All You Can Eat So far as anyone knew, it had always been there, far beneath an area of derelict ground between the Chinese laundry and the soap factory, its entrance marked only by a drain cover. It was called The All You Can Eat Restaurant and Grill and was a feline haven, of sorts. The workers from the nearby factory were in the habit of dropping cigarette ends through the grating whilst far below, the out-of-hours janitor (who was all of two feet tall on his back legs) squinted up into the darkness and tut-tutted when particles of ash landed on his whiskers.
Had you got down on your hands and knees and pressed your nose against the grating, you might have detected a faint, fishy smell for, although the place was well ventilated, the smell could never be fully eradicated. But, had you been a cat, you would have produced your membership card, waved it under Dribbler's nose and gone straight in. The official opening hours were between one and five in the morning although no card-carrying cat was ever turned away.
To get on the staff, one had to be a special sort of cat. One had to keep one's nose clean and one's paws out of the gravy. Most cats are devious, greedy and out for themselves. But a cat who works at the All You Can Eat Feline Restaurant and Grill must be above reproach. No stain can adhere to his character, nor sully the whiteness of his snowy vest. It is said that these illustrious cats were hand-picked by the old proprietor and that, before he left, he had entrusted them with the smooth running of the joint. Where he had gone, none could say. None doubted that he would one day return.
His reputation continues to inspire awe amongst the younger members, for it is in HIS name that the charitable work of the All You Can Eat Feline Restaurant and Grill is carried on. It is because HE said so that the fires are kept stoked and the food always fresh - or, if not precisely fresh, at least never out-of-date according to the stamp on the tin.
Sometimes, when the ground is hard with frost and his cat door stiff and unyielding against his nose, Dribbler will curl up on his sofa and the indoors-y warmth will cause his eyelids to droop and his mind to wander down the musty corridors of years gone by.
Sometimes, he recalls the aftermath of ancient battles when he, the conquering hero, would parade victorious through gardens vast and terrible, stained with the spilt blood of the vanquished. Sometimes, he remembers the hunting trips, from which he would return weighed down with corpses to be shared amongst his nearest and dearest. But always, just before he drifts off to sleep, he recollects the many years spent at the All You Can Eat Feline Restaurant and Grill. Good times, they'd been... taking care of business.
He can still recall the double row of troughs running the entire length of the room. And how they were kept topped up with all manner of delightful treats with which to tempt a feline palate. In one huge trough, there were biscuits that could be cracked in half between one's teeth, or swallowed whole, depending on one's preference. In a slightly smaller trough, there were moist, meaty chunks of a more-ish flavour and texture. For the more discerning, there were flakes of succulent white fish or, if one preferred, one could dine on pilchards floating in a vat of tomato ketchup.
On one memorable occasion, Dribbler recalled, there had been a party to celebrate his birthday. The milk and water had flowed freely. There had been a cake with five - five! - candles, and a wondrous sandpit for rolling in. By the end of the night, cats and kittens alike were holding their bellies and groaning. Many had used the sandpit as a lavatory.
As always, there were bales of fragrant catnip, and comfortable cushions for reclining.
Dribbler licks a paw, thoughtfully. He hasn't been near the place for years; not since taking on Tall and Tallest as his full-time companions. What changes have been wrought in his absence?
Are the chunks still moist? Is the milk still fresh?
These days, Dribbler has everything he needs, right here on his doorstep: food, warmth, companionship. These days he's too full to bother with the running of a busy restaurant.
But some day, he intends to take up his duties again. He's not sure he can remember the exact location of The All You Can Eat Feline Restaurant and Grill and he's not going to go looking. Not yet, anyway. He has other commitments; responsibilities. He is (as anyone will tell you) a cat of many parts.
One day, he'll be summoned to carry on where he left off.
And when that day comes, he will not feign deafness, nor turn his back; nor even flick his tail rudely.
He'll go where the eating never stops.
~ Fin ~
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