Smashed vase

For the first time ever I saw a surge of annoyance darken my woman’s face. Well what I mean to say is: she does get annoyed a lot. Usually with the man, though. Never at ME. It must have been the startling smash of pot on wood that made her jump out of bed and stumble downstairs to survey the scene. Well yes, it was 4.30 in the morning and I know that my slaves don’t like their napping interrupted but it was only a vase for Bast’s sake. Although - I have to admit - its cracking was loud. Do I have a conscience? Nah, not really. I was more surprised than sorry.

Looking at the remains this morning I can see that it could be mended. A spot of glue might restore it to its former glory and then my woman could buy it some flowers as she does for the other vases. Now that’s got me thinking. What sport might be got from knocking over the window vase displaying its bouquet of roses?

The Four Elements

Just because we spend most of our life indoors doesn’t mean we can’t be in tune with the elements of nature. The potted plants supply us with earth in which we can dig and scatter making the floor look good and messy. Of course, it makes our slaves angry especially when they’ve just put the Dyson back in the cupboard.

But earth is never as much fun as fire. Flame is seriously hot stuff and on occasion has scorched my whiskers and left me with stumps.

And let’s not forget water - my sister can catch drips like a lizard would catch flies.

Wind? How very dare you!

Poem

My woman has written a poem about us.

My Cat

Outdoors,

You are a predatory stalker on weaponed feet
Alert to the pin-drop rustle of a mouse,
With your stalkers' mean eye and irascible tail-tip twitch.
You are a lone hunter; black-hearted as a gunman,
Camouflaged only in iniquitous silence,
Defying the bell of human kindness.
Now you are coiled and controlled -
Burnished and blood-thirsty,
Ready to accelerate into the kill.

Indoors,

You wear a whiskered mask of congeniality
As you stretch out velvet paws of kindness;
On my lap, curled into your own opulence of fur and jewels.
Unfurled now - soft-bellied and yielding -
Allowing the eagerness of a peach-skin caress.
I'm under a spell of feline euphony
Your symphonic seduction of crescendo purrs.

Chopper Bird

The things I see from my backyard. Today a giant mechanical chopper bird flew overhead and landed on the playing field. The noise it made was enough to send me scuttling indoors for cover. It nearly blew my whiskers off with its whizzing wings.

It was much bigger than the blackbird which feeds on the sultanas my woman sprinkles on the garden wall. 

  

Talk to the Paws

Listen! She's at it again:
"Teddy!"
I've just eaten my second meal of the day - so she can't be opening another chicken pouch.
"Teddy!"
I'm just going to ignore her... [yawn].
"TEDDY!"

Oh shut up why don't you? It'll just be one of those banal comments like "Who's a lovely pussy cat?" or "Aren't you a good boy then?" or the more scruff-cringing "Who's my little poppet?" Talk to the paws Mrs Slave.
"Teddy - would you like a chew stick?"

Eh, what!? Well why didn't you say!?

Tongues

It began with me sticking my tongue out at my brother. Boys will be boys and he just had to stick his tongue out just that little bit further.

“Beat that sister!!” he bragged.

And I did.

Trees

Okay - I’m a house cat and as such am unable to climb trees. Instead I climb slaves. My man makes a particularly good tree. His trouser legs come in useful as a trunk on which I can sharpen my fine claws. But best of all he’s good and tall and I can shin up him and look down upon my sister and my woman who both look rather tiny from up here.

Dear oh dear my servants are slacking. Just look at all that muck on top of the kitchen wall units. Oh look there’s my biscuit jar. What ho Jeeves! I’m feeling rather peckish. Get me something to eat. Immediately.

Leads

I’m embarrassed to say that there are times in our life when we are treated like dogs. Mainly when the sun is out and our slaves need to let its rays colour their flesh. They put on our harnesses (I’m ashamed that mine is toy-poodle-pink; a darker shade than my sister’s harness but nonetheless – pink) and they attach leashes and we have to wait by the backdoor while they find sunglasses and butter themselves with sun cream. We are allowed out but like dogs we are hassled by leads.

Our garden has a high stone wall and beyond that are noisy mechanical slave carriers that hoot and screech and squash creatures like hedgehogs into raw mince mounds. What’s more, I once had to be carried inside a plastic cage and put on the seat of one of these cars and taken to a veterinary clinic where I had my “doings” removed. So these speeding machines are not high up on my treat list, believe me. And we know that our predecessor is buried in a planter by the wall because he was too fond of the tarmac and one of these metal monsters knocked him down.

All of these things make us understand why our woman and man want to keep us in the garden and away from danger but why oh why do we have to wear leads?  

Coco

It had to happen and I had a feeling it would be soon. The arrival of a rival. Yes, one that is cocooned in striped pyjamas. Eyes like pale sea green marbles; no doubt “mewling and puking” in nurse Nancy’s arms. Meet Coco:

I heard my woman aww and coo when she saw its picture on her family’s blog. It is the new owner of my woman’s sister who is called Nancy.

It’s just not fair. My cuteness and cuddle factor should not be toppled and I won’t let it. To rub more salt into my gaping wound, this creature is named after a well known and much admired French fashion designer – whereas I am named (I’ve just recently learned) after some obscure folk singer probably only enjoyed by my man and woman. I’m gutted.

Mirror, mirror on the wall.....

Snores

Sleep is such hard work. I’m lying next to my sister and listening to her snore. Yes she actually snores. Like a truffle pig snuffling in the earth. I’m sick of it. She’s giving me tunnel vision. My woman doesn’t seem to mind and just keeps gazing over at us with that sickly look of complete adoration. It’s certainly not the same look she uses for the man when he’s nodded off in front of the TV with his pint pot balanced on his belly.