That's it then. It's been and gone and I survived it gentle reader. The humans (as I predicted) gorged themselves on high calorific foods, washed down with copious quantities of strong drink and are now discussing dieting come the new year (yeah right). The day began with a frenzied attack upon the presents. Why they go to all that bother to wrap things up only to tear the paper to shreds a few days later is beyond me. Surely it would be much easier to just hand the gifts over cat like. Whenever I make them a present of a freshly dispatched mouse I don't pfaff about wrapping it in paper and daubing sticky tape and tags all over it. No, I give it as it should be given - on the living room floor for all to see and admire. You know, there is so much they could learn from us cats if they only took the time.
Following the paper shredding they then drank the beverage known as sherry in a sizeable quantity. This made them go rather giggly and a little blurry eyed. Stick to milk my friends, stick to milk. No one ever went blurry eyed over a glass of semi-skimmed. They then, thankfully, went over to the cottage to feast, leaving me to have my boat in peace for the remainder of the day. The lummox had the foresight to light a coal fire before going in order that I should remain toasty warm in their absence and it was quite gratifying to know that he can do something right now and again. They returned many hours later, bloated with food, reeking of liquor, full of wind and rather tired.
But I missed it all and slept blissfully throughout the day. How Snowy, Sooty and the dog managed I neither know nor care suffice to say they probably disgraced themselves by begging for turkey and gravy at the table and not having the dignity to stay aloof from it all. Anyway, that's it for another year. I believe there is going to be a party of some descript on New Years Eve at the cottage and again those other two and the dog are welcome to it. I know what I'll be doing and it rhymes with 'peeping'. TTFN
P x
Saturday, 28 December 2013
Friday, 13 December 2013
Lunacy
The mad spend fest known as Christmas is fast approaching. To any cats out there who are unaware what exactly this means I'll tell you. It's a time of year when most humans go berserk and spend seven or eight times more money than they actually earn. Most of the following year is then given over to trying to financially recover from this mania with the exception of the annual summer holiday to Torremolinos or some other overly hot Mediterranean destination where further fiscal stupidity, that they can ill-afford, takes place.
During the Christmas period you can expect your humans to behave in all manner of odd ways. They will dress differently for one thing. All of a sudden the simple idea of going for an evening out becomes an excuse for them to make complete fools of themselves by donning pointy red hats with white trim, adorning their necks with hairy metallic ropes, wearing garish musical ties that defy explanation and pullovers that look like an explosion in a knitwear factory.
Whilst dressed in this ridiculous manner you can then expect your human to return home from their night of revelry in a state of utter dishevelment, throwing their guts up and getting rather tired and emotional about it all. The next morning they will hate themselves with a vengeance and vow never to make the same mistake again. This is usually a lie, they will do it again. It's all very strange.
Then we come to food. A lot of it to be exact. Your human will eat at least twice their own body weight in high calorie comestibles over Christmas and then moan about their bloated carcasses for weeks to come afterwards. They will eat food that is simply unavailable at other times of the year, mainly involving compacted dried fruit in some form or other. They will eat turkey. Quite delicious it is, but then won't even look at another turkey for the next eleven months. And before cooking the turkey they will shove raw sausage meat up it's arse. This means that the sausage meat will not cook properly but they will still eat it anyway and then wonder why they end up racing each other to the toilet for the rest of the afternoon. They will put metal coins into puddings, alcohol into custard, and wrap pork products around other pork products and consider themselves normal. NORMAL!!! Also, at this time, Brussels Sprouts will be consumed in vast quantities and we all know where that can lead to don't we. Enough said!
And of course there's the Christmas pop music. Sorry, did I say music? What I meant to say was slushy old pap that for some reason gets them all misty eyed and nostalgic for the 'good old days'. Ok, some of the songs are just about bearable but others are stomach churningly offensive slices of tired old schmalz that are more likely to bring a lump to the back of the underpants than to the throat. And yet, they seem to delight in listening to the same old guff year in, year out. Never anything new. Oh no! The same old same old every Christmas. And yet, they wouldn't touch any of these songs with a barge pole for the rest of the year. Utterly bewildering it is.
I could go on but I've made myself nauseous now at the thought of it all. So I'll just finish off with these words of moggy wisdom to all my feline readers. Avoid it all. Get yourself to the bedroom or some other darkened space and sleep through it all. It won't be easy as they can get very cacophonous, but do try. I must admit that my pair aren't too bad so it'll be quite easy for me. But to all you cats out there who have to endure all that nonsense my thoughts will be with you.
