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.