News reaches me from distant lands that I am not the only badly behaved cat. Mr Augustus, shortened form 'Gus' but who I call 'Gusset' (snigger) has recently moved abode. He was the immensely trying feline who came to stay as a kitten and pooped in my litter tray and then proceeded to demolish my gourmet food. You only need to watch Simon's Cat's "Double Trouble" to see what went down. I am used to being the one in charge and did not take kindly to this outrageous behaviour and so I tried staring him down under the kitchen table and then tried to herd him behind the radiator but the blighter kept escaping. Anyway I digress, he's apparently moved house and took a look at his new block and was not impressed as he was leaving behind some adoring senior citizens from his old neighbourhood who would regularly put tasty tit-bits down for him and lavish attention upon him even if they did insist on calling him 'Gilbert'. He should be grateful for this moniker though as it does at least vaguely resemble his actual name, unlike 'Tinkerbell' as I was greeted recently by a retired gent who is actually called Gilbert over the road. Tinkerbell imagine?! I'm a boy cat mister. Anyway, after a week of being kept inside he seized his first opportunity of outside-time and then refused to come home whilst a Bengal, Abysinnian or some other such fancy cat has apparently been trying to do a house-swop and enter my Aunt Poll's house by shouting at their back door to come in. Thankfully he has reappeared since. I made a similar move on the Tall One yesterday and refused to come out of the Paradiesgarten when asked to and so received abysmal neglect when I was left to fend for myself for three hours when she went into Oxford for a new clothes airer. I made sure I rushed at her car whilst she was trying to park, forcing her to do an emergency stop and then proceeded to shout at her for a good hour until I felt suitably reassured.
I have discovered a Secret Garden down the footpath. It is ein Paradiesgarten. Sehr guht. I get to jump around in the long grass catching the wings of flapping moths in my mouth, to explore inside dilapidated sheds and sniff out odours piquantes amongst the piles of scrap metal piled high. I've also found other cats out hunting in the same territory. It is also highly amusing watching the Tall One duck under brambles, limbo around thick ivy trunks and scramble over chicken wire in her efforts to capture me to bring me back inside for the evening. She also likes to wail my name but I'm convinced I'm called 'Kissie' rather than Moses so I make zero response to her calls. I like to evade capture for at least a good trenta minuti to get my money's worth. I've even discovered a few very small frogs in my garden. The Tall One hopes they might bring down the numbers of gargantuan slugs that make merry but she fears the slugs will devour them instead.
