Van

They've gone and bought a campervan, Ange and the lummox. And you ought to see the pair of them, like big bloody kids getting all excited. Honestly, it's enough to make you bring up a furball the way they prance about the thing and ooh and aah over it. Personally I don't know what all the fuss is about, it's just a vehicle at the end of the day. I've even been in it - they took me to the vet - and to say that I was underwhelmed by it is an understatement of epic proportions. It's just a van, people, just a van. Calm down.

But here's what gets me the most - the bloody thing has got a bed in the back of it. And a cooker and a sink and a fridge and even a human litter box. So you can no doubt guess where this is leading to. Yes, that's right, they go poncing off out and sleep in it. Truthfully! They go out for the night and actually sleep in the back of a van - FOR FUN!!! These humans have some strange ideas of what fun is I must say. Personally, I prefer to sleep on a big double bed but hey, if that's what turns them on then good luck to them. But of course that means that when they're off on their travels I'm sat here servantless on my own with nought but several platefuls of food that Ange puts out for me before they go. It's not good enough. It's never good enough and I let them know this on their return.

There's talk of them going to Scotland for a week in July. A whole week nancing around the Highlands in that thing whilst I'm here on me todd! Mind you, there is one good thing about it. I shall be able to hunt to my heart's content and catch as many mice as I want without that pair squealing about it so on that note they can bugger off and do as they please and leave me to my own devices.

Van my arse

P x

Festival

That Steve had better watch his step. Nay! He should watch his back. I've said it before and I'll say it again - I refuse to be manhandled. What part of it don't they understand? We'll all go for a jolly cruise on my boat when I'm good and f***ing ready! There I was sunning myself on the compost heap and working on my tan when the lummox started the old biscuit rattling bit. Like a fool (or a dog) I fell for it again but realising my mistake at the last moment I nipped up onto the roof. I knew what his lummoxy little game was and I nearly let the oaf get away with it. But then, whilst my back was turned Mirfield crept up behind me, seized me in his mitts and had me down the stairs before I could get my claws into him. And it shall not be forgotten in a hurry!!! The indignity of it!

So off we went to Skipton again. I can take it or leave the place personally and this whole boat festival thing that goes on each year just seems like an excuse for them all to get loaded with food and drink and spend a gay old time in the gateway to the Dales farting and belching. I thought at one point on the Sunday night that the lummox must have followed through, such was the terrible noise he made in bed. Yes, yes he must have done.

The thing is, there's never anything at the poxy festival to interest a cat. What am I supposed to do for three days for crying out loud? Mooch about the boat reading old copies of Vanity Fur and Cosmeowpolitan (see what I did there?)? I'm buggered if I'm going to set foot on that dog strewn towpath during the hours of daylight. So I have to endure 6 hours of that bloody roaring great engine each way there and back just so they can all have a piss up in a different location and then spend all my time there in bed or glaring at them from the kitchen table. The dog seemed excited to be there but then the dog gets excited when it picks a sweaty sock up in it's mouth so that's no recommendation is it?

Still, I'm busy plotting my revenge now that we're home again and I'll let you know how that goes

P x

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

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