Last weekend, I had the pleasure of a visit from my dear mother.  Now, as her cat is poorly and on a special diet, she decided to bring Rochester two surplus bags of cat bicuits, the kind that's a complete cat food in easy-to-crunch, fish shaped bits.

Rochester is used to dried complete food like this as his normal diet consists of one of the more expensive brands of biscuits.

As you know, I was away for a couple of days last week, and rather than have someone look in on the Roach, I simply put down enough dried cat food to last him for the two nights I was away.  There was plenty there - it was up to him if he decided to scoff the lot in the first five minutes.

Upon my return, Rochester was extraordinarily pleased to see me.  Not content to simply head-butt me or drool pathetically on my lap in his usual manner, he actually tried to climb my leg.

'Hmm,' I thought to myself.  'Perhaps I didn't leave him enough food after all.  Maybe he's really hungry.'

So I went to his bowl to check.

Well in the three days and two nights that I was away, he had eaten the sum total of 4 biscuits.  These biscuits are obviously so foul that even when there is no other option, Rochester refused to eat them.

'Well, Rochester,' I mused. 'We have a bit of a problem here.  We have to get through two big bags of this stuff before I get any more food for you.  I suggest you get on with it.'

And I left it at that.

Anyway, over the last few days we have been engaged in a battle of wills.  Every time Rochester goes over to the bowl to grudgingly eat like, one biscuit at a time, he looks over his shoulder at me with a disgusted expression on his face.

In fact, I drew a picture of it for y'all:

He kinda won in the end.  I went to Sainsbury's this afternoon to get some stuff and picked up a few sachets of lovely, moist, fishy chunks in jelly.