New Celebrity

The purple-haired lady here in the hippie-vet office has left the computer on overnight and I have managed to nip out of my rented accomodation for a brief update.

It's not so bad here. I am being fussed over a lot, and the food is rather delicious. I've had little tins of goodness that Softie and the British One left behind, plus jars of baby food, plus other tidbits from the girls here at the office. They really fuss and coo over me, and I do believe I have them wrapped firmly around my paw.

I get to explore the rooms and visit with my new calico friend Chase, who is young, rambunctious and reminds me a lot of my self when I was a wee lad. When we are together we get up to some excellent mischief, although he can run a lot faster than me.

I have taught the girls in the office that it is quite enjoyable for me to be carried around like a baby. I have also taught them that it is quite alright to be fed at all hours of the day and evening. Hee hee!

The British One has called me on the telephone several times to make sure that I am being looked after properly, and so I know they miss me.

I miss them too, but at the same time I am enjoying my new celebrity.

Sour Times

The full horror of what's going on has finally been explained to me--and I don't like it one little bit.

It seems that my Danish Nan, who is the British One's Mum, has passed over the rainbow into the Summerland. My humans have to travel far away to be with family, or so it has been explained.

As if my anxiety levels were not high enough yesterday, with thoughts of how I was going to manage on my own, I now know what the humans have in store for me.

It is not good, let me tell you.

Because I have medical problems and because they will be gone for a long time (they say only two weeks, but that's FOREVER to a kitty, isn't it?), my humans are going to take me to board at the not-quite-evil hippie vet's office.

Not good, not good, not good. I'm not going to like this, I just know it. I won't have my computer, for a start.

I won't have my comfy Poang chair to nap on, nor the big window to watch the world go by. I won't have my familiar litterboxes, and I won't have a soft duvet to doze on.

My humans say it is for the best, because they cannot expect their friends to come over thrice daily to feed me and give me eyedrops. And they have pointed out the issue that I sometimes don't make it to my box in time, and they don't want their friends to have to clean it up. They tell me I will still have my blankie and jars of baby food. Do they really think that a few jars of baby food will "make up" for this injustice?

How could they think this is in my best interest?! How do they know what my best interest is?

I am so upset by this turn of events that I didn't even sleep with them last night.

Bah Humbug

What should have been a very merry Christmas with lots of gifts and goodies and lovely bits of tasty treats has been tarnished by the discovery of several suitcases hiding in the spare bedroom.

My anxiety levels are skyrocketing at this new development, because not only have the suitcases escaped from the closet but BOTH Softie and the British One have been stuffing them with personal items.

I cannot believe that both of my humans would go away and leave me here alone. They have done it in the past--but that was long ago when we lived in my old house, and the old lady could walk over to visit me and (more importantly) feed me.

Who is going to feed me if both humans go away? How am I supposed to nap gloriously on a warm lap if there is not a warm lap in the house? What about my eyedrops? Have they forgotten that I need daily eyedrops?

And what of my turkey baby food? Am I somehow supposed to live without it!? I cannot imagine a world without it.

I cannot imagine a world without THEM.

Up to No Good

My humans are up to no good.

I can sense it.

Bah, Kittens

I'd like to welcome my dear departed friend The Baron's niece and nephew to Catster. Welcome Countess Buttercup and Archduke Humperdinck!!

Making Flippy Floppy

Sometimes my humans deserve my wrath.

Last night, I was ever so content, lying on the lap of the British One. The humans were lounging on the sofa, watching television, and I was napping gloriously.

So gloriously, in fact, that I might have been snoring. The humans laughed at me for being "floppy." I was NOT "floppy!" I was content! I was happy! And most of all, I was asleep!

Oh but the humans were dead set on jostling, fidgeting and rousing me from my wonderful slumber. Finally, after the upteenth time I had been jarred from my satisfied slumber, I retaliated.

I growled at them. I really put on the deep, gutteral growl too. Surprised, the British One told me that it was time for our beddie-bye basket. Well I was already in my beddie-bye basket--his lap was perfectly warm, soft and cozy. I didn't want to move.

He raised me up from that nice lap and so I growled again. Softie stood up and lifted me from the sofa and carried me over to the stairs, where I decided then and there to be an incredible grump and not let her have her way. I struggled and growled until she set me down on the landing. Then she had the nerve to say "Fine, if you don't want to go to beddie-bye basket with us you don't have to." I snorted a big, loud snort to let her know that I didn't care about the beddie-bye basket, and I stomped off as hard as I could back down the stairs.

Unfortunately, by the time I made it back down the steps the British One had stood up and was switching off the lights, which meant there was no more lap for me to doze on. How rude!

I stalked over to the Poang and climbed on my blankie, snorted again for good measure, and waited until well into the night when they were sound asleep before I crept up the stairs and into the beddie-bye basket with them.

