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Below you'll find something you might like. Maybe like's not quite the right word.

Pishka the cat

Once upon a time, there was a tall, charming, handsome, well-mannered, intelligent, very rich businessman. He was very rich because he was well-mannered, intelligent, charming and very good at doing business. He lived in the nicest house in the nicest suburb of the nicest town of the nicest country in all the world. And when he wasn’t away doing business, he lay on his very nice sofa in his very nice living room reading a delightful book, or he sat on a very nice chair in his very nice dining room eating a delicious meal, or he strolled casually around his very nice garden admiring his exquisite roses. But all the while he felt quite alone. You see, the businessman didn‘t have a wife or a husband or any friends because he travelled so much and did so much business that, although he met a lot of people, he didn’t spend very much time with any of them.

So, one day, the businessman decided to find a companion with which to share his very nice house. He made appointments with all the poshest pet parlours in the land and, over the weeks, his diary filled with names and phone numbers and dates and descriptions - all crossed out. The weeks turned into months and the months turned into nearly half a year! There wasn’t a single puppy or rabbit or hamster or cockatiel or parrot or foal or lamb or lizard or iguana or snake or spider or turtle in all the land that had really looked him in the eye like it wanted him to take them home. Then, one day just as he was arriving at the very nice gates of his very nice house, he nearly tripped over a small, black bundle of fur, which meowed very loudly for such a small bundle. The businessman bent down, picked it up, looked it in the eye and carried it home. He named the kitten Pishka and Pishka was happy.

The businessman looked after Pishka very, very well. Although the businessman travelled a lot, whenever he was away he made sure someone came round to feed Pishka and change Pishka’s milk or check Pishka’s water was still fresh. If it was cold, they would gently heat Pishka’s milk and put an extra blanket on Pishka’s bed. If it was hot, they would chill Pishka’s milk and turn on the ceiling fan. If the businessman was away for a long time, someone would come round, just to be there so Pishka didn’t feel all alone.

And every time the businessman went away he brought Pishka back a little taste of the most tantalising dish of the country to which he’d travelled, extra specially packed so as not to loose even a hint of its flavour or a whiff of its smell. A delectable little treat that could be found no place else to show Pishka that the businessman remembered Pishka while he was away.

When the businessman went to Japan, he brought Pishka back two extra fine slices of the finest tuna sashimi in all the land. Japan's finest sushi chef chose the tuna and cut the slices himself. He crushed just the correct quantity of ice, went into his garden, picked the freshest lettuce leaf, placed it on top of the crushed ice and laid the slices of sashimi carefully on top of the lettuce leaf. Then he put it in a special glass case that sealed shut with little stickers on the side saying, “This Way Up”, and another on the top saying, “Fragile”. And the businessman carried it all the way back to his very nice house in his very nice hand luggage to make sure it stayed the right way up and that nothing bumped it too hard. Of course, Pishka enjoyed the sashimi tremendously. So much so, in fact, that Pishka went some days meowing for more, but there simply wasn’t any and more was all the way back in Japan. Besides, it wasn’t as if Pishka was really hungry or as if Pishka didn’t have any food.

When the businessman went to Norway he brought back a little sample of the finest smoked salmon, which he carried back in the same glass case he was given in Japan to carry the sashimi (after all, the businessman was not a wasteful man). Pishka thought the salmon every bit as good as the sashimi.

But, when the businessman went to Kenya there wasn’t very much food at all and all the food there was was quite functional rather than to anyone’s taste. Then, the businessman remembered how he’d seen in a documentary on TV that lions really like zebra. So, on the way to the airport, the businessman stopped at a safari resort and bought a small piece of the finest, fattest, most ecologically-friendly zebra, which he carried back home wrapped in a piece of zebra skin so it stayed warm from the hunt, just the way a lion would like it. Pishka enjoyed the zebra so much that the businessman wondered if Pishka’s great-great-grand-kitty had originally come from the savanna.

When the businessman went to Nepal, finding a special treat was easy. After all, everyone knows that cats love milk and Nepalese mountain yaks have the creamiest, tastiest milk in all the world. So, the businessman bought half a glass of fresh, creamy yak milk from the farmer who owned the finest Himalayan yakess who’d just given birth to a healthy yak calf. He carried it back the very same day in the very same bottle the farmer had used to milk the yakess so the smell and taste would stay fresh-from-the-yak. Pishka simply lapped it up and licked the small bottle sparkling clean, inside and out.

