missus has cats. They eat nothing but the finest imported tuna, a broth of succulent tuna meat, pineapple, lychees and god knows what else. Do they ever look happy after devouring a dinner that costs more than a night at the Savoy?


Yesterday I found a fresh dump outside the cat litter tray. This of course was a protest dump about the quality of the litter. We recently downgraded the quality of the cat litter as an experiment, but clearly the litter is either too coarse a texture for their snowflake paws, maybe too scented for their finely tuned palette, perhaps it’s not tacky enough for them to coil their turds. The spoilt bastards.


That said they are loveable aren’t they? If only we could all protest in that way, with such haughty insouciance. Imagine the next time the waiter delivers a wine that’s not quite complimenting the fish, instead of sending the bottle back you just lower your kegs and curl one out on the counter.








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