If there is one enduring image I cling to it is the vision of myself as an old man eating cat food in the park. In a long history of morbid and sardonic humor this is the one simulacrum of my future I enjoy and fear the most. We all have that thing that waits for us in the night, that once stirred from our sleep cups us in its hands and is only shaken by a flick of a light or a cold chug of juice from the fridge.
I have never tasted cat food, wet or dry. Why, when I know there are mounds of kibble in my future and opportunities to cut my tongue on the tin lip of the can?
Will it be good? Will I like it? Will I get enough protein or will my teeth suffer from lack of calcium?
Tonight I took a step closer to finding out.
I watched S’quatch eat some.
He reported that it is oily, which I suspected, and granular, which I did not anticipate at all.
I will need a bench close to a drinking fountain.