Flatus

Gas, wind, farting, flatulence, guffing, letting rip, blowing off, letting off, coughing in your rompers, tearing the sheets, cutting the cheese, giving a Bronx cheer, call it what you like, I know what I calls it - a Scouse hippie filling my boat with abdominally produced methane and making my eyes burn for the best part of a week. And do you know what the lummox presented him with for tea one night? Go on, have a guess. No? Well I'll tell you - a big plateful of sprouts. What on earth was he thinking? He may as well have forced hard boiled duck eggs down his throat, it couldn't have been any worse. The effects, as you can no doubt guess, were quite, quite shocking, almost paralysing. Particularly to someone of my refined and gentle disposition. Honestly, it'll take weeks for the miasma to clear. And then they laughed like a pair of naughty schoolboys about it the following morning. I rose above it all of course and treated them both with the contempt they fully deserved. The lummox should've known better and will pay for his indiscretion in due course (I left him a little gift last night - hee hee!).

And the noise!!! I didn't get a wink of sleep at night and had to make up for it by lying in bed until six in the evening to catch up. Honestly, he was rasping and trumpeting away all through the wee small hours, tossing and turning on the couch and grunting with subliminal pleasure at each tremendous, great blast. How there's any glass left in the windows I'll never know. I mean, it's bad enough when the lummox farts himself awake and makes me jump but this was taking it to dizzy new heights.

Fair's fair though, the Scouse hippie (I believe his name begins with R, to be honest I wasn't paying much attention) has worked very hard and where the lummox has failed he succeeded and there is now a healthy and ample store of firewood to keep me cosy throughout the coming months. So thanks hippie I shan't forget it but then I shan't forget the brass band impressions either. Next time lay off the sprouts or better still tell the lummox to not even buy any, you have been warned

P x

Paw

It really is just too easy at times. We cats know every trick in the book about how to turn humans into soppy, gurgling saps. I won't deny that we like a bit of fuss now and then on our terms and we let the humans know this by doing adorable things that make them stop whatever they're doing, however important to them that may be, and start stroking and cossetting us to our hearts content. It works on at least 98% of humans, allowing for the factor that there will always be a stoney faced git somewhere who is worried about getting cat hairs on their lap. Sod them I say. But my two in particular are such an easy target that I've devised a method so simple in it's execution that I hardly need to raise a paw. In fact that's exactly what I do, raise my paw.

I jump onto the kitchen table or the arm of the couch, meow once or twice to get their attention and when they're looking I lift my left front paw in the air about an inch and then wait for the flood of praise and molly-coddling that inevitably follows. They go berserk with it and if I should raise it again they end up in a positive ecstasy of frenzied feline frottage that after a while gets a bit too much. Ange in particular though seems to know what a cat likes and gives some marvellous all over body scratches that even I have to admit send me into throws of delight. The lummox isn't as good although I have to hand it to him that he knows what to do with my cheeks (facial) and seems to have an unending vigour when it comes to rubbing them.

The amazing thing though is the ease with which I get all this to happen. I've known lesser cats that have had to meow, purr, rub against legs endlessly, play with toys and make buffoons of themselves in order to get what they want and whilst it's true that all these techniques work in the end, I think you'll agree that I've got it down to a T. Raising my paw, that's how easy it is folks.

P x

PS. I'm off out now for a pawdicure (hah! see what I did there!)

Wood

There's a large pile of wood on the mooring. It's been there for some time now. The lummox began collecting it about a year ago and over the course of the last twelve months it has steadily grown in size. Over the summer I have enjoyed clambering over it and sharpening my claws on it as it's a great place to exercise and I don't get Ange telling me how naughty I am which she has the bare-faced temerity to do when I sharpen my claws on the log basket/full length mirror/couch/dresser etc etc. Huh! However, the time has now come for my log pile to go. The nights are drawing in and a chill is in the air. Pixie therefore must be kept warm and snug.

So fat boy now has the task of sawing and chopping the wood up, stacking it in the shed and keeping the log basket replenished at all times so that from now until April I shall be cosy. He made a start on it the other day but to be honest it was pathetic. You should have seen and heard him. Sweating and wheezing and cursing and shambling about the place like a geriatric sasquatch, grumbling about something called sciatica (???) and clutching his lower back every ten minutes. Never mind clutching at it my fat friend, I thought, put your back into it. By the time he'd finished just a few measly lengths of oak had been transformed into fire logs, maybe enough to keep me warm for about a fortnight. Well I'm sorry but that's piss poor. I've half a mind to show him how to use an axe if I had rough, calloused hands like him instead of the fine, shapely paws that I have. Honestly he's about as much use as... as... as...

the dog!

Anyway, winter is upon us and I shall be spending a lot of it in front of the fire so he needs to get his finger out. I believe the scouse hippie is going to be joining us again soon so perhaps between the pair of them they might get the job done. Perhaps!