When the businessman went to Brazil, he visited a tribe in the Amazon forest whose favourite dish was roasted tarantula, head, feelers and all. This seemed a marvellously exotic treat and the businessman carried one all the way back by hand in a special wooden box so as not to break a single hair on the roasted tarantula's hairy legs. Pishka thought the Amazonian tribe had very good taste, indeed.

When the businessman went to the Arctic he wasn’t sure what to do because the Arctic isn’t really a country and there isn’t really any cuisine to speak of. Then the businessman met an Eskimo who lived in an igloo with his family and had just killed a whale with nothing more than a small spear. The Eskimo was fat and happy and told the businessman that raw whale fat was simply the best food in the whole world. So the businessman bought a small piece of whale fat from the Eskimo for the price of a very good fishing rod, a stove, a frying pan and an excellent recipe book with lots of delicious recipes for Arctic fish, so the Eskimo wouldn’t have to kill another whale. The businessman carried it back carefully wrapped in Arctic snow, which was just the right temperature to keep the raw whale fat in perfect condition. Because Pishka was a cat, the businessman didn’t tell Pishka that it was whale and Pishka devoured it with a clear conscience. So much did Pishka enjoy the raw whale fat that, after, Pishka even drank the melted snow.

It came to pass, however, that after years of travelling and doing business the businessman became tired and needed a rest-cure, because travelling and doing business are both quite stressful really and one can’t keep on doing either for too long without a good holiday. So the businessman went to a health spa. The nicest, healthiest health spa in all the land, to help him feel healthier and happy to travel more and do more business, so he could carry on living in his very nice house and keep looking after Pishka in the manner to which Pishka was accustomed.

The health spa was, naturally, very nice, and very expensive, and from the moment he arrived they treated the businessman very, very well. He was given steam baths, saunas and Zimbabwean grey-clay mud massage. Acupuncture, aromatherapy and Chinese vacuum therapy. He had full-length seaweed slaps, fresh cucumber body-wraps and baths in bubbles from a natural mineral spring. He was pummelled and pinched and slapped and rubbed, cleaned and soaked and pampered at every touch, and he slept for ten hours straight each night.

But, although the health spa was very expensive and they treated the businessman exceptionally well, the food, all in all, wasn’t overly enjoyable and there was absolutely nothing that was even remotely to a cat’s liking.

In the mornings he had muesli and soymilk or herb muffins and fruit juice or scrambled egg-white and toast without any butter or margarine. At elevenses he had an infusion with dry, crumbly tea-biscuits and for lunch he ate vegetables, grilled, baked or stewed. In the afternoons he nibbled on nuts and South African dried fruit (which was a bit of a treat for the businessman but not for a cat). If there was fish or meat it was for dinner and it is true that the businessman ate fish, chicken and beef. But it all had been boiled for at least seventy-two hours to remove the impurities and seemingly everything of taste.

When the businessman went home, he certainly looked healthier. His skin was softer, he had a much better colour, he walked straighter and, surprisingly, he noticed he was even looking a little plump.

Pishka smelt the businessman long before Pishka heard him come through the front gate or stride down the front path. By the time the businessman turned the key Pishka had been pattering around behind the front door, half-meowing half-purring, for some minutes.

So warm was Pishka’s welcome that the businessman immediately felt terrible for not having brought anything, but then he reminded himself that there was absolutely nothing he could have brung!

The businessman set down his bags and, with some difficulty due to Pishka’s attentions, wandered towards the kitchen to find a little something to placate Pishka in the manner to which Pishka was accustomed. The closer the businessman got to the kitchen, the more excited Pishka became until, finally, the businessman had to pick Pishka up just to be able to walk. Pishka sniffed the businessman’s hand then suddenly bit, deeply, into his thumb. The businessman dropped Pishka to the floor and stood there, frozen by the surprise of his pained and bleeding thumb. But Pishka didn’t hesitate one second more to leap up at the businessman's throat, and a bit and clawed and tore and scratched with such ferocity that very soon the businessman fell down quite dead.

Because the businessman and Pishka lived all alone, no one noticed that the businessman was missing for a few weeks and only then because there were unpaid bills. When the authorities finally went to the businessman's house, they found the businessman in the kitchen exactly where he fell. And there was Pishka lying across the businessman's half eaten breast, bloated and dead of gluttony, blood-caked nose pressed against the businessman's exposed ribs and teeth still embedded in his decaying flesh.

 

The end.