‘Why drink alone?’
A good question from the Apollo Peak Company. Nobody wants to feel like Johnnie No Mates. However, the pointyheads have come up with a very First World answer to a non-problem. Not for them the, ‘Get off your arse, get it down to the pub, and talk to somebody. The barman or woman has no option but be polite to you, even if you’re a boring old fart that everybody else avoids.’ I suspect we all know one or two of the Category Five bores that we avoid, but bar staff just have to stand and take it.
No, this is not the robust line of least resistance that the Apollo pointyheads have come up with. This is what they have come up with. Wine for your cat. Yes, that’s what I just stated. Wine for your cat.
Let’s assume for the sake of argument that you really are a mad catlady who likes a tipple. Now you can have your beloved felines(s) join you. If you’re bashing a dodgy bottle of Algerian red in and vinegar, your purry friend can have a Pinot Meow. Hammering a bottle or two of Latvian Piesporter, then Tiddles can hit the MosCAT with you. Depends if your moggie is having a tin of bovine entrails or fish entrails I suppose.
The Apollo boys (and I’ll bet they are male, since no woman would come up with such a crackbrained scheme) are at pains to point out that it’s not really wine, at which point the ASA in the UK might raise an eyebrow or two. No it’s some sort of decoction of catnip. Wine needs grapes in the same way that tea requires tea. However the lads don’t pay too much attention to detail, or to common sense.
‘This is a fine feline snack-wine designed to entice even the most picky of cats.’
Oh really? I have to invoke the spirit (did you see what I did there?) of the late and greatly lamented Snotbag. She, with typical Snotbagginess, hated catnip. That makes Pinot Meow a non-starter. However, she did like all other alcohol except beer, and would cheerfully stick her head in an unguarded glass of rioja. The next morning she might be a bit grumpy. Or grumpier to be more accurate.
As somebody pointed out, cats don’t need to drink. They already fight like weegies after a night on snakebites made with Tennent’s Super and White Lightning, shag anything that moves, do that mad, pointless dashing around thing at about 11:30 in the evening (I suspect this is the cat equivalent to nicking a shopping trolley), snuggle up to you at 3:00 AM making ‘Don’t you love me any more?’ noises when all you want to do is sleep… Just like a pissed human, but all the time.
I have little doubt cat wine will be a huge commercial success. There’s famously one born every minute, after all. The hipsters will love it, since of course all the ingredients are organic. As if cats give a tinker’s cuss about that.