P x

Territory

Let's get one thing straight shall we... I was here first. Snowy and Sooty need to remember that. Ergo, all this is mine. The boat is mine, the mooring is mine, the yard is mine, the shed roof is mine and so on and so forth. They've got a back garden (mine also, technically) that they can run around in and make young fools of themselves so why do they still feel the need to make their way onto the mooring and down to the stone pile where I sometimes enjoy to sit of a morning.

On Thursday I had to face that Sooty character down as he came parading around the stone pile whilst I was taking the morning air. He managed to keep himself in check though and seems to know what's best for himself unlike that brother of his who has had to receive a thick ear on numerous occasions and who had to be chased hissing from the wheelhouse last Sunday. I won't stand for it you know. But Sooty seems to recognise who is top cat around these parts and as yet I haven't had to knock him about. Yet!

Then of course there's the dog but one has to feel sorry for her I suppose. Charging about barking all over the place, barging onto my boat and sending things flying, picking up the lummox's underpants in her mouth (I'm gagging at just the thought of that one), and eating any old muck that's placed in front of her. She's like a brown, furry wrecking ball. Personally, I don't think she's got the savvy to understand anything about the concept of territory which is fine by me. Those other two though...

And as for the humans, don't get me started.

P x

Home

I'm back. Pixie Poo Poo, the Queen of Dowley Gap is home again. And not a moment too soon either. Frankly, I think it's outrageous to keep me from my mooring for this length of time and I demonstrated my continued annoyance by getting off the boat yesterday and going off in a huff for two hours. You should have heard the poor saps, calling my name and shaking the biscuits. Do they honestly think I'm going to fall for that one again. I got back on board when I was good and ready. the humans obviously forgot that a cat won't just come running when they want it to.

But what I will say for them is this, the last few days have been challenging. The lummox even fell into the canal at one stage. I would have laughed like a drain had I seen it but I was curled up snugly at the back of the wardrobe space. But anyway, what I do know is that for the last few days they've been up against it and have had to work very hard to get us home again and for once, humans, I salute thee!

Just don't get used to the idea. I'm just grateful to be home, I haven't gone soft or anything.

P x

Dog

Humans will tell you that dogs are intelligent creatures. How they arrive at this conclusion is beyond me and indeed if you were to ask any cat they would all tell you that this is in fact a myth. Oh sure, they can round up sheep, sniff things out, run and fetch etc etc, but these are all nothing more than party tricks which are learnt after many hours of practice. Whereas a cat, you see, is born with a deep and sublime intelligence (though I do wonder about Snowy at times). Dogs you see will do what a human tells them, bounding around with their tongues hanging out and generally making fools of themselves. A cat, on the other paw, will merely flick it's tail and walk away in a dignified manner when issued an order. I'll let you into a little secret here as well. The tail flick is the cat equivalent of when a human shows their middle finger to another human, only not as base or crude a gesture. It's a cat's way of saying 'f#*! off'.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we had the pleasure of the Dog's company on my boat this weekend. And boy was I pissed about it. Not content with revving that bloody engine and blasting along the rivers again the humans had to add the Dog to the crew and make my life as miserable as possible. All weekend I had to put up with panting, slobbering, whimpering, scratching, howling etc. And the Dog was even worse - hah!, see what I did there.

Really though, to think that I, Pixie Poo Poo, should have to tolerate the presence of the Dog on top of cruising is just asking too much, and don't even get me started on the fact that we ended up in bloody Leeds again on Saturday night. And then they had to go and find a patch of grass for it to evacuate it's bowels on. How awful, what's wrong with a litter tray? And, did you know, that some humans enjoy putting dog excrement into little bags? They must do, I see it so often. I find it all most disturbing.

Anyway, she's gone home now and I can give the place a good airing and start getting back to normal. I put on a quite magnificent display of sulking last night to leave the humans in no doubt about how miffed I was at my weekend being dog-ridden and I shall be expecting treats and molly-coddling to follow, or else.

P x

Bag

I'm sorry, but if you're going to leave a comfortable looking bag lying on the floor for more than a few days then you can't complain if I decide to start sleeping on it. And that, gentle reader, is precisely what has happened here. Ange is/was the proud owner of a rather fetching hessian shopping bag. I believe it was used for ferrying papers to and fro her place of employment. Well it's now my place of enjoyment - Hah! See what I did there?

It really is most agreeable for a mid morning nap and there is only the one down side to it which is that the humans see me lying there on it and turn into a pair of simpering idiots, spewing out bile inducing comments regarding the cuteness of my appearance, as if I didn't know. Strewth! Give a cat some peace will you? It's enough to make you bring up a hairball the way they jabber on. I don't wake them up with a running commentary on the way they look. No, I wake them up with a mouse or just a good meowing to make them move over and give me more room on the bed.

One day I shall tire of the bag and Ange can have it back for her papers, but until then it's mine. It must be left exactly where it is and kept unspoilt until I grow weary of it. How long will that be? Who can say? One thing is for certain and that's if it should be moved before I've done with it then my wrath will be incurred. I'm sure that won't happen though as they both know what's good for them.

P x