WHEN IT'S RIGHT...AUSTRALIA DAY REVISITED

Today was particularly difficult day.
I don't dwell in the past but I do feel energetically synchronous with events that occurred on specific dates - they resonate with me, especially if they're significant events.

And none more so than those that seem to occur on or around Australia Day, 26th January.
It was on this day my little brother passed away - you don't just forget that - it's inside you like a stone - a hard, painful lump nestling in a cocoon of love, the love we shared and despite his absence, still do.
I speak to him when I'm in the car crooning Jim Morrison or Frank Zappa (yeah, Frank could croon a toon when he wanted to) - we used to do that together - sing. It was joyous, joyful, it was the best part of us - it was a duet of two souls in harmony, together, bonded, sharing moments.
Continents separated us physically and then death but nothing has severed the harmony or the joy or the love.
It's there every Australia Day - bittersweet.




Then, of course, there's the honeymoon debacle of 2008 - the dream turned nightmare as, on Australia Day at Kingsford Smith Airport Sydney, the Tahiti Nui airline clerk denied us boarding access to our flight to Pape'ete - our visas (or lack thereof) disavowed us the dream honeymoon and island wedding ceremony we'd planned and paid for months in advance.
The travel agent had cocked it up and we never got there - silver lining, of course, if we hadn't got stuck in Australia, traveled to Alice Springs (luggage to Darwin courtesy Qantas) then Uluru where we were overwhelmed by a spiritual experience the like of which we'd never known - we might never have emigrated to the red land at all...
Insult to injury became manifest when the same sleazy travel agency gave us the heave-ho when we approached them for compensation as they'd promised when still in Australia. A long, protracted legal battle ensued where we sought merely reimbursement and some compensatory damages, after all they had bollixed it.
Instead, they lied, they connived, they falsified documents and this, along with a fatally incompetent judge, handed the suit to them with damages - that really hurt.
There must be a very special place in Hell reserved for lying, thieving fuckwits who would deny a woman her dream wedding and honeymoon, knowing full well that they were the guilty party...
Again - Australia Day - bittersweet...

Today, the day after Australia Day heralded the arrival of our furbabies from Adelaide, these poor confused children who were happily wandering around the bush environs of Magaliesburg one day then were suddenly and unceremoniously (well, not true - there was a deal of ceremony involved) whisked away to a cat hotel for a month and half before enduring the gruelling slog to Sydney, a ten day quarantine followed by yet another flight to Adelaide where they were greeted by manic shrieks and howls from an altogether unfamiliar bushworld.
Jeremy, we suspect, enjoyed the comforts of a loving home once, saw his "staff" packing boxes, fuhreaked out and gapped it for more stable climes - that would be us. Little did he know, he'd wake up on another continent one day let alone another farm.
He saw Karen packing boxes, withdrew and knew full well another trip was on the cards.
I collected them from Jet Pets (this time we doubled them up in larger carriers which helped them stay calmer) with Jeremy, odd man out again...shame, poor baby.
I was contemplating these logistics this morning when Karen called to tell me they'd been delivered to the airport her side - all good. She then proceeded to relay to me that I had received two penalty notices (fines) in the mail from NSW for driving illegally up and down a T-Lane reserved for buses.
Ordinarily this wouldn't have bugged me but as I realised my faux-pas at the time (totally unfamiliar with this T-Lane concept) I made a U-turn on the T-Lane and headed back to the exit point (stupid country hicks...) Nett result - not one but two fines - one for traveling in each direction!
And not shy with the penalties either - $325 each way!
The money is one thing but along with these financial penalties were the chilling words - 1 demerit point - with each event. I say chilling as unknown to you all, I am currently sitting on a 12-month good behaviour stint for having clocked up 12 demerit points in Adelaide in 2 years, the detail and nature of which are too long and painful to recount here. Suffice to say, I am not permitted to clock up 2 or more demerit points without losing my licence for a year!
And here were 2 demerit points over a foolish mistake - just being an ignorant prick.
I went cold. I was feeling physically sick.
Plan of action was to apply for the NSW licence and hope for the best - maybe these damnable things would slip through the cracks...maybe I could say I never received them given the timing of our move. Truth is, I didn't know what to say or do.
I applied for and received the NSW temp licence this morning - no questions raised over my declaration of disqualification and subsequent 12 month good behaviour status.
The pleasant Indian-Australian lady processed me, took my mugshot and off I went.
Off to get the cats and another chilling bag of snakes in my gut as the Australia Day weekend curse had struck again...
I couldn't understand it - everything had just clicked into place for us to be here in Sydney - job, house, company paying up front for the move...why suddenly this turd in the swimming pool?

