What’s going on

I'm back. I know it's been a few days, but we've had some strange weather here of late. Firstly it was cold and pouring with rain. So I can't blog on those days cos I'm too dang miserable and decide just to spend all day sleeping on the people's bed.

Now, though, the weather has picked up a bit and I'm taking full advantage of it. This, of course, means I'm spending a lot of time outdoors. And when I'm outdoors I can't blog. Well, duh, cats are just too easy to mug when they're tapping away on a laptop in the park. Not a good idea.

Anyroad up (as they say up north, I believe), I do have a couple of things to report on. I'll start with the bad news.

Usually I have free rein at home. I can come and go as I please. I often hear the woman saying to the man something about "treating this place like a hotel", but I'm sure that's not about me. I mean, they should think themselves lucky that I spend any time with them. No, can't be about me. So... having free rein means I can also go in and out of the cat-flap all night, if I so desire. The people used to lock it at night, to keep me safe or something, but I soon put an end to that by waking them up at 4.30 every morning to let me out. Yes, they soon tired of that game! (Who's the daddy?!)

However, I've been - what would you say? - terrorized of late. There's a cat in the 'hood who just clearly doesn't like me. (I know, I know: what's not to like?) This has been going on for a little while (see here, for example). He'll see me out and about and chase me all the way to my cat-flap. Sometimes he will then lurk outside said flap and punch me in the nose when I stick my head through. This is annoying at best and humiliating at worst. Not to mention painful. But this is a cat's life, so what can you do.

But last week, this guy decided that the cat-flap was no barrier to him. HE WALKED INTO MY FUCKING HOUSE! Can you believe the balls on him? Actually, he's not neutered, and he does have quite a set of balls, both figuratively and factually speaking. Not that I go about looking at such things, but it's impossible to miss them. Not only did he come into my house, but he sprayed in the kitchen doorway. The kitchen, where my people go to prepare food. Dirty chav bastard.

The people heard me growling at him and when he heard Man coming downstairs he made himself pretty scarce. But this happened again the next night... Which is why now they've been keeping me in for a few nights. Partly it makes me feel better knowing that he can't come in (and may eventually give up trying); and partly because it saves me going out and getting beaten up. That said, he did leave a good chunk of his hair on the doorstep the other night when I took a swing at him.

And so for the good news. I have a new friend. Well, I did. For about a minute. This is me giving him a little kiss:


And this is him struggling to get away, although I'm really not sure why. I could have been a good friend; we'd've had some fun times together.


But they took him away. The people who live with me. Man took some pictures and then said something about it not seeming right taking pictures instead of helping. Woman said something about Kevin Carter, but who knows what that's supposed to mean.

So, that's about all for now. I'm going to go back out in the sun for a while. Until next time...

Idiots!

I heard the people talking about getting me a pet. What? A pet dog, of all things. Now what in the name of all that is holy would I want a pet dog for?! Am I gonna take it out walking when I go out of an evening? Oh, I think not. Idiots.

And look at this. It's a poem I found on Man's desk.


Eighteen hours a day he lies there,
barely makes a sound.
He makes up for it the other six --
you know that he's around.

He tells you when to feed him,
he tells you when to play,
and he makes it very obvious
when to stay away.

He's not all that high-maintenance
-- I have to grant him that --
but he's just great to have around,
that crazy puddy tat.


What the hell is that all about?! Idiots! I'm surrounded by idiots! HEEEEELLLPPPP!!!

Well, what do you know?

So there I was, yesterday afternoon, catching some rays, disdainfully sniffing the food my kind landlady had left for me and the other feline pris- ...er, guests. And guess who shows up. The humans! (Be still, my heart. And easy with those exclamation marks, or they’ll think you were happy to see them.)

I was really beginning to think that they would not come back for me. That, angered by my behaviour in the days prior to their departure (I am, indeed, guilty of turning up the crank-o-meter to 11), they would leave me in sheep-gazing heaven for the rest of my days, a modern-day feline Abbe Faria, longing for those carefree days when I belonged in a loving home, with a soft duvet to sleep on and the great outdoors at my unsheathed claws.

