Mrs Morrey, you are harbouring a potential mass-murdering parasite

I hate cats. Or rather, I hate people whose affections are blinded by the little furry bastards. People who think it’s cute when their wee psycho furball deposits a dead bird on their doorstep. Aaaah, that’s just sooooo cute.
I’ve seen our garden visitors – sparrows, blackbirds, tits (the only non-salacious use of that word you’ll ever see in this blog) and doves (i.e. proper pigeons, not the dusty flying rats that populate London) – virtually disappear since our pikey neighbours decided to join the cat crowd. They have made their contribution to the growing population of 8 million domesticated cats in Britain that are responsible for killing 300 million wild birds and mammals each year.
I exempt the agency cat, Mister Ajax, who is a grumpy fat old bastard, because he is too lazy and overfed with chocolate by the monkeygirls to bother hunting. In fact, he is so full of contempt for exercise that he just waits for the nearest rat to stroll past and die laughing at his paws. Now that’s my sort of cat.
I haven’t got a bone to pick with this ad or the several others that push the latest in pet nutrition because they are simply taking up the trend for complicating something that used to be relatively straightforward. Buy pet. Feed pet. And after a few years, Bury pet. Aah the good old days.
Now, with complicated pet insurance plans, complex pet nutrition options including lifestyle foods aimed at particular pet demographics, the bewildered old ladies and sad old numpties who don’t have anyone else to talk to can spend an infinity of time and money pretending that their pet deserves as complex an upbringing as a real person. And when Miggins dies, you can have him buried in a cemetery.

See also:
Pointless critter products
Put a bell on it