|-||The advertisement was for Cats Milk.
I suggested milking a cat was a bad career choice.
When it comes to things lactic, I have not lead a sheltered life.
I am certainly familiar with cow's milk. Even goat's milk and sheep milk I know about. They make for interesting if bland cheeses.
Mrs Newbery would be mortified if she knew I was telling you this but she once contributed to an interesting mug of tea. But we never repeated the experiment due to an unfortunate scalding accident.
I confess that it was only recently that I learned that mozzarella was made with buffalo milk but, as you can see, by and large I am lacto-literate.
None of this prepared me for Cat Milk.
I am cat literate. I know where the limits are with cats. There are things that they will let you do and there are things that they will not let you do. To step out side the bounds of cat tolerance is to lose all the flesh off you arm up to the elbow. Sticking a cat on a milking machine falls firmly at the suicidal end of the cat tolerance spectrum.
A contrary vision is of a brace of cats tied spread-eagled on a mesh milking rack; little pink kitty tits hanging down through the mesh and legions of ruddy faced buxom maidens with tiny buckets and warm hands expressing milk from them. What the cats are expressing defies exact translation but I suspect you only get one session with each cat.
So I have nothing but admiration for your company's product. And the bravery of your staff.
But what can I do with cat milk? Do you have any recipes?
Yours in admiration, J. Cosmo Newbery.