Thirty degrees. Glowing sunshine. The devoted servant of the royal feline society is sitting outside, sweating at the laptop, while around him, scattered wildly across the courtyard, five cats languish in their final throes. At least that is how it may appear to the untrained eye of an outside observer when he sees them lying there, theatrically stretched out on all fours, without any movement.

A loud, demanding meowing sounds from inside. Mr Kalle is loudly demanding to be let out. Since the cat flap is not yet familiar to the fine gentleman, the door is opened for him so that he can safely make his way outside. Hesitantly, yet determinedly, he takes the path towards the cat net, has a sniff and is about to climb it up.

The servant feels compelled to intervene, grabs the over-exuberant, now protesting and wriggling cat and holds him back. More. He prepares to rebel and start a discussion.

“No, Mr. Kalle, that’s out of question. Heavily frequented federal roads and red-and-white, clueless tomcats don’t go with each other.”

“MEEEEOOOOW!!!”

“NO!”

Disagreeable and slightly offended, Mr. Kalle withdraws and is content to do the same as the rest of the cat gang for the remainder of the day, but not without giving his devoted servant that certain look that makes the blood run cold in every cat owner’s veins. “You’ll pay for this, human!”.

The servant, however, is relaxed about this and grins almost diabolically at the tomcat with an equally meaningful look. He knows that it will be feeding time very soon. And HE, the servant, decides when, if and how much.