Cheeky mare

I am dozing in a comfy nest of weeds by the myriad of recycling containers (why so many are needed is quite unfathomable to me) as the Chief Minion returns home. Her eyes light up as she sees me lolling in the grass and she bends to stroke my head and give my ears a ruffle. I follow her into the house and watch with interest as she unpacks her shopping. Things are put away in the cold cupboard and then she holds aloft a packet or sachet of food. It's new she tells me, marketed as "cheeky chunks in gravy". The contents are decanted into my special bowl and served. I creep towards it, uncertain. The aroma is meaty, i sniff the air, breathing in the piquant scent of....now, let me think....yes.... It is pterodactyl in some sort of sauce. I edge closer to the bowl, my neck extended about three inches longer than usual as I approach this diversion from the standard menu with caution. I look at the offering - the chunks are in uniform cubes, obviously formed by a machine, not like the usual food I have which is presented in delicious meaty strips, coated in a broth mixed with wild rice. I sit and look at the Chief Minion. She's got to be joking - I can't eat this inferior slop. I stalk away in disgust and vent my displeasure on the corner of the sofa, my claws rasping through the pile on the fabric, so satisfying.

Later, when she is putting the pterodactyls to bed I slope into the kitchen hoping that something else has materialised from the cupboard of delights. No such luck. I watch as she coaxes Marni and Esther into the run - I quickly lick all the gravy from the chunks of meat and dash back to the pouffe to lie down. I hope for the posh nosh in the morning.