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

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