Sathnam Sanghera: Whiskas on toast please

Whiskas on toast please

As anyone who has visited the Asian subcontinent will know, when it comes to animals that are not cows, the Indians can be a cruel race. It is something I realised early in life, when I was 10 and my dear mum abandoned my pet cat Lucky on the edge of an industrial estate.

He had joined our household some time earlier, to help tackle an infestation of mice. But as the rodents disappeared, so did the need for Lucky, and one day I came back from school to find that the ironically named mouser had disappeared.

The terrible truth eventually became apparent and I have been upset about it ever since – so much so that the other week I was on the verge of tears when recounting the tale to a friend. His reaction was hardly sympathetic. My mum was right to do what she did, he said: the family couldn’t afford to keep the stupid cat, the stupid cat would have looked after itself and, besides, the English were too sentimental about their pets. “It’s ridiculous,” he added. “English pet food manufacturers even hire people to taste cat food! How disgusting is that?!”

There followed a lengthy argument about the relative intelligence of cats and the concept of human pet food tasters (he insisted they existed, I insisted they didn’t) – a lengthy argument that we only agreed to suspend after betting one another that we were right on the latter question. And to settle it once and for all, early one morning last week I boarded a train to Leicestershire, to visit Waltham, the research centre that develops pet foods such as Whiskas and Pedigree for Mars.

On the way, the public relations woman accompanying me explained what an honour it was to hang out with Waltham’s 400 cats, 250 dogs and numerous scientists: apparently, even the editor of Your Cat magazine hadn’t been accorded such a privilege. And she was right: it was an honour. Every cat I met was cuter and friendlier than the last.

Indeed, the felines at Waltham may be the happiest and healthiest in the world: not only are they well fed, but many get their teeth cleaned, long-haired ones get groomed and fat ones get exercised.

The only hardship they have to endure is commercial radio, which is piped through speakers into their snoozing quarters, but even with Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes warbling “(I’ve had) the time of my life” at them, it was evident that 10 out of 10 cats at Waltham preferred Whiskas.

Eventually, the time came to meet Dr Andrew Miller, the 34-year-old manager of Waltham’s Food and Behaviour Team, who answered every silly question that came his way with cat-like cool. Can moggies be vegetarian? “No.” Do different cats around the world have different tastes? “Owners do: French cat owners like vegetables in their pet food, for instance.” Why hasn’t someone developed a mouse-flavoured cat food? “Consumers don’t want it.”

Eventually, we got to the point: how do manufacturers such as Whiskas test the taste and quality of their food? Dr Miller explained that a great deal of science and market research went into each product, but at the “cat level” at Waltham there were two basic kinds of testing: preference testing and intake testing. The former usually involves two types of food being put in front of one cat, while the latter involves one cat being fed different products on different days.

“Owner perspective is also a big element in pet food development,” he added. “Cats don’t have any money, so we have to appeal to the owner as well. It has to look right and smell right.” But, of course, this doesn’t extend to employing human beings to taste the food, does it? “I don’t know any people who are.”

Ha! I knew it. The idea of human pet food tasters is an urban myth, isn’t it? “Well . . . “ A worrying hesitation. “ . . . People do taste the food within the business, but it isn’t a requirement.” What? “On an ad hoc basis, people may, y’know, have a taste. In the factories we have a quality control panel and at that point people will break it, sniff it and occasionally taste it as well.”

Jesus. “All the ingredients are fit for human consumption, so it’s perfectly safe.” Has he eaten the food himself? “I have.” When?! “During my four years here. If you see a product performance that you don’t understand, then it’s quite good, y’know, to break it with your teeth.” How often has he done this? “Probably only three or four times since I’ve been here.”

The information was shocking, but I couldn’t work out where it left me with the wager. In a way, my friend and I were both right: Whiskas didn’t specifically hire people to taste pet food, but some workers did voluntarily taste it as part of their job. When I got back from Waltham, I called my friend and explained.

He didn’t accept the analysis. As far as he was concerned, there had proved to be some truth in what he said and none at all in my insistence that human pet food tasting was an urban myth. In his view, he had been vindicated and as a forfeit he demanded that I (a) eat my words and (b) eat some cat food.

I’ve been considering my position for a couple of days since and, on reflection, I think I have to accept defeat. So, some time after I file this piece, I’m going to do something I never plan to do again: take a bite out of some toast smothered in a layer of chicken-flavoured Whiskas. There will be photographic evidence. And if Dr Miller is right about the quality of the ingredients, there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.