The other day, I even approached the landlady as she came into my pen for food, and rubbed my head on her leg for the first time since I’ve started coming here (2003). “This is it,” I thought. “If I want to be kept in fleece blankets and fresh fish, I’d better start making some new friends, quickly!”

And then, they show up. Woman boasting a lovely golden tan, Man hobbling uncomfortably on two very red pins and sneezing uncontrollably. Has he been around another cat, I wonder? Because if he has, there’ll be hell to pay!

A short car ride later, I was home again. Oh, joy! And the humans have put the devilish carrier (pwah, a pox on it!) in the cellar, which I assume is code for “We’re not going anywhere for a while”. I was so happy to be back, I sang all night long, all the while walking around their heads as they were sleeping, just to make sure it wasn’t a dream. I miaowed with delight and glee as Man raised his head and rubbed his eyes at 4.30am to find me shagging his arm with unrestrained enthusiasm. Oh, how I have missed it (the arm).

Now the humans are working and yawning, complaining about not sleeping well... Me, I’m sleepy, so I’m off to bed.

Telepathic blogging

Cats have all sorts of mystical and magical powers, you know. One of them is telepathic blogging. By the time you read this, dear friend, I will be well and truly caged up with no access to a computer terminal for several of your human days. Woe, verily, is me.

Well, they've done it, those bastards. They boxed me up and took me away. Fair play to them, though, the technique they used to get me in that damn cat carrier was pretty bloody inventive. I'd've been proud of it myself.

But the truth is that I can't complain too much. The looky-after lady is very nice, and she has sheep grazing just outside my pen so I can watch them, like fluffy white clouds on little sticks. She borrows them from a neighbour to cut her grass.

They must've been on their lunch break when we arrived because there wasn't much chewing being done. Just a whole lot of taking of dumps. And staring at yours truly. I know I'm pretty and all, but get your beady eyes off me you woolly herbivorous melonfarmers. There's often pheasants come along too. It's pretty here... I find myself dreaming of eating lamb and chasing coloured birds.

I heard a rumour

There has been talk of a cattery in recent days. And it stinks.

Oh, I know Woman tries to make it sound so palatable (like those darned tablets that have been forced down my throat) by saying I’m off to a spa retreat and “Oh, isn’t it exciting!”. HEY! LADY! Listen up: a poxy 2.5m x 1.5m pen does not a spa retreat make. Not to mention the horribly cramped and frankly mortifying conditions I have to endure on my way there, in that evil cat carrier. Pwah! A pox on you, cat carrier from hell.

And being pen neighbours with a skinny cat called Bombo (you humans must think you’re fucking hysterical, eh?) is not my idea of a holiday, either.

I hope the weather sucks wherever they’re off to...

Crazy Tuesday

Today has been crazy. In fact, I spent almost all of the day sleeping under the bed of the people who live with me. I've found that it's the best place to go if there's even the remotest possibility that they'll want to scruff me and feed me pills or stuff me in my carry case.

It's been quiet here. The man went out for a sizable chunk of the day, and the woman has been working. Even if I wanted some attention, I've got to work so hard for it that it barely seems worth it. I'm not really into hard work.

I've sort of forgiven the people for the pills. To be honest, they haven't really made a grab for me for quite a few hours. Last night I even went to bed with them. Y'know, just chilled on the bed, purring happily.

Problem is, they take up so much room that it's quite a struggle for me to get comfortable. I fear getting kicked with every twitch or spasm, and I daren't stay long enough for them to start snoring. So I gave them a little time with me, then left them wanting more. Isn't that the secret to all good things?

Cat fight club

Look at me lying there. How relaxed I am. I'll get to the whys and wherefores shortly. First, though...

You may not know this, but the first rule of cat fight club is, do not talk about cat fight club. You know what the second rule is? DO NOT talk about cat fight club. Funny, huh?

Anyway, I'm gonna break both of those rules right now.

This morning, at about 4.45 or so (I don't know for sure cos cats don't wear watches), there I was sitting around in the garden just killing time while waiting to wake up the people who live with me. You know, I'm minding my own business and everything and everything.

