I hate Munich High End, I really do. It’s not enough that the humans subject me to endless sessions of stuff they laughably call music throughout the year but then they abandon me to go off to some place in Germany to listen to it all and, I’ve been told, have quite a nice time of it. That’s me on the right by the way – pretty aren’t I!
Well I certainly don’t have a nice time of it and I think my position needs to be highlighted!
Last year I was sent to cat prison for a few days. I didn’t see any of the other inmates whose owners must also have gone to the High-End show as I only came out to feed at night so as not to lower myself to their level of integration with the humans.
This year was even worse! It was a full week. Things started off badly enough when I was unceremoniously tipped into a plastic holding cage and placed on the back seat of the car. As soon as this happens I know no good will come of it…it’s either the vets with his thermometer or prison. I was making my consternation known to the humans with my plaintive howling but you will never guess what indignation followed. That’s right, I was joined on the back seat by another holding cage containing none other than my arch nemesis “He Who Must Not Be Named” (that’s him underneath!), though I understand that since he’s been ill the humans have given him the name of Salvador! Outrageous!
What the hell was he doing in here with me? I don’t share my back seat with lowly common outside cats like him and this outrage did shock me into silence. He however was quite vociferous and I’m not surprised as I believe he’s been probed by the man they call the vet and his thermometer quite a few times recently due to his fighting injuries.
We arrived and were greeted by our warder for the week and led to our cells that would be our homes for the duration.
I didn’t come out again during the day but it did seem that the place was full of other felines. He Who Must Not Be Named got quite a bit of pampering due to his wounds and inability to consume the prison rations properly, but I stayed put, knowing that if I showed my face the warders would try to make friends with me.
The only thing for it was hunger strike and I refused to consume anything but water for the whole of my stay.
Of course after I’d done my porridge the humans arrived and put me back in the box and took me home. Since then I’ve tried to be quite friendly with them and have even been talking to the one they call Stuart in public. Little do they know that I’ve been scratching the furniture when they are out of the room. I’m also eating properly which is quite nice as I do like my food.
I’ve heard by listening in to the humans that He Who Must Not Be Named has something called cat AIDS and isn’t allowed free association but he does seem to be getting rather a lot of attention. I don’t mind this as he tries to make friends with me when we’re in the garden together – of course I have never succumbed and a hiss and growl have always seen him off!
Anyway, I hate Munich High End.
Editors note – Clio will be in prison again for a night while the adult humans visit the Cranage Hall Hifi Show on 15th June in NW England.