Roof

I think you'll agree gentle reader that the simple things in life are so often the best. Even for a cat of my refined tastes. And when I say simple I don't mean simple as in the lummox who is merely a simpleton. No, I refer to the simple pleasures. And one of my very great simple pleasures at this time of year is to roll about the metal roof of my boat in the sunshine. That's when lummoxy isn't attacking it with that whining, grinding sander that he's bought, convincing himself and no-one else that he's some kind of metalwork expert when in reality we all know what a ham-fisted great tool he is.

But the roof, ah the roof. On a sunny day when the metal is hot I love to leap up there (displaying my natural dexterity and athleticism) and loll about for an hour or so, letting the warmth surround my fur and making me feel fab. Unlike humans you see, who have an aversion to things being too hot, we cats are extremely fond of hot places and that is why we will happily spend many hours in front of a fire or on top of a radiator or indeed a metal roof if the chance arises. And that's just what I have been doing a lot of recently. The weather has been good and I've been up there sunning myself for all I'm worth - and that's quite a lot.

There are other fun activities to do on the roof as well as rolling around. There are flies and moths to butcher, there are pigeon boxes and a mast to claw at, there is bunting to bat with my paws and so on. Why, it's a proverbial pussy playground up there. Anyway, I'm off now to work on my tan.

P x

Rabbit

There's a rabbit on my mooring. A RABBIT!!! Not a wild one that I can chase and claw at but a grey and white tame thing that the humans have put there on purpose. ON MY BLOODY MOORING!!! The sheer gall of it. No-one asked my permission if they could put it there and from what I can gather it's sole purpose in life is to eat, poo and make the humans turn into gushing jellies and want to cuddle it. It's got it's own little two storey house and a special wire enclosure for it to exercise in which I think is no more than a reuse to stop me from getting at the thing and letting it know who is numero uno around here.

It's a strange set up when you think about it. Humans keep animals as pets. That may be true with most animals but with us cats it's the other way round. We're not as docile as dogs, rabbits, hamsters, goldfish, parakeets, chinchillas and dogs (I mention dogs twice because of their intense docility). With us though it's different. The humans are there to serve, cosset and molly-coddle us in whatever way we desire and woe betide if they should fail in that as many have found out to their peril.

So now we have this situation where there is a rabbit on my mooring, taking up mouse stalking space and being a general nuisance. Oh sure, it might look cute and fluffy to them but it's probably costing a small fortune in carrots, lettuce and hay, money that could, would and should be better spent on tins of salmon for yours truly. And of course the biggest slap in the mush is that now they won't even buy me packets of food with rabbit in, that's the effect it's had on them. Piss poor beyond belief!!! The next thing you know they'll have it on my boat and that will be the final straw let me tell you that!

P x

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