Amazed

Hold the phones! Stop the clocks! Gasp and stand back in wonder! The lummox has actually done something right for once.

For quite some time now I've been playing the two of them like you wouldn't believe in order to get what I want. I have steadfastly refused to eat most of the cat food they've gingerly placed in my bowl including the shredded chicken in ham sauce, that I do have something of a fondness for, and have chosen instead to get by on the odd can of tuna fish, Dreamies, biscuits and the occasional packet of Felix. This has had them in a positive frenzy of concern that I wasn't eating enough. Fools! Anyone can see by my svelte figure that I don't eat to excess as it is never mind bolting down cheap shite just to make them happy.

What they failed to realise was that I was gently yet determinedly nudging them in a certain direction and it worked. But what was truly amazing about the whole experiment was that it was the knuckle dragging lummox who was the first to twig what was meant to happen. He worked out all by himself that what I was after was a tin of salmon and to his lummoxy credit went off promptly into Bingley and bought me one. I was astonished gentle reader, truly astonished that this man of whom I have (rightly) criticised time and time again on this blog should reach the right conclusion without the aid of diagrams and Post-it notes and go and buy me salmon. And not only salmon but mackerel too! So well done lummox.

I put the salmon away like a ravenous thing - wolfing it down with much contented purring before demanding more of it's deliciousness which was then duly dished out. I well and truly gorged myself which left them billing and cooing at me as if I'd just done something marvellous. So much so in fact that a few days later after a bout of impromptu meowing another tin was procured at great expense (and I'm worth every penny) and I gorged myself again. It's easy when you know how eh!

In time I shall of course tire of salmon, become bored with it and will of course then force them into buying me whatever else I damn well please. Until then, bring on the tin opener!

P x

Calendar

It would seem that the humans are attempting to cash in on my gorgeousness. On Thursday I caught the lummox red handed sending my photograph (via email of all things) to a calendar competition. Apparently those people at Haworth, where my brother and I were incarcerated before allowing this pair to give us the boat, are running this thing where they want all the poor saps who us ex-Haworth cats control to send in pictures that they can use for next years calendar. Of course it only stands to reason that Ange and lummoxy would want to send mine in what with me being the most beautiful of of them all but damn it they should have sought my permission first.

And I know their little game!

They're on the make, that's what! Today the Cat Rescue, tomorrow The World. They want to exploit me to there own sordid ends. I can see it now. I'll be paraded from one photographer to another having to pose and look utterly splendid time and time again until I'm sick with exhaustion and fatigue. I shall be on billboards the length and breadth of the land and on the cover of magazines and cat food packets before you know it with that pair counting the cash and calling themselves my management. Huh! If they think I'm going to allow myself to be exposed to the limelight so that they can rake it in well they're very much mistaken. If people want to bask in my furry gorgeousness they need only to turn their attention to this very blog where they can paws for thought (see what I did there) about what a purrfectly (and again) marvellous creature I am. They're not going to parade me on the CATwalk (I am on fire today!).

However, in the obviously likely event, of my picture being chosen as one of the twelve for the calendar (although personally I feel I should be on every month but can't see that happening) I shall expect to be treated in accordance with my new found fame and will demand only the finest of food befitting a glamour model of my standing. And I shall of course continue to allow those two to prepare it for me. After all, their keep must be earned.

P x

Ange

She makes my breakfast in the morning.

She gives fantastic all over body rubs.

She tickles my ears.

She kisses my nose.

She lets me sleep on her lap.

She doesn't mind when I leave paw prints on her paperwork.

She gives me salmon, tuna and ham when I turn my nose up at Whiskas.

She shares her food with me.

She's gone away for the week and all I'm left with is the bearded lummox.

I miss her.

P x

(Don't worry, I'll be back to my old self when she gets home gentle reader)

Engine

I'd forgotten how blasted bloody awful it is. Ange and the lummox started the engine today for the first time in ages and I am pretty pissed off about it let me tell you. A whole hour I had to endure that awful racket for. A whole hour of having my Sunday afternoon siesta violently interrupted by that rattling, roaring bloody thing whilst they pfaffed about with it. Something or other to do with the cooling system or something. I don't know and frankly don't care either so long as it doesn't happen again in a hurry.

I stayed cool throughout though and retained my elegant composure. They were worried that I might soil myself with fright and flee from the comfort of the armchair to a place of sanctuary with my haunches all a quiver. Well they were wrong there let me tell you. Balls to it, I thought, why should I give up my chair just cause they want to play at being boat mechanics and I stayed put, trying desperately to block it out by putting my gorgeous front paws over my ears. They both got highly excited about it all like it was some big deal. Apparently it shouldn't have started first time but did. Huh! I'm annoyed it started at all. I've half a mind to hide the keys next time, unlike the lummox whose only got half a mind full stop. Hah! See what I did there!

I've no doubt that now Spring is in the air it'll happen more and more often and I'll have to put up with yet more squeals of delight from the pair of them and bone shaking vibrations throughout whilst not even being able to hear myself purr. I don't suppose I'd mind quite so much if they asked me first. It is my boat when all's said and done.

