Dialling the Dictators

"Hello, HELLO, Operator , is that Dictators R Us".  "Umm, I need to be put through to Stalin, Lenin or Pol Pot".  "Yes I'm looking for ten handy hints on how to become a more successful tyrant".  "Yes, that's right, I do consider myself God like, uh-huh, yes, the Tall One is getting a bit above herself and failing to provide an adequate level of servitude and adoration to me".  "Can I be clear, by torture, do you mean inflicting a reign of terror and biting her wrist when she stops stroking me and fixing my canines firmly on her scalp in the middle of the night until she screams for mercy at 3 am?" "No she doesn't show me adequate respect.  For example, she failed to shave her eyebrows off when I went for a scenic detour for three days".  "Noooo, whadya mean the Dictators aren't available to speak to me". "Hello, HELLo, are you a complete cretin or something, NO don't you hang up on ME.  Don't you know who I am?". "Hello ..."

"Yes, hello is that the Tall One?" "I'm calling as I demand more food NOW, more stroking NOW, more pick me ups and cuddles NOW.  Depeche-toi. Vite."

Noises off (despotic laugh).  "I really am pleased with this Cat-Berry phone, it really is very useful.  Thank you Jonathan and Saskia".

Diary of a Furbody

I confess that I have been a little remiss with correspondence of late, for which I offer up many apologies.  After the unspeakable episode of wandering in the wildnerness for three days, or rather the more prosaic entrapment in someone's garage or shed, I came down with an unfortunate case of a large hairball that would not, ahem, 'pass'.  This laid me down feeling most low.  The vet lady examined me, commented on my bad breath (how rude) and said that this hairball was probably the result of me over-grooming during the stressful incident of the imprisonment - well there wasn't much else for me to do except lick my fur so she can't blame me.  I was prescribed some Lax-e-Past paste and within a week I was feeling much brighter after a great deal of 'passing'.

Over the Christmas period I enjoyed a brief sojourn in the land of the Bard where I enjoyed loitering in the fernery and ambushing a passing grey cat much to its displeasure.  I was presented with a new bed which I used for two weeks and then tired of as well as a cat blanket which I am feeling frankly ambivalent about.

I am now installed back in Oxfordshire where I am pushing ahead with my New Year's resolution to get more stroking out of the Tall One.  If she is not prompt enough with the pleasing hands, does not do things in the right ritualistic order or dares to disobey me I am sure to reprimand her promptly with a loud bossy squeal and a good nip of the arm or leg.  Know your place Tall One.

Moses's Search for the Promised Land

Missing Poster

Well bit of an adventure here.  I decide to take myself off on a search for my people's Promised Land and the Tall One makes a complete show of herself.  First of all she lets the side down by pushing bits of paper through people's doors with a free photograph of my bounteous beauty on (does she not realise she should charge?) and then she starts pinning these bits of paper to electricity poles, benches and gates around the village.  I mean embarrasing, does she not realise that my fellow felines will now consider me a complete Mummy's boy and make me the laughing stock of the village?  The resident cats won't cower with such submission, nor will I be able to stare down Ginger the Butch with such aplomb and verve now.  All I did was take myself off for a three day sojourn.  Frankly I was a little bored of being fed Aldi's cut price version of Gourmet food and so took myself for a little visit of the neighbouring sheds, outbuildings and houses just in case they could provide me with something a little more satisfactory.  Then I encountered a little obstacle of a shut door so I could not ahem depart the premises.  All was not lost though.  I do not want to revisit those three days of oblivion but the wandering son returned at 2.35 am in the morning and was met with much wailing and shouts of joy by the Tall One.  Can't say the Promised Land is in West Oxfordshire or if it is I did not find it.

The Tiger who came to tea ... and stayed practically the whole weekend

Well, if two slinky black whiskered fellows weren't enough for one decent honest chap to contend with along comes a bloomin big tiger creature determined to take up residency in my garden.  According to the neighbour it spent the whole of Friday morning perched atop the shed roof seeking a prime viewing position of the twittering birds in the hedge.  Then on Saturday it spent the day sleeping on the pond slope up against the shed.  I went and peered at it between the branches of a bush but it just ignored me and then the Tall One went out and it didn't pay the slightest bit of notice of her either.  It was only on Sunday when she went up to it with the nasty bright light flashy thing that it took umbrage and went back to join its four furry friends two doors down.  Unfortunately it has left me a present of some tiny white egg things which have hatched in my fur and consequently made merry in the Tall One's bed so she is now whingeing about bites of the flea.  A Pox upon this scurvy cat I say.

You shall have a kitty on your little dishy

Here is another plate in honour of my unparalleled beauty painted by the Tall One.  I now have an 'Autumn' dish to add to my 'Winter' plate featured earlier in the blog.  I am hoping for a full set to feature 'Spring' and 'Summer' so that I can be a Meow for All Seasons.

Still suffering rather from a bout of ennui following from the disappearance of the black felines and so am demanding a great deal of stroking on the stairs.

Hug a Hood(y) near Witney

The Tall One is a bit sad as Squeaky the skinny black cat has vanished and she is worried about him: "is he shut in somewhere, has he been attacked by dogs, have the thieves who have been targetting vans in the village made off with him"? I frankly couldn't give a damn about the welfare of the cat but am immensely bored without having something smaller to bully and herd up on my trips outside.  Instead, I am having to entertain myself by finding inappropriate places to sleep.  Here I am lying inside the hood of my cat litter tray which the Tall One has just sprayed with a nasty chemical pong.  Sadly it was a little too comfy and I failed to notice the monstrously large longhaired tabby come inside the house where it tucked into my Gourmet Perle Mon Petit food and the Tall One had to shoo it away.

Reasons Not to Feed Your Neighbour's Cats (The Kray Twins)

Our  Lady of the Dressing Gown opposite recently aquired a Staffie puppy whereupon she became apparently bored of her two black sibling kittens (alternately called Ronnie & Reggie Kray and Squeaky and Squealy by the Tall One, not knowing their true names) and to all intents and purposes stopped feeding them or letting them in her house.  Personally, I don't care about their names I just want to bop them on the head and chase the irritating critters off MY LAND.  They have been coming in MY garden and sneaking into MY kitchen and eating from MY food bowls. 

Concerned that the furry vermin were looking malnourished the Tall One started to give them the odd treat to prevent them following her when she went for a walk, this was BIG mistake sister and now:

* cat(s) will rush out from nowhere within 3 seconds of the front gate being opened and squeak for food;
* cat(s) will sprint out at the sight of her and roly-poly all over the path rubbing their scent glands into the concrete and leaving a horrible pong;
* cat(s) will climb into the car unnoticed and make themselves at home on the back seat as the Tall One tries to load her bags into the car before setting off for work
* The Tall One is having to spend some of her salary on feed the darn things when she could be using the money more wisely on prawns for myself.

I wish to write a letter to my local MP to complain but cannot co-ordinate my paws to hold a pen.