Fresh cream for my feral cats

Every morning when I get my coffee at this Asian bakery on Telegraph, I always ask for 5 packets of cream. I use 2 of the creams for my coffee. And then I secretly slip the other 3 creams into my pocket, to give to my feral cats later. . . The packets of cream are the perfect size, since I have 3 cats. And they’re just big enough to give each of my cats a little taste of milk every day — which they love. But not too much that it might be a problem because I’m told that milk is allegedly bad for cats (don’t try to convince my cats of that!). And if I had to buy a carton of milk, it would go bad because I don’t have a refrigerator. So these little daily packets of cream are perfect. And of course I always make sure my cats eat their meat first before they get their pudding (as the saying goes). So I use these creams as kind of a desert for my cats.

And I always feel really sly and clever when I do this. Because I’m doing it secretly. And it’s free. So I’m getting something for nothing. Which is kind of sneaky. . . Back in 2001 I wrote this book, Surviving On The Streets — with all these tips for how street people could allegedly live and survive on the streets. If I ever do an up-dated version of that book I gotta remember to add this tip to rope in all the cat-lovers who live on the streets.

The only problem is, after I slip the 3 packets of cream in my pants pocket, I sometimes forget to put them in my backpack later, after I leave the Asian bakery. And I’ll carry them around in my pocket all day long. And invariably, I’ll end up waking up in the middle of the night at my campsite, and realize I got this big wet spot on the side of my pants. Which sucks. The first thing I’ll think is: “Oh no! Old man problems again!” And I’ll start trying to figure if I got a clean pair of underwear stashed anywhere. But then I’ll realize, I had rolled over on my side and my bulk had crushed the little packets, and all the cream had leaked out all over my leg. And that’s a relief in a way. Because cream is a lot easier to clean up then some other things I might mess up (though my cats are all pissed — no milk for them). And I’ll make a clever quip to myself, like, “No use crying over spilled cream,” which puts the whole thing in a philosophical perspective, and would make for a good ending for the antecdote if I ever do get around to using it in an updated version of my book.

My life really is a kind of a saga now that I think of it.

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