I maked a ded burd.

I maked it ded, tha burd.

Deding makes me sleepy.

Pesky humans

Most of the time they tend to be sort of okay, the people I look after. But from time to time they take it upon themselves to "fix me", like I'm some sort of bloody Coldplay project. I can take care of myself. You should see me out there, keeping neighbourhood cats and birds at bay, fighting off the stealthy slowworms. I don't know what they'd do without me.

Sure, once in a while a soldier catches some flak or shrapnel. I got a bite in the leg. Big deal. I'm limping a bit. Whatever. But they see this and think, "Oh, poor lamb, oh cuddly wuddly, oh vetty wetty."

I try to warn them off with a hiss and a swipe, but they can be pretty tenacious at times, and the next thing I know I'm being manhandled into the blasted carrier and sitting in a room full of dogs and rabbits.

And then they start turning my ears and eyes inside-out and sticking long metal spikes into my neck. Needless to say, I'm never more keen to get back in my carrier than after a trip to that place. I felt quite sleepy afterwards.

Star of the printed page, just like I told you!

Man, is there any lazier blogger in the world than me? Probably not, but what the hell -- I'm a cat, for crying out loud. And in the summertime I like to sleep.

Anyway, a couple of days ago, a ring on the doorbell came. It was a courier bringing copies of the book I'm in. Here, for your viewing pleasure, are the pictures. The text is fun in places too!

Don't say I never give you anything.

Me undertaking a light lunch:




Me squinting:



My Italian uncle:

I’ve heard of dog tags, but who’d tag a cat?

Hey everyboooody. Long time, no see. Just popped in cos blogmate Milla tagged me. This is rad -- my first tag. I'll jump right to it!

1. WHAT WERE YOU DOING 10 YEARS AGO?
Being a kitty embryo with my two siblings. We were waiting to be born, just sploshing around in me ma's belly. Good times.

2. WHAT WERE YOU DOING 1 YEAR AGO?
See my blog. I'd been making friends with slowworms and fighting turf wars with the neighbours. The usual cat stuff, I guess.

3. FIVE SNACKS YOU ENJOY.
Fish, mice, the sweet sticky stuff between my claws, slowworms, human flesh.

4. FIVE SONGS YOU KNOW ALL THE WORDS TO.
The Love Cats (The Cure); The Bird and the Worm (The Used); Keep Fishin' (Weezer); Cool for Cats (Squeeze); The Siamese Cat Song (from Lady and the Tramp).

5. FIVE THINGS YOU'D DO IF YOU WERE A MILLIONAIRE.
I have no need for money. Apart from anything else, I have trouble handling the notes and difficulty opening a bank account.

6. FIVE BAD HABITS.
It's possible that people might consider hissing a bad habit. And swiping at people's calves and hands. Also, scratching the sofa. And waking up the humans at 5am so they can watch me eat. And dropping food outside of my bowl, perhaps.

7. FIVE THINGS YOU LIKE DOING.
Hunting wildlife; eating fish; rolling in the sun; sleeping in the shed next door but one; attacking small children.

8. FIVE THINGS YOU WOULD NEVER WEAR AGAIN.
That toupée thing that the humans made out of one of my toys and they insist on putting on my head for comedy value; one of those neck collars that look like a lampshade; a collar; a big, fat leg bandage; nail varnish (not that I ever have; that's just a nasty rumour).

I don't have many friends in blogland, and most of the ones I do have have already taken this tag. So just feel free, and let me know, so I can check you out. Thanks.

The joys of spring

Spring is here again.

I enjoy the longer days, the milder weather and lazing about in the sun as much as the next cat, but spring also has its downsides. It is the time of year when my humans start coming out in the garden, you see -- MY garden. Where were they in the bitter, cold winter, when I had to brave the elements to routinely patrol the area for unwanted felines?


And I don't recall seeing them out there when I was struggling with a ferocious slowworm over control of this most strategic of territories (although at least the Man gave that little episode a nod of acknowledgment with his latest skin-painting exercise).

I had hoped and expected that by maintaining a constant presence in the garden, I would be recognized as the sole user of that area. But no. Now that the weather is fine, the humans want in. Well, we'll see about that.

The other day, knowing that the Woman would come out to my garden to water the plants, I plundered my very own pet cemetery, which I set up a few months ago at the back of a giant shrub, to dig up a little surprise for her.


As she went to the tap to fill up her watering cans, I laid down on the decking, to better savour the moment when she would certainly squeal like those delicious mice I sometimes find for supper. I half-closed my eyes and followed her every movement. The sun on my shiny black fur, the breeze on my long, white whiskers, a moment of shock for my human... does life get any better than that?

Alas, it was not to be. The Woman seems to have grown somewhat bolder over the winter: rather than the terror-fuelled squeal I had so eagerly anticipated, she reacted to my "gift" with a mere sharp intake of breath. Disappointing.

Still, she called the other human over, and they had a good look at my handiwork. Then they did the only thing that would make me forgive them for trespassing into my territory: they rubbed my chin and praised my hunting skills. That's what I'm talking about, bitches!

And the video hits just keep on comin’...

They've been at it again, making me perform like some kind of circus animal.

I. Am. Not. A. Dog.

You know what I should tell 'em? Pogue mahone.

Star of the silver screen

The man kept shoving a video camera in my face.

I wrote a poem about it.