This is Page 5 from the book Diary of a Buddhist Cat

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I wake up on my first morning in my new dwelling. I find my litter tray, at least I assume it’s mine, and make a good job of everything, pushing the pieces into a corner like my mum taught me so they don’t stick to my fur the next time I’m in there. This is plain consideration for me and anyone else who might want to use the tray later in the day. I hope the humans clean out the tray once a day so there’s no lingering pungency for which I will no doubt get the blame being the new cat on the block as it were.

 The litter tray is unusual because it’s on top of a cupboard and contains some rather bulbous looking green things with spikes that are sharp. I paw test the spikes and they penetrate my pad rather easily. I believe this is an unusual item to find in a litter tray and I resolve to discover more about items people can buy to adorn litter trays, so their felines are at home when going about their business. There are five of the green things in the tray, but I squeeze my rear end into a space where no spikes penetrate my bottom. It is an uncomfortable position to be in, but they say an artist has to suffer for his art and I am a virtuoso at poo, so this is my struggle that I will endure until I can find a place outside with some soil and burrowing options for burying the offending items so they remain undetected. There’s a garden outside the building next door, which looks promising, and I will investigate further after my morning post-prandial siesta. I see two bushes to give me cover and some tall flowers I can crouch behind for privacy. This is a good start. 

 Talking of prandial, I see some bowls and saucers in the kitchen on top of another cupboard. They contain some interesting articles I am not completely familiar with. When I jump on to the counter I land on a fork and it attacks me, depositing jam on my fur, plum jam, which I lick off.

The first container contains a small, damp bag which is soggy, oozes a purple colour, and smells of lavender. There’s a string attached and a small label reading ‘Stash’. I presume it’s for me and I chew it vigorously, but all that seems to happen is that a sweet-smelling liquid trickles down my throat. One or two insignificant items, some kind of leaf, get stuck in my teeth, and others I swallow. They will not be very filling for a growing cat like myself. I dislodge the leaves with my tongue after 2 minutes of intensive work. I spit the rest out onto a plate and then investigate the next bowl. This is an unusual buffet breakfast layout for a cat.

 This next bowl contains a light-brown rectangle of crunchy texture with a dimpled surface that disintegrates when I bite into it. Pieces fly everywhere except into my mouth. Is this a joke? Is this designed so I keep my thin figure? I lick a couple of crumbs from the counter, but they are dry.

 My luck changes with the next saucer, where lies a thin brown slice of something chewy that smells sweet and has a couple of bite marks taken out of it already, presumably from the previous visitor to the buffet. My teeth can’t consume this item effectively as I tear the item into small pieces but find it difficult to swallow as it dissolves into a brown mess that dribbles down my chops onto the counter. The small amount I swallow tastes wonderful – there’s also a hint of the plum jam – and I chew the whole slice, consuming perhaps less than 15% of the whole.

The next bowl contains some small black items that are quite bitter and reek of acidity. I can’t chew them because they’re rock hard and would constipate me I’m sure if I were to swallow them by mistake. The taste isn’t too bad when combined with the brown mess I lick from the counter. I suck them for a minute and then spit them out.

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