Mrs Woog visits the Cat Cafe.

School holidays. Could you be any more tedious?

Yesterday I had a brain wave and booked a session of patting at a Cat Cafe in the city. Yep, I paid $20 per person for the three of us to pat cats for an hour.

Mr. Woog thought it was a dumb idea, and pointed to Chuy and our Nespresso machine, but in my head the idea of visiting a cat cafe was a superb way to spend some time.

We arrived and showed the very nice lady who appeared to run the place our booking. She offered us a coffee or a cold drink. I opted for a Diet Coke because I am a coffee snob and didn’t believe that good coffee could be made by a cafe such as this. (I later asked the other coffee drinkers what it was like and they all said that it was good just FYI)

We walked up the stairs and was confronted with what could only be described as a soft play centre for cats. In the room, 19 felines roamed in various states of moods. Some were happy, some were cranky and some just could not have given any fucks to speak of.



It was a bit confusing if I could be totally honest. But I wandered around and talked to each and every one.



The cats were all rescue cats, which was very nice to learn. And if you totally fell in love with one of them, you are able to explore the adoption program.

Now the boys were completely beside themselves, and Horatio made a firm friend.



But Jack. Poor Jack. He loves cats so much, but they all just seemed to loathe him. He wandered after many, many cats with a brush trying desperately hard to shower them with affection, but they would run away from him. When he did get close enough several times, he got a little scratch. We believe that his irritating trait was to talk to them in a very high, squeaky voice with his face right up next to theirs. My little pin-cushion.

To me, most of the cats seemed completely over it. Like “If you pat me I will cut you” over it.



Hey! But I paid good money to pat you dude!

And then one of them took a dump so offensive, that I had to leave the room for a while and go outside to take in big deep lungfulls of air. The Cat Person who looked after them “DO NOT PICK THAT ONE UP. HE HATES IT!” breathed a deep sigh and got cleaning. He came and told me when it was safe to enter the room again.






Now sometimes cats get a bad reputation for being assholes, so I asked the Cat Person which cat in that particular room was the biggest asshole, in his opinion. I was not surprised when he mentioned this fella…


He basically stayed in this bookshelf the entire time. He was the first cat you saw when you entered and when you went to pat him, he mauled your hand a bit. It was deeply unnerving but I really liked his FUCK YOU attitude. And he also pointed out this one, who was not coming out for a pet any time soon.




There are a lot of cats to play with.

They are doing a terrific job promoting adoption rather than buying cats from pet stores.


I suggest you go early in the morning when they are apparently at their most adorable.

You might get scratched if you use a squeaky high voice.

To book a pat at this particular cat cafe, please click here.

Cat Cafes. Heaven or Hell.