Holiday Happiness

This holiday stuff is quite enjoyable. The house is filled with the smell of baking sweets and savouries, a new blanket has been unfurled in the lounge, and my humans are staying indoors because of the cold, which means I am spoiled for choice in the lap department.

There are also lots of gaily wrapped gifts under the tree. Sparkling. Shiny. Irresistible!

I used to go absolutely mental whenever I saw shiny ribbons and bows, but the memory of what exactly compelled me to go bonkers for them is fading. I guess I am finally beginning to act my age.

Don't get me wrong--they still entice me, just not like they used to. Unlike years past, I have finally learned to pass the glistening, beckoning ribbons without pouncing on the packages and ripping them to shreds. I'll leave that task to Softie and the British One this year.

This year I have also promised myself that I will not touch the dish of walnuts in the lounge. Even though I adore the sound of them rolling around on the hardwood, I vow not to fish them out and bat them around. I also vow not to chase them beneath the sofa. And I especially vow not to do it between the hours of midnight and 4 a.m. I've been keeping a close eye on the stockings hanging from the fireplace mantle. I know which one is mine, and I know that one day soon it will be filled with lovely tins of food, jingle-bell balls and heavenly catnip. I think I have been a very good boy this year, and as such deserve to have some jars of lovely baby food included in the stocking this year. Also some delicious diced chicken. And strawberry swirl yogurt. In fact, if Santa is going to fill my stocking with goodies, I sincerely hope he forgets about the jingle-bell balls.

Why would I need jingle-bell balls when there is an entire dish of walnuts in the lounge?

Human Predictability

My humans are so predictable sometimes.

I have found an easy way to get my humans attention in the mornings. All I have to do is stretch deeply whilst simultaneously giving a big hearty yawn and meow. It gets them every time! They think it is so cute, and become putty in my paws. It worked to my advantage this morning, as I hoodwinked Softie into following me down the stairs and into the kitchen.

She was planning to serve up some delicious diced chicken, but I wasn't really in the mood for delicious diced chicken this morning. Normally when I see the bag of chicken I will rub around her legs to let her know I am pleased of the selection. So this morning I ignored her when she got the bag out of the big cold foodbox. She turned to me and like the dim bulb she is, kept repeating "Chicken? You want chicken?" I stood my ground, which is to say I just sat and looked at her like I didn't understand. I wouldn't look at the chicken. She continued to repeat her chicken phrase like a broken record, so I decided to get my point across by walking over to the Magic Cupboard and staring at it.

She finally got the hint and opened it. I immediately honed in on the bottom shelf of tins, because I know they are mine. She pulled out a lovely tin of tuna and asked which I wanted. She held the bag of chicken in one hand and the tin of tuna in the other. No contest there! I was in a tuna mood, and went right over to the tin and rubbed my chin and whiskers around on it.

My plan for the rest of the day is to work on the British One. I'm thinking turkey baby food for lunch...

I Pledge Allegiance to The British One

I took refuge yesterday on the British One's lap whilst he pecked furiously on the keyboard and stared into the glowing box.

After awhile, this got boring, so I decided to present him with a bit of a challenge and climbed onto the desk and plopped myself down between the British One and the keyboard. This way, whenever he wanted to peck furiously, he had to do it over top of me. Hilarious!!

He was good enough not to move me away (which is what Softie does when I try the stunt with her) and I had myself quite a nice snooze. When I'd finished napping I sat straight up and stared into his face, and as he couldn't see through my head to stare at the glowing box, he got the hint that I might be hungry.

We made our way to the kitchen as I told him of my lunchtime fantasies, and he obliged by serving up a lovely helping of delicious turkey baby food! Oh glorious creamy baby food, how I love it. The British One certainly knows how to earn my loyalty.

Softie got home later and fixed something very delicious smelling in the kitchen, but she wouldn't let me have a taste. I thought that since the British One and I had been seeing eye-to-eye, he might let me have a taste if I was persuasive enough. I tried the subtle paw on the elbow trick, which got me nowhere. Then I tried sitting next to him whilst staring at each bite he took, which also didn't work. I worked my way closer, until I was sitting right on his lap, which is when he informed me that no matter how much I begged, I wasn't getting anything. It was alright though, because afterward he served me the most delicious diced chicken.

I showed where my loyalty lies by curling up on his lap for the remainder of the evening.

I've Got the Bad Cat Blues

I was a very bad kitty overnight.

I am not going to go into detail about just how bad I was. Let's just say that Softie and the British One were awakened by the smell, had to get out of bed in the dead of night to change the bedclothes, and their very nice and comfy duvet has to be dry-cleaned.

Although I don't often agree with my humans, even I am willing to admit that I was a bad little boy.

Back to Normal

I am pleased to report that the British One has finally come home. I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see him again!

I helped him unpack his suitcases, and was a very content to climb all over him when he went to bed.

Unfortunately I found myself with some sort of stomach flu yesterday, and Softie and the British One were horrified to see me sneeze and vomit at the same time. Oh it was not pleasant. I had vile liquid coming out my nose and everything