My cat is an Anglophile
It all started with John Rackham, of Rogues Yarn. He came to stay last year, after the Fringe, and Schokie soon learned that she could control him with the power of her mind. “Pet me, English,” she would demand, sitting at his feet, staring hard. And, obediently, John would bend to stroke her. Then he went home. She misses him terribly. Her Jedi powers don’t work on us.
Now this.
NovySan and I went to England in March, and Ben Shockley (also of Rogues Yarn) introduced us to Marmite. We thought it was disgusting. And then we couldn’t stop thinking about it. So we tried it again. And it was still disgusting, but we liked it anyway. And then we came home. And we were still thinking about it. So we bought some, at the Indian restaurant across the street. And this morning, Schokie sat at NovySan’s feet, demanding a bit of whatever he was having, and so he gave her some. She licked it off his finger, and then kept licking, even after she’d gotten it all.
She’s fond of the occasional G&T, as well.
