A couple of days ago, I updated quite a few apps (they used to be called applications in old computing days, you know) on my phone. Including WordPress.

Which was a good thing to do.

Unless WordPress wouldn’t then open again of course. Naturally, I deleted said application then reinstalled it again. Unfortunately, I was then prompted to enter my user name, domain name and password. I do recall my domain name, so that gets me a third of the way. Regrettably though, I couldn’t remember the user name and/or password. And still can’t.

So, while I undertake the arduous process of extracting long forgotten material from my head, I’m using a computer to type this. Anyway …

This evening, my second in command dragged escorted me to the Tuns to see a Bon Jovi cover band. They were actually pretty good. Apart from one issue; they sounded too much like the real thing. My ears hurt. My brain hurts. Every sinew and other stringy bit in my body hurts.

Also this evening, the kitten conversation re-emerged. In essence, people will consume pretty much any bit from an animal. Noses, ears, skin, arteries, balls. I could go on. But most people don’t realise they’re doing this. Or, more important, realise they’re doing this in a single meal. For example, any burger, sausage, pie, chicken product, ready meal etc.

But, at the same time, people wouldn’t dream of eating kittens. I’m a vegetarian. I’m a vegetarian because I believe it’s wrong to eat something that would rather be alive (and not eaten). I brought my kids up as vegetarians, because that was the right thing to do, and they’ve done the same with their children (I admire my kids for doing this because there are more pressures on kids to conform nowadays. And because they stick to their principles too).

But, and I can’t help picturing Shrodinger’s cat here, if I were to find myself in a locked room with a cute, fluffy kitten and no source of food, I’d definitely bite the head off the kitten if I felt that I was in a life or death situation. I might not enjoy it, and I’m sure that the furry bits between my teeth might annoy me, but I’d live another few days.

The kitten, I should say, would have no reservations about dining at my expense and would probably live for several weeks on my nose, ears, skin (you get the idea).

Generally, I don’t preach about what (I think) people should or shouldn’t eat. But I know I should do. At the end of the day, it’s my responsibility isn’t it?

After all, a kitten is no less a baby than a lamb or a calf.