Next thing I know, I'm being chased like a melonfarmer*. I go bursting through the cat-flap, knocking over all the wine bottles that have been stacked up by the bin ready to go the recycling point and waking the people up in the process.

The man-person knows that when this commotion occurs that it is usually because I'm being chased. So he goes legging it to the spare bedroom to see if he can see the culprit in the garden. But nothing. Then he comes to me, saying, "Are you all right?" and stuff. I give him my deep, throaty growl -- the one that means: "If I were you, I'd keep my distance. I've just been humiliated, and I'm in a foul mood." Funny, the man seems to recognize this, even if he doesn't recognize "Take me to the vet" (see below).

So I give it a few minutes and head back outside to enjoy the rest of my pre-wake-up time. Bugger me, if that mean-ass cat doesn't come for me again! I'll go on record now and say that, okay, I'm not a kitten anymore. Perhaps the best of my fighting days are behind me. Bottom line: I'd rather just stay out of bovver. But trouble just comes looking for me. Probably because I'm so gorgeous and all.

In I go, crashing past the bottles once more and reawakening the people. This time, Man did see the aggressor in the garden. I heard him say: "Oh God, he's spraying all up the back door. And now on the drainpipe." Woman-person just grunted. Funny, she's usually good in the mornings and Man less so.

As a result, all day I've been a little out of sorts. And to make matters worse, whenever the man comes near me, I'm afraid he wants to grab me and give me another of those damn tablets, so I'm keeping my distance from him.

As for that pic. When Man made the bed the other day, he left the duvet rolled up on the floor at the foot of the bed. I heard him tell Woman that he would bag it up and put it in the cellar. Well, not if I have my way. It's making for a lovely napping bed of a daytime.

* Melonfarmer = well, you know, that other MF word.

Why I'm on medication

It all started last Sunday... The people who live with me had gone out for the day, leaving me at home all on my ownsome. I don't have any problem with that, since I've got my cat-flap and go and pee outside whenever I want.

But last Sunday, the neighbours were having a party. I hate people. To be honest, I don't much like cats either. Or dogs. Mostly, in short, I don't really like any living organism that I can't kill, toy with, and/or eat. But the people who live with me are okay, usually...

So, there's this big party going on next door (for the full horror details, click here), and I need to go pee. But I can't. Y'know, cos there's people. And they're singing terrible karaoke songs in their horribly screechy voices. And there's lots of shouting. And children. And if there's one thing I hate more than people, it's children. And if there's one thing I hate more than children, it's noisy children. So you can appreciate my predicament.

So I wait.

But still it goes on.

And I wait some more.

Meanwhile, they continue.

"Maybe I ought to use my litter tray," I think. I go and sniff it. Smells okay. "Yeah, but I'd prefer to go outside. I'll give it another five minutes."

... "And five more."

Anyway, the long and short of it is that by the time the people who live with me came home, I had used the litter tray. Out of sheer desperation. And, I fear, somewhat too late. I heard the male person exclaim something like, "That clump of piss is the size of his head!" I didn't find that funny. And I'll tell you why.

In my determination to pee only outside, and therefore in waiting so long to finally use the litter, I did myself something of a mischief. My "waterworks" began to hurt.

More than that, whenever I had the tiniest, teeniest, most minute amount of pee in my bladder, I felt compelled to expel.

It got so bad that eventually I had to start telling the people who live with me that they'd best take me to the vet. But they're not the sharpest tools in the box. They bang on about how they can speak English and Italian, but they can't even understand their own landlord (me).

I tried telling them quickly at first: "Take me to the vet." Then slowly. Then loudly. You know, the way you try to order beer in Spain without speaking Spanish? But no, they just didn't get it.

I think the thing that finally made it click into place for them was me going and sitting on my litter tray and MIAOWING REAL LOUD. That seemed to get the message across.

Anyway, yada yada yada, the vet sticks me with a needle and gives the people a bunch of antibiotics. And that's where we're at right now: twice a day the male one grabs me and tries to sling a pink tablet down my throat. I heard the vet tell him that they're palatable. Yeah, sure they are -- if you have no damn taste buds!

It's got so that I can hardly come into the house without being scruffed and manhandled. Still, only one more day to go, apparently...