Kitty Curry

Standing by the bins at the back of work having a fag break and a ginger kitten scampers across and into the back door of the Chinese take-away. I wander over and call the kitty to me. Partly because I think it’ll scoff some food and partly coz, well, I’m afraid they’ll throw it in a pot and serve it up as chicken.

This may brand me as ridiculous at best and racist at worst, but there you go… A few years ago in Plymouth a take-away was shut down because Health & Safety found a bunch of pigeon traps in its courtyard; so maybe the shards of this story are embedded in my unconscious.

The funny thing is that when I call the cat over the Asian cook, in very broken English, tells me it’s okay, he can come in. I ask if it’s their cat and he says yes. The cat strolls into their office and the cook makes like his hands are holding invisible cutlery and he’s feeding himself, “Dinner! Dinner!” he says.

Okay, I reply, and while I’m finishing my smoke I wonder whose dinner he was referring to.