P x

Blackpool

Eleven O'clock! Eleven-bloody-o'clock!!! That's what time they rolled home at. Sunday night I mean. Eleven o'clock on Sunday-bloody-night. They didn't come home at all on Saturday, choosing instead to go sauntering off and stay over at some place called St Anns. St Anns? Huh! Blackpool by any other name to me and you gentle reader. Off they went on another jolly to the seaside leaving poor little me to fend all for myself. Of course when I say fend for myself I mean that I had to spend the night alone on my boat in the cold. Do they honestly expect me to light a fire? Get soot on my gorgeous paws? Not likely my friends, not likely. They did at least employ some kitchen staff before they went in the form of Becky who did her best I suppose but damn it, we've had this conversation before haven't we? I won't stand being left home alone for days on end and it simply won't do. I let them know in no uncertain terms how strongly I felt about it. You should have heard me giving them a powerful meowing as soon as they got out of the car. Their shame and embarrassment was palpable and it was clear that they knew they were in the wrong and attempted to appease me with a bowlful of Dreamies. I ate them but my indignation was painfully clear.

They went to Southport as well whilst they were there. Well whoop-de-doo and bully for them. Mincing around the coast whilst I'm sat here guarding my boat all alone. I can just picture them now. Eating rock, wolfing down fish & chips, swilling lager, poncing around in kiss-me-quick hats, building sand castles, strolling along the prom-prom-bloody-prom and listening to the brass band playing tiddly-om-sodding-pom-pom. Balls !

The lummox has posted some photos on that waste of internet space he laughingly describes as a blog but I have given them no more than a cursory glance. I could give him a few lessons on blogging. If he had any sense he'd take more photos of the magnificent feline that has chosen to live with them and post them on his effort. It would give people something to look at rather than some piffling old tower and a bit of slightly choppy sea.

Blackpool! Huh!

P x

Berk

Oaf! That's what he is. The lummox I mean. What a ridiculous great lumbering buffoon of a man he is. He ruined everything on Friday night. I went out a-hunting and caught me a fine juicy mouse but rather than dispatch it there and then on the mooring I decided to take it home and share it with the humans. No doubt, I thought, they would be most impressed at my skill and dexterity in catching the beastly thing and would watch in glowing admiration whilst I administered the fatal bite. But no. Ange started screaming at me like you wouldn't believe which obviously distracted me from the mouse and then the lummox prodded the creature thinking it to be dead and then reacted like a big girls blouse when it got up and scurried away under the wardrobe. He was too slow and inept to catch it. I gave pursuit of course but by then it was too late and we had a live one running loose on my boat.

I gave them both the meowing of a lifetime to let them know in no uncertain terms exactly what I thought of them. Ange continued to berate me whilst the lummox began to hopelessly move furniture in a vain attempt to recapture the rodent. I ignored it all and continued to remain vigilant in case the mouse should reappear - it didn't. The uproar caused by the humans had obviously startled it into finding a good hiding place. I had to wait until gone ten o'clock before it resurfaced and I pounced like a good 'un when it did. Unfortunately it's alarmed squeaking alerted Ange and the berk once more and after quite a tussle he managed to get the mouse off me. 'Sod it' I thought to myself, 'have the wretched thing if it means that much to you' and I let him keep it. But do you know what he did then (and this really gets my goat) he marched it outside and released it in the undergrowth!!!

I was incandescent with rage let me tell you. Two and a half hours I waited for that mouse and he lets it go. I'll have him, don't you worry about that. The pair of them had better watch their step form now on. They turned a simple little mouse hunt into an absolute farce with all their squealing and carrying on. It was as bad as that time the scouse hippie took that vole off me. Who do they all think they are?

In future I shall dispatch my mice before getting onto the boat and I might even consider leaving one in the lummox's slipper again. Let's see how he likes that.

P x

Mud

It's everywhere and I'm reaching the end of my tether with it. You can't move on my mooring without your paws being caked in mud. Then when I go onto my boat it gets trampled everywhere. My towel is covered in muddy pawprints, as is the table, kitchen cupboard, couch, armchair, pouffe, bed etc etc. In fact anywhere I decide to put my gorgeous paws. And it does nothing for my luxuriant fur. Yes, you could blame it on all the heavy rain we've been having but I much prefer to blame it on those two. Particularly the lummox. What's the improvident lackwit playing at? Why doesn't he get his fat arse out there and do something about it? Instead he just comes home after a days work and sits on it - his fat arse I mean, not the mud. I've tried meowing at him on countless occasions but the berk just thinks I'm being cute and keeps asking me what the matter is. I'll tell you what the matter is oh large one - I'm sick of all the bleeding mud. Now get out there and do something about it.

To be honest I'm getting sick of his hopelessness and have started to snub him, choosing instead to make a big fuss of Ange all the time, sitting on her lap for hours on end until her legs go numb, diving onto her fromm the window sill when she's asleep, butting her with my head when she's trying to read and all other manner of catty cuteness that she loves. No doubt this is making the lummox immensely jealous but he's no-one to blame but himself. But I'm not a cat to harbour grudges. As soon as he gets out there and gets rid of all that mud I shall allow him to make a fuss of me once more. And, in due time, I shall sleep on his chest again (with clean paws).

P x