P x
During the Christmas period you can expect your humans to behave in all manner of odd ways. They will dress differently for one thing. All of a sudden the simple idea of going for an evening out becomes an excuse for them to make complete fools of themselves by donning pointy red hats with white trim, adorning their necks with hairy metallic ropes, wearing garish musical ties that defy explanation and pullovers that look like an explosion in a knitwear factory.
Whilst dressed in this ridiculous manner you can then expect your human to return home from their night of revelry in a state of utter dishevelment, throwing their guts up and getting rather tired and emotional about it all. The next morning they will hate themselves with a vengeance and vow never to make the same mistake again. This is usually a lie, they will do it again. It's all very strange.
Then we come to food. A lot of it to be exact. Your human will eat at least twice their own body weight in high calorie comestibles over Christmas and then moan about their bloated carcasses for weeks to come afterwards. They will eat food that is simply unavailable at other times of the year, mainly involving compacted dried fruit in some form or other. They will eat turkey. Quite delicious it is, but then won't even look at another turkey for the next eleven months. And before cooking the turkey they will shove raw sausage meat up it's arse. This means that the sausage meat will not cook properly but they will still eat it anyway and then wonder why they end up racing each other to the toilet for the rest of the afternoon. They will put metal coins into puddings, alcohol into custard, and wrap pork products around other pork products and consider themselves normal. NORMAL!!! Also, at this time, Brussels Sprouts will be consumed in vast quantities and we all know where that can lead to don't we. Enough said!
And of course there's the Christmas pop music. Sorry, did I say music? What I meant to say was slushy old pap that for some reason gets them all misty eyed and nostalgic for the 'good old days'. Ok, some of the songs are just about bearable but others are stomach churningly offensive slices of tired old schmalz that are more likely to bring a lump to the back of the underpants than to the throat. And yet, they seem to delight in listening to the same old guff year in, year out. Never anything new. Oh no! The same old same old every Christmas. And yet, they wouldn't touch any of these songs with a barge pole for the rest of the year. Utterly bewildering it is.
I could go on but I've made myself nauseous now at the thought of it all. So I'll just finish off with these words of moggy wisdom to all my feline readers. Avoid it all. Get yourself to the bedroom or some other darkened space and sleep through it all. It won't be easy as they can get very cacophonous, but do try. I must admit that my pair aren't too bad so it'll be quite easy for me. But to all you cats out there who have to endure all that nonsense my thoughts will be with you.
P x
Monday, 2 December 2013
Work
The lummox has returned to employment, and about bloody time too if you ask me. All he does when he's here is make a lot of noise and disturb my beauty sleep. For the record, between the hours of 07:30 and 18:00, Monday to Friday, the bed belongs to me and me alone (it belongs to me full stop if truth be told but being so benevolent I allow that pair to sleep in it at night) and I reserve the right to use it during those hours in an undisturbed manner. But oh no, he always starts drilling or hammering or sawing or buggering about in some noisy way and without being too blunt about it, he gets on my tits. I mean to say, is it asking too much for a cat to have a bit of peace and quiet for ten and a half measly hours? No, I didn't think so either.
But now the bed, the boat and the mooring are mine all mine during the day because the overweight oaf has gone to work. I'm not sure what he does exactly, ponces about in some office somewhere I think he said, but it's more than likely to be menial work that even a low-foreheaded, knuckle dragger such as him should be capable of. And it's absolute bliss. I can loll about to my heart's content without noise or disturbance until the pair of them come home again of an evening. I'll say one thing though, I've got therm trained correctly because the first thing they do when they get in is to light the fire in order that I shouldn't have to get out of a warm bed and go through to a cold living room. So praise where it's due, no-one can accuse me of not handing out the kudos when it's called for.
Hopefully, now that he's finally bringing in some brass I'll be kept in the finest food that money can buy and at the moment that means tins of tuna. So get to work lummox!
P x
But now the bed, the boat and the mooring are mine all mine during the day because the overweight oaf has gone to work. I'm not sure what he does exactly, ponces about in some office somewhere I think he said, but it's more than likely to be menial work that even a low-foreheaded, knuckle dragger such as him should be capable of. And it's absolute bliss. I can loll about to my heart's content without noise or disturbance until the pair of them come home again of an evening. I'll say one thing though, I've got therm trained correctly because the first thing they do when they get in is to light the fire in order that I shouldn't have to get out of a warm bed and go through to a cold living room. So praise where it's due, no-one can accuse me of not handing out the kudos when it's called for.
Hopefully, now that he's finally bringing in some brass I'll be kept in the finest food that money can buy and at the moment that means tins of tuna. So get to work lummox!
P x
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