Stealing the Limelight

Malcolm - 'The Imposter'

Well I am having a big sulk as I was robbed.  The Tall One has shown me a Lilac British Shorthaired cat on tv at the moment called Malcolm.  He is advertising Young's Gastro fish range.  I would like to stick my bottom in his face and maybe do a threatening glare.  How come he gets the call to be on tv and not me?  S'not fair.  The Tall One replied that perhaps he does not have a slight squint in his right eye or black eye gunk.  How rude, I don't comment on the open pores on her nose or bits of spinach between her teeth.  She also said perhaps he is well-behaved and easy to train which she thinks I am not. Hmm, maybe she has a point there ...

The Silence of the Lambs (er no, it is actually a v cute bunny rabbit)

Bunny: "Oooh, grass, nibble, nibble. Ooohh, dandelion, chomp, chomp.  Oh dear, I appear to have wandered off the path a little and am now in a bit of a predicament as I'm rather lost.  Jeepers-creepers, what was that noise?Mummy, Mummy where are you? There seems to be an eerie fog along the horizon and a  strange glow in the sky. Oh, bright eyes, burning like fire, is that you Mummy?..."

Great Jehoshophat, what the Dickens is going on here? The Tall One informs me that the pesky creatures having a good sniff of the dearly departed are called Prunella and Bernard. They live in a village not far from me. If they came to my house I'd be sure to give them a good biff and see them off my land even if they are girls and have rather pretty fur. However, they aren't the perpetrators of the unspeakable awfulness, that is their big sister Cleo who likes to keep the local wildlife population in check on a nightly basis. I must admit I am a little shamefaced by her hunting prowess as I've only managed to 'obtain' a baby bird and a baby mouse which were rudely removed by the Tall One before I could have much fun with them. I've also presented her with a few earthworms under the rug as well as some baby slugs via my teeth and also on my fur.

House Guest Etiquette ("You Shall Not Pass")

The Stairs - You Shall Not Pass

The Stare

I think it is important that when the Intruder Ones (otherwise known as 'house guests' according to the Tall One) come to stay that a few ground rules are established. 

1.  On arrival of the Intruder One, be sure to present yourself as close to possible to their feet and suitcase thus creating an obstacle and hindering further movement of the Intruder One into your territory.

2.  Should the Intruder One dare to seat themself, immediately press your face and bottom as close to their visage as possible.  Bonus points are obtained if their clothing can be accessorised with dead fur and if you are able to pass on your feline pong or saliva by rubbing your scent glands on them.

3.  Be sure to herd Intruder Ones into their designated areas.  Should they attempt to climb the stairs then loiter menacingly in the shadows so that they know that all attempts to gain access may be met with teeth nips or claws.

4.  Do not under any circumstances let them close a bedroom door on you when they retire for the night.  If such attempts at privacy are attempted, remind them of whose house it is by miowing loudly and scratching frantically at their door at 1.30 am.  If access is then granted, be sure to remind Intruder Ones that they are only being allowed temporary access to your space by giving them the 'Intimidating Stare'.

5.  Be sure to gain recompense from them by making sure necessary homage is paid via stroking and general admiration.

Drawing the Divine

It was the Tall One's Birthday on 5 February so the Big Shoe One made her a birthday card featuring the Tall One in bed and me on top of her trying to wake her up at 4.00 am by scrabbling at the top of the sheet with my claws, hah-hah-hee. 

The slightly alarming Big Shoe One told the Tall One that he found it hard to draw my celestial self and so in the end resorted to drawing Simon's Cat.  I'd like to tell the Tall One that I most certainly am not that fat.  Admittedly, we are of a similar hue of fur, both have slighly bulgy eyeballs, share a similar temperament and our rear ends are somewhat alike but I am much more beautiful of form.  I think artists through time would have been challenged if they were to have been tasked with painting my divine perfection as my beauty far surpasses some of the paintings hanging in art galleries.

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.