One hundred and nine: hungry

This is a sight and sound that greets me every few hours, whenever I am home. I suspect it carries on in the night, but I sleep through it. Oliver is hungry. So so very hungry. He’s starving, he hasn’t been fed since before the rinderpest and that time, the black cat ate all his food. And all the other times. He’s never had any food. Ever.

And so on and so on and so on.

When we first got him, we figured he had been neglected or something, but FIVE years later, he’s still doing it.

And believe me, we feed him. The guy who delivers groceries for us must think we’re running a shelter – pretty much all we buy is a truckload of cat food and some coffee. And Oliver eats it, and stays skinny.

Cat has several hollow legs, he does.

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