Pink

Recently I wrote in praise of the lummox on this blog. A rare thing I know but he bought me some tinned salmon and it seemed like the right thing to do. Well, it seems I was a bit hasty in heaping praise upon him. He's blotted it all by buying me cheap pink salmon now instead of my preferred Pacific Red. You can tell it's cheap shite just by looking at it and I'm not about to sully my innards by even attempting to eat it.

They both looked and sounded extremely disappointed, even hurt, when I turned my nose up at it but hey people, if it's that good why don't you eat it?

So in future it's got to be the finest Pacific Red or don't bother. I can see right through your penny pinching ways and if you think I can be fobbed off like that then think again. Who do they think I am? I'm Pixie Poo Poo that's who I am! And I deserve the best.

P x

Canard

I caught myself a duckling yesterday. And before you go getting soppy and stroppy all over my gorgeous furry ass I should point out that:

A) I'm a cat, ergo a predator
B) I have a reputation to uphold
C) Have you any idea of the skill involved in catching one?

I saw it down the side of the boat it having gotten away from it's mother who frankly should have done a better job of looking after the thing before people have a go at me. Then with amazing, almost superfeline dexterity I swooped and hooked it out with one swift pass of my claws.

Unfortunately I made the mistake of taking it onto my boat to polish off. You would have thought I would have learned by now really. The duckling became quite alarmed and began to squeak repeatedly. This alerted Fatso McLummox to the fact that I had it and of course being such a git he tried to get it off me. I evaded capture though and ran off the boat with it squeaking betwixt my jaws. I thought I'd given him the slip but he came bounding up the steps like an orang-utan with it's arse on fire, roaring my name and pursued me across the mooring.

I'm ashamed to say that I lost my grip on the bird and before I could stop myself and gather it again the lummox had scooped it up in his clammy great mitts and it was all over. I watched him return it to the canal, my eyes burning into the back of his fat head as thoughts of vengeance danced through my mind. This is the umpteenth time he's done that to me and I don't know how much longer I'm going to stand for it. And personally I find all this mawkish sentimentality over wildlife quite nauseating. Let a cat be a cat I say.

P x

Amphibians

They're every-bloody-where. Frogs, toads, tadpoles the whole shebang. Croaking and chirping and  belching and keeping me awake at night. And you ought to see what they get up to, in plain view as well, it's positively disgusting. It's the sort of thing dogs would do, making a public display of themselves like that. You couldn't even throw a bucket of water over them because frogs would probably like that. Honestly, all night you can hear them at it and then come the morning when I'm all bleary eyed from a restless night there's neither sight nor sound of the buggers.

And the worst of it is, I don't even like frog. Can't imagine what the French see in them.

P x