Ireland

They're going to Ireland tomorrow and leaving me here with Lucy again.

We've had this discussion before, many times.

Frankly I'm getting sick of repeating myself.

Who do they think they are?

Who do they think I am?

They had better bring me something nice back with them or else.

Still, it's better than cruising with that roaring great monstrosity
(the engine I mean, not the lummox).

P x

Weird

A strange and somewhat disturbing thing has happened and I can't explain it gentle reader. For the best of a week now I have become quite attached to the lummox. Whereas normally I just about tolerate his shambling, malodorous presence around the place I now actually enjoy spending time with him. I sit on his lap, sleep on his side of the bed and find myself generally making a fuss of him at all hours of the day and night. What possible explanation could there be for this? I've come up with a few...

• It's my hormones playing up
• I'm getting soft as I approach middle age
• I've got a blocked nose (but I can still smell other things)
• I've subliminally taken pity on the man

Or maybe, just maybe, he's actually grown on me. For one thing, he is prone to buying me expensive cat food and he is certainly comfortable to lie on having such expansive and ample rolls of fat and flesh. I mean, I still favour Ange out of the two but it's just that lately I feel drawn to the poor oaf. I don't know but one thing is for certain, I hope to be back to my old self soon. I hope!

P x

Woof!

It saddens me to say that I must write in reference to dogs again. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to regale you with my latest mouse catching adventures but alas no. I have to report about the two dogs (collies I believe they are) that have come to stay at the cottage for a few days.

In a nutshell - they never stop bloody barking

Dogs will be dogs, I realise that, and dogs will bark (of course they will). In fact a barking dog can be quite useful at times if say there are intruders about (yes gentle reader, even dogs have their uses). But this pair are relentless. From morning till night it's just a constant drone of barking. I mean, the dog here barks and very often without good reason but not all the bloody time like those two. It's doing my head in and I'm planning on ways that I can render them silenced. There must be something.

I've taken to sleeping during the day on top of the water pump box which has Ange's clothes hanging above it. That way I can at least muffle some of the noise out.

Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark! That's a rough impression of them. Honestly, it never stops.

P x

Swimming

Laugh! I thought I'd never stop. Tears were streaming down my gorgeous furry cheeks and I physically shook with wave after wave of merriment. I refer of course to the time last year when the lummox fell into the canal. Made a complete wassock of himself in front of all and sundry on the towpath he did, splashing about like a lame hippo. Berk! I loved it of course.

However, he didn't go in on his own accord. It was an accident. His lumbering great feet slipped on the gunwales and down he went. If he wasn't such an ox of a man and if he had the choice then it just wouldn't have happened (and I wouldn't have had such a laugh). The same can't be said for dogs though. You know, it never ceases to amaze me when I sit on the roof and time and time again I see a dog go hurtling head long into the canal and start swimming around in there. And they do it for fun. FUN!!! What on earth is the matter with them?

Let's consider the main drawbacks of such behaviour shall we?

1. It's wet
2. It's dirty water
3. It's wet

Then they'll go home with their masters (or servants as we cats call them) and make a bloody great mess everywhere. The dog here does it all the time. You couldn't keep her out of that filthy water if you tried and then she'll come lolling about on the furniture and leave damp patches all over it like the big galoot that she is.

Dogs? I'll never understand them!

P x

Scotland

So they've gone off again. Scotland this time. All the bloody way to the Highlands in that van of theirs. I can just imagine the sort of sordid things they get up to in there as well - drinking wine and eating chocolate until it comes out of their ears and then lying in that made up bed, farting and snoring till the sun comes up. Actually, now I think about it, that's sounds pretty much like what normally happens here at the weekends. So why go off to Scotland and leave me behind???

The one they call Lucy who owns that red boat next door has been invited to stay and look after me and to be fair to her she's doing a fairly decent job of it. She's good at making a fuss and food is always presented when I demand it. But if I've said it once I've said it a thousand times - what gives them the right to go off and have a good time without me. Especially all the way up there!!! And can you just imagine the lummox wearing a kilt? Ugh! It's enough to put me off my Dreamies. As for a sporran - don't even go there!

Scotland! Pfffff!

P x

Mozzy

It really is choice and quite funny to see. Funny, and somewhat grotesque. The Lummox has been bitten in the leg by some winged creature and it has turned septic. You ought to see him limping around like some doddering old man, wincing and moaning in infected pain. But I ask you, what a nancing great jessy of a man he is. One little bite from a mosquito and you'd think he was on his way to the emergency ward. I've sat and watched him rubbing cream on it and filling his system with anti-biotics. Pathetic. Do I pfaff about like that when I get a flea bite? Do I buggery! No, a quick scratch and I'm on my way (although they will insist on squirting that stuff on the back of my beautiful neck every month).

Normally, I enjoy chasing winged insects around the roof of my boat and mauling them but I think, on the balance of things, I may just leave them alone for a while because of the good laugh they've given me on this occasion.

P x

Gastronomy

I wish I liked cake. I really do. Because that would be a perfect way to describe how I get those two to feed me whatever I damn well please - a piece of cake. And make no mistake, if I did like cake then I would soon get me some and one of that pair would do it at my bidding.

The thing is you see, I'm so very gorgeous, (beguiling I think I heard Ange say) and when you are so purrfectly (see what I did there) adorable it becomes quite, quite easy to get your own way in life. And it's as simple as this:

Ange or the lummox will open a tin or sachet of cat food. I am then presented with two choices - I either eat it or I turn my nose up at it, depending on what kind of mood I'm in. If I choose not to eat it this sends them into a state of all sorts of panic, worrying what on earth to do but always leads to them rushing out to buy me something else. It's not that I don't like what they served up (although sometimes it has been shite and I've voiced my opinion on that before) it's just that I get bored easily plus I want to see what they're going to turn up with next. And the more I do it the more panicked they get and the more money will be spent on trying to find me the right cat food and very often the most expensive. And quite rightly so!

But what it also leads to is gastronomic comestibles that humans would normally eat themselves. Seriously, I've had salmon, tuna, chicken, ham, beef, sausages, eggs, you name it! I've had all sorts just by turning my nose up and I even turn it up at that stuff sometimes which totally freaks them out. It's great fun and the best of it is, sometimes I do it because I'm just not feeling that hungry at the time.

Like I said at the start, I don't like cake. But if I did, I'd have my cake and eat it and that pair would rush out and get me it that's for sure.

P x