Bob the snob is a rather debonair cat. Or at least, he likes to think he is. When you speak to him, he just stares back. Like he is doing in the photo. Void of expression and almost finding people rather trivial beings with one importance only. That is to give him food at the appropriate times.
In fact, it is the only time Bob shows any flicker of emotion. He’ll get up and start purring and rubbing the side of his body against your leg to show some form of affection. It is almost yuck-worthy and I try to tell him so. He sits and looks up while I prepare his food and gives a meow. I’m also chastising him, at the same time, for the insincere show of affection. I don’t know what his meow means in cat language, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that it is something patronising.
Once fed, he resorts back to losing interest in humans and seems to regard us as a minor inconvenience wandering about his house and garden. He might venture over to our next door neighbour who lives in an old railway carriage surrounded by walled cladding. The bottom half of his garden is a mass of brambles. I think Bob uses the thickets as his bathroom.
Even the field mice and voles that wander across the road from the farmer’s meadows have to walk under his nose before he’ll catch one. They are most probably suicidal little rodents that want to end it all. Any form of excess physical exertion does not seem to interest Bob. If he could talk, he probably says that physical exertion is not what a debonair cat is all about.