The arrival of the babies did cheer me up somewhat despite the traffic leaving Sydney on the Parramatta Road.
They were sniffing and exploring frenetically, not too enamoured with the confinement of the house and verandah but over the last few hours have calmed and become the same bunch of delinquent misfits I've always loved.
Karen phoned as I plonked onto the bed to read and check out Facebook..
"I've just been to the post box," she says. "Are you sitting down?"
"Oh for fuck sake!" I groan. "What the fuck is it now?"
"Have you got a beer?"
"What is it, babe?" I plead. I'm almost in tears. "There can't be anything else - surely...?"
She starts to read the following notice:

I could have wept, I was so relieved.
What I'm taking from this is the fact that we're meant to be here for sure and the NSW Office Of State Revenue have some real human beings who realised this out of town dickhead had no clue what he was doing so gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Australia Day hoodoo officially broken methinks...
Namaste, mothersuckers...
Phew....

OF GREEN-SKINNED THINGS

This is Gaia, she's my bottle-green Subaru, my Scooby-Doo. 

And she's pretty old already. But I love her. 

She's great and despite the fact that she may have cost a bit of money to repair over the last two years, she's looked after me when lesser machines might have failed....

Yes, I've had to be collected once or twice and yes, she's left me stranded too but that's only because I tried brainlessly to kill her, not intentionally you understand - but I was the guilty party. 

There was the time she kept cutting out and I thought there was some intermittent electrical problem so I kept on going until one day she stopped and said - fuck you - listen I've got a problem. And she did. She'd kept going for goodness knows how long and far with a knackered water pump, and overheating block and yet she got me to where I needed to be. A lesser car would've destroyed itself. 

And I hadn't even noticed. Prick. 

More recently she did it again. Protected herself that is. 

Remember I wrote recently that the gods were taking the piss - her aircon belt snapped (shredded would be more accurate) halfway between Adelaide and Sydney and this in 35°C plus temperatures with a holiday weekend looming as I arrived and no service until after New Year. 

This resulted in goggle-eyed people starting visibly as the open windowed car pulled into various car parks along the way with Hugh Fraser projecting volubly through said windows, the narrative from the pen of one much beloved and seriously twisted Dame Agatha Christie, murder yarner extraordinaire.  Hey, as the heat and speed increase, so too commensurately the degree of window openness, the external wind noise and inevitably the audiobook volume to which I'm riveted. Fraser bellowing period Christie prose in a fabulously BBC-styled accent through the echo chamber of an underground car park is a joyful endeavour indeed. 

People are perplexed at the widower's intimate revelations as I park my trusty green steed. So, it must be said, am I. I've heard them all before but can never remember whodunnit nonetheless. The joys. 

I do, however, digress. 

So off I go, I scout around and find a decent outfit who'll do the job - shouldn't be more than $160 

Great. 

It's Saturday morning, Trump has been inaugurated, women are taking to the streets in America, some maniac has gone on a motorised rampage in Melbourne killing innocent pedestrians and Gaia is up on the lift having her innards examined. 

A perfectly ordinary morning in a nutty world. 

The mechanic strolls into the waiting area where I'm shaking my head at the goings on being beamed at us on repeat from the flat screen on the wall - he's expounded the opinion that this is just another New World Order tactic to maintain us in a yoke of fear while not so subtly removing our individual and collective freedom. I like him but I'm not sure the lone maniac was really a state programmed robot. I think the prick is just a twisted fuckwit who lost his shit. No matter. Well, it does, but not in this story. 

Graham, the mechanic, smiles wryly at me, drily at me even - if his name had been Riley it would've been funny - it would've been a Riley wryly drily smiley. But his name wasn't Riley it was Graham so it was just a wry Graham smile. Not as dramatic but the news his pained smiley lips imparted was onerous beyond amusement. 

"I need to show you something," says he.   

"Uh oh..." 

One of those concealed throat-clearing harrumphs by way of reply. Harrumphs in lieu of words, is a disaster, not unmitigated irretrievable like but not good, definitely not good. 

