Of Discourtesy at the Grocery

My first and best favourite cat, Coppelia, is suffering from some sort of skin irritation which is causing her (and, by sympathetic extension, me) great discomfort -- she's scratching all the time, and appears to have a rash which is causing her fur to fall out in small patches. The vet ruled out mange or mites or anything of that nature, and suggested that she might have a food allergy. So I bought some hypoallergenic cat food, which looked to me like cardboard, and had no discernible smell (which is certainly unusual; I don't know if it's just me, but I find most cat food, whether canned or dry, to be so offensively fragrant that I pretty much throw it in the dish and run for the hills) and none of the cats liked it (it's impossible to feed them separately, so everyone had to suffer). After a month of this diet, poor Coppelia had lost so much weight that I could see her ribs, and I decided to pursue another course of action.

I consulted a naturopathic vet, who suggested a different brand of hypoallergenic food (this stuff smells, so that's a better sign) but also suggested that I fatten her up a little before starting on the new food, so she didn't just fade away altogether. She's become even more irritable and strange than usual lately, and wouldn't eat anything I tried to give her as a special treat. My mother asked if I'd tried baby food. I hadn't, so I bought a few jars, and oh boy, that was a big hit. Since it had been a success, I decided I should probably pick up a decent supply; the store where I normally shop carries only vegetarian baby food, for some unknown reason, so I have to go out of my way to get the kind of baby food I want, and therefore it seemed like a good idea to get a lot of it. Apparently, the sight of a well-dressed guy in a grocery checkout line with a basket full of baby food is rather endearing, or at least, it seemed to be until the lady in front of me decided to strike up a conversation.

"How old is your baby?" she asked beatifically, with a fond and indulgent smile. She obviously thought I was just too precious.  I should have lied, but I didn't; I am so unacquainted with infant lore that I couldn't have kept up the pretence for very long at any rate.

"I don't have a baby," I said.

"You don't???? Then what is all that for?" she asked.

"Um. It's for my cat."

"YOUR CAT???"

"Uh-huh."

She glared at me, breathing audibly through her nose, rather like a bull readying itself for a charge. "Don't you know that there are children STARVING in the world?" she demanded.

"Did I somehow give the impression that I wanted your opinion?" I queried, in my inimitable acid-dripping tone, which has been known to remove the finish from car exteriors.

She completed her purchase, and stalked away; the checkout girl, who had of course overheard this exchange, rang me up in silence, but as she handed me my receipt, she said: "It is a little strange, you know."

I didn't dignify this with a reply. I hadn't had so disagreeable an experience at a store since the time I purchased two dozen eggs and a hammer. It was just a coincidence, but good Lord, I thought I'd never hear the end of it.