He pulls up short of Gaia's yawning front, clicks on a flashlight and beckons me look with a twisty faced leer and a glance toward the gap where an aircon belt and pulley should be. 

Only the pulley's in his hand. I look at that first. And I wince. 

"That doesn't look good," says I. 

"It's not," he says, " but look down there, mate. Look at the timing belt cover." 

And not being one to quibble over the demands being made by Baulkham Hills mechanics, I takes a peek at the spot from whence the nasty looking contraption has been liberated. 

"Ooh fuck!" Says I, thinking a working man with oily nails isn't likely to be fazed by this expletive, not that it was offered for effect - it was an involuntary ejaculation (too much period Agatha Christie?) occasioned by the sight of a ragged wound in Gaia's timing belt cover and a length of naked timing belt peeking out from the gloom almost shamefully.  

"What the...." says I, leaving the second exclamation deliberately expurgated. 

"Yeah," he says knowingly in a nudge-nudge, wink-wink kind of a way. 

"What the hell happened?" says I, sensing his eagerness to reveal all. 

"Pulley seized, was being driven back more and more into the timing belt casing and if it hadn't snapped, would've snagged the belt and then you'd probably be looking at replacing the engine." 

I lets out a long mournful sigh. 

"So how much to fix?" says I. "And how long?" 

"Aw, around $890 and should be done by Monday arvo..." 

You little minx, I'm thinking as I gaze at my car. That could've been thousands but you got me here and didn't succumb. 

"Do it," I say. 

And as I wander back to the waiting room about to call one of my colleagues for a lift back to site, I see the pumpkin headed orange man, now US president, grinning beatifically at the cameras which gets me to making the comparison. 

A costly repair versus a whole new engine - the lesser of two evils. 

And there in the crowd sits Hillary Clinton, pale, stolid, unflinching. And just for a moment I imagine a translucent reptilian eyelid blinking across those cold orbs but I know it's just my mind. 

Today, I collected my beloved Gaia, all better and raring to go, solid, reliable, trustworthy. 

That's where the analogy must end. 

Namaste, mothersuckers. 

Peace 

STILL ON THE RESERVATION

Great cosmic cycles make a mockery of our lives
Pinning black dust to the night sky where once there was light
We look to the stars then back down at our feet
Hermes The Thrice Great wrote this celestial script
It roils and it roars deep within our core soul
Yet we cannot discern what our own blueprint means
It is lost, overwhelmed by the chatter of man
Not a voice, a harmonic but the digital screams
Of a planet in anguish as she enters our dreams
Are we so lost to hope that we can't see the truth?
Meaningless trade and still governed by fools
Who appease us with trinkets and fire water haze
Right here in the United States of Reservation
Locked in the frequency of fear
Where we'll remain
Until we feel the stars in our hearts
See the sky in our eyes
And understand we exist in a handful of sand...

PUTIN IN THE FIX (with apologies to Irving Berlin)

Sung to the tune of Puttin’ on the Ritz…
(aka - The Fake News Shuffle)

Have you heard the latest news, Russians turning all the screws

Another global cyberscare, to elect president Goldenhair
Spy hacks and rigging voting, buy-backs and Clinton gloating

Accused of every crime, not once but all the time
US press crew they don’t know what to do
So they say, these stupid pricks:

“Putin set the fix!”

Bullshit hype running on the hour, this utter tripe

Making people cower, from rerun scripts

“Putin set the fix!”

Perpetuate this fantastical blooper

Smiling as they ram it up our pooper (pooper-scooper)

Screw these dicks the fake-news guys and chicks
False breakthrough just for kicks

“Putin set the fix!”

They say that Donald Trump would be real crappy

Hillary’s more erudite and snappy (happy-clappy)
The Russian bear was hacking with their cyberware

The system cracking everywhere

“Putin set the fix!”

HOMEOPATHY AND THE POPULAR VOICE

Homeopathy and the popular voice                                                                                

“Our expectation of an explanation for a mechanism of action is that it is both scientifically plausible and demonstrable. We should, however, add that, while we comment on explanations for how homeopathy works, it is not a key part of our Evidence Check. Historically, some medical interventions were demonstrably effective before anyone understood their modes of action. For example, after 150 years of use, there is still debate about precisely how anaesthetics work. It is more important to know whether a treatment works—its efficacy—than how it works.”

Extract from UK Department of Health Evidence Check 2: Homeopathy - Science and Technology Committee (circa 2010) (my bold italics)

The world is a mad place. Tears For Fears weren’t wrong when they penned that massive 80’s hit.  Despite the madness though, it’s still a very compelling and hospitable planet for the most part – some might say despite the human race yet I say, perhaps because of us.
We just haven’t been given our say; perhaps what we say is going increasingly unheard or more optimistically maybe we’re actually starting to be heard.

I recently engaged in a debate on social media about homeopathy, taking a devil’s advocate stance against some pretty heavy hitting ‘sceptics’.

While I firmly accept the crucial role of science in establishing the paradigm in which we exist in this material realm, I think we should take pains to acknowledge that honest scientists are the first to admit they don’t fully understand how certain things work and this may simply be attributable to an inability to adequately measure the efficacy of those things.

I’m neither for nor against homeopathy. However, I am sceptical that the means whereby the benefits of the modality are measured may sit outside the paradigm of the science that would attempt to understand it.

The UK Dept of Health evidence check report makes the point that any effects of homeopathy were placebo effects – it may induce improvement simply through belief in it. There have been exhaustive tests conducted over the years involving RCT’s (Randomised Controlled Trials) usually taking the form of double-blind medical studies, almost exclusively funded by the pharmaceutical industry with, it must be stressed, heavily vested interests in specific outcomes.

The definition of a double blind medical study is given as follows: “An experimental procedure in which neither the subjects of the experiment nor the persons administering the experiment know the critical aspects of the experiment; a double-blind procedure is used to guard against both experimenter bias and placebo effects" All of that makes perfect sense. What doesn’t make any scientific sense, however, are the psychological and psychophysiological impact of the placebo effect in these trials, effects which inevitably occur.

Dr Howard Brody, Director of the Institute of Medical Humanities at the University of Texas Medical Branch defined the placebo effect as "a change in a patient's illness attributable to the symbolic import of a treatment rather than a specific pharmacologic or physiologic property". In other words, changes take place within a patient’s physiology either for better (placebo) or for worse (the so-called “nocebo” effect) simply as a result of that patient’s belief that a change is inevitable due to the medication that’s being taken.
This is an inexplicable, invisible paradigm that’s occurring that science cannot begin to adequately explain and we certainly don’t have the means with which to monitor or test the placebo effect.

Only one thing is for certain, however, faith, religion and belief often mixed with nutritional regimes – work. The belief in something (a thought sequence) has a manifest physical effect on matter. We can alter our wellbeing and wellness simply through a pattern of belief. It’s never worded that way in the double blind studies but indubitably that’s what’s happening.

It is perhaps most obvious in those who become convinced that their illnesses will kill them. Inevitably, however, all such discussions are cloaked by sceptics who argue against doctors holding strong religious beliefs because such beliefs, lead to patients living longer and so using up more money

Fritz Albert Popp, a bio-physicist, claimed to have discovered and even demonstrated that photons provide the vehicle for information transmission in living systems – “biophotonic” activity took place in specific cell tissues and organs within a patient’s body merely by concentrating one’s thoughts on that particular spot.

The Sceptic movement in its beginning was highly vociferous against such ‘science’ because it posed real problems for the profits of pharmaceutical companies. Sceptics have done everything they could to wreck such theories. The late French scientist, Jacques Benveniste was bitterly attacked when he discovered the invisible bio-messages travelling through water, because it enhanced the idea held by homeopaths that immeasurably small quantities of a substance could affect matter.

The idea of faith or even immeasurable (invisible) quantity may go a long way to beginning to explain the placebo effect (more plainly; mind over matter) and I have no doubt that it will be empirically measurable in time to come, however, it currently obtains as an effect that cannot be adequately measured or explained under the circumstances or with the equipment used in contemporary RCT’s.

Okay, so let’s accept for a moment that homeopathy is nothing more nor less than a placebo form of treatment - to accept this we have to forget about using homeopathic principles with children and animals. If we accept that as offered by the mainstream medical establishment as a dismissal of homeopathy, we see how truly disingenuous that argument appears to be. If the effects cannot be understood or adequately measured during the double blind studies, how can the medical professionals analysing these data, call for the results to be dismissed if there is even the possibility of a placebo effect or, as the homeopaths claim, the stimulation of the body’s self-healing mechanisms? They have no demonstrable way of measuring this unless we begin to introduce the complexity of Popp’s experimental methodology into the mix.

The concluding dig of the UKDOH report runs: “Our expectations of the evidence base relevant to government policies on the provision of homeopathy are straightforward. We would expect the Government to have a view on the efficacy of homeopathy so as to inform its policy on the NHS funding and provision of homeopathy. Such a view should be based on the best available evidence, that is, rigorous randomised controlled trials and meta-analyses and systematic reviews of RCTs. If the effects of homeopathy can be primarily attributed to the placebo effect, we would expect the Government to have a view on the ethics of prescribing placebos.”

Indeed and why not, with costs to consider one might have imagined that this was, in the absence of scientific ‘proof’ one of the first principles of policy?

It goes on: ‘Homeopathy is a 200 year old system of medicine that seeks to treat patients with highly diluted substances that are administered orally. Homeopathy is based on two principles: "like-cures-like" whereby a substance that causes a symptom is used in diluted form to treat the same symptom in illness and "ultra-dilution" whereby the more dilute a substance the more potent it is (this is aided by a specific method of shaking the solutions, termed "succussion"). It is claimed that homeopathy works by stimulating the body's self-healing mechanisms.’

My own experience of homeopathic remedies utilising these solutions (not to be confused with herbal or natural remedies) was one of distinct success when I sought them out to aid with seasonal allergy problems and viral conditions such as colds and flu. They appeared most efficacious, however, that could simply have been my belief in the remedies or even my own natural immune system kicking into gear or my focus on my personal restoration in the vogue of Fritz Albert Popp – through thought and intention. I don’t really know but the results were always more rapidly efficacious than the conventional meds my buddies were taking. Or at least that’s how it appeared to me.

The point is, one cannot rule out the importance of the symbolic and psychological factors on the outcome. They’re manifestly evident. To this end, we had forgotten the popular voice on these matters – had that is until the populist call in Switzerland circa 2005 and again in 2016 (intended to be reintroduced in 2017) demanded that homeopathic practitioners and medications be included in their national health care system and subsidised accordingly.

This simply reveals that there is a significant number of people who either know it works or at very least believe it does, which, if it’s merely a placebo dynamic, should surely be sufficient. In Switzerland, according to a recent article on the topic, “homeopathy, holistic medicine, herbal medicine, acupuncture and traditional Chinese medicine will acquire the same status as conventional medicine by May 2017 when it comes to health insurance. 

“After being rejected in 2005 by the authorities for lack of scientific proof of their efficacy, complementary and alternative medicines made a comeback in 2009 when two-thirds of Swiss backed their inclusion on the constitutional list of paid health services.”

Let me reiterate that statement - two-thirds of the population backed the move. Unlikely that it was an initiative of a financial thrust alone – this is health management we’re talking about.

People have a voice and they are making it heard when it comes to health and wellness.
We cannot and must not lose sight of the significance of that collective popular lay voice.

Two of the largest consumer organisations on the planet – viz: McDonalds and Coca-Cola have been forced through public demand to offer healthier options to their consumers. It isn’t that they grew a conscience overnight – their businesses are still driven by profit – the crux is though, that the people spoke in sufficient numbers to make that demand viable on the balance sheet and more importantly, we started to make better choices about our health. We forced a change.

Another manner in which people lack the insight into their innate power is to apply the don’t-go approach. You want to make people change a pricing structure or a service offering? Then simply boycott that business. Collectively, if people did this, businesses would have no choice but to accede to these ‘demands’ or face financial ruin. We have that power. We don’t use it. We tend to make much more acquiescent choices in our daily lives.

That said; many are starting to make the same noises about vaccines and demand that they be made safer and that all information being suppressed regarding that safety should be made public so that ‘informed consent’, a fundamental democratic right, can be realised instead of the medical fascism that currently obtains in the US, UK and Australia to name but three modern democracies forcing unsafe vaccines on their populations against threat of financial punishment or even incarceration.

I’m not for one moment advocating that we suspend our faith in medical science or technology but I am saying – use your voice and demand that what we partake in and of, is designed to be safe and the best it can possibly be.

Medication is understandably crucial in aiding the correction of imbalances in the body but there is a growing consensus of people who posit that one’s health is more holistically maintained through proper balanced nutrition and healthy lifestyle choices, which more often than not is distinguished by a marked absence of prescription drugs.

At the very least, you should be able to make up your mind about what goes into your body regardless. Remember well - there are corporations out there relying on you not making that choice.

POLLEN MURRAY REPORTING FOR DUTY...

I spent the first forty five years of my life quite perfectly adapted to the environment in which I lived.
What happened to suddenly make me incompatible with the planet?
When did Gaia arbitrarily decide that I was no longer going to just breathe normally without being subjected to itching nostrils, sore eyes and the manifestation of Niagaran volumes of snot from a seemingly endless source - enough to glue wallpaper from here to Timbuktu?
What did I do wrong to be rejected so callously by my planetary mother?
It was like somebody flicked a switch. One day it was all hunky dory and the next I was a raving, mucous-riddled ratbag. No gradual easing into this bitch. No little exploratory pollen-induced sneezing sessions just to warm me up - nope - I just went full slant-eyed, double-barrelled snotgun.
And it was the same for Karen. Decades of harmonious existence with the plants of the world then one day - boom! Have some of this hay fever, bitch!
I mean, what the fuck!
The only thing I can come up with is that it's revenge, vigilantism on the part of the plants that I, as a vegan, am not consuming.
"Hey, that sonofabitch is dedicatedly eating our veggie brethren, it's time we fucking showed him that that kind of irresponsible behaviour comes at a price. Bottlebrush, give him a dose of your finest and then you slinky little grasses, hit him with the next salvo. Then, just when he's taking some form of medication to ward you off, we'll come up with a covert combination cocktail that their chemists haven't even heard of. Ready?"
Well here's the thing - I'm not going to say fuck you, Gaia nor am I going to cease and desist from my wanton consumption of plant matter by way of sustenance. If you are what you eat then I should be the most compatible planetary plantman going. Not so. Just have to keep trying...
Although admittedly, once the pollen pulverising ensues, I do kinda devolve to a semi-vegetative state so perhaps my transmogrification into the Swamp Thing is progressing as planned. 
And as if that wasn't the strangest part of it all, the plants conspire to occasionally release me from this torment while directing their assault on my wife and as soon as she emerges snot-free from a three-day bout of this, I plunge back into the pollen purgatory while she looks on agog.
It is spectacularly bizarre.
The season has, however, almost run its course this year and soon we will be the merry, skipping free-breathing kids we once were for another eight months or so before the cycle resumes...
Achoo.
Namaste, mothersuckers.

THE COLŁECTIVE CAT CON CONUNDRUM

This involves a cabal of cats, as many as seven (in our case) or more. 

The conspiracy commences over food, despite their usual disparate hierarchal infighting.  

On this topic they all agree. Nothing that their humans provide for them, unless it's hand delivered coconut oil or cheese, is good enough. And even then, some will balk at the delivery method of coconut oil on the hand, preferring to lick it off the spoon simply to ensure the humans have another washing up item with which to contend. 

The staff must earn their right to serve cats. 

One of the seven likes only the cheapie pellets and nothing else, another likes these mixed with a better product but only if served in her bowl - no other bowl will do despite impending starvation when that bowl is empty (read: containing pellets but bare in the middle section - cat empty). 

Yet two others will sit and stare longingly at the backs of the feeding cats wondering why the humans have chosen to feed only them and not us...until one of the humans scoops them up and deposits them in front of their regular unattended bowls just beyond the feeding cats where they've eaten for the last two years...

One snoozes contentedly on the humans' bed knowing he can eat at his leisure once the rabble have completed their stupid daily ritual. He's the leader. Even if the rest of the mob don't know that yet. He doesn't have to demean himself by showing a need for these human handouts. He will wait. 

And once it's all over and at least one of them has vomited (not on a wipeable tiled surface or outdoors - it must be on a carpet or rug - staff must earn their keep), the mob will engage in a range of activity that mostly involves - well - sleeping. Eating and puking is tiring work, don't you know. 

Once settled and the humans have embarked upon their own daily routine, any staff member alighting from a chair naturally signals a return of at least two or three expectant souls to the kitchen area just in case the staff have decided to replenish the (cat) empty (see above) bowls with new, decent food worthy of feline consideration. 

Collective coaxing and cajoling may produce handouts from the shiny cold box or not but the demands must be relentless and varied. 

Any other form of human movement, regardless of its non-feline intent, must be regarded as a potential feeding opportunity and the designated spokescat must meowl appropriately on behalf of the group. 

Worst case scenario, the staff will repeat the ritual at around five o'clock whereupon the idiosyncratic pantomime shall reprise. 

And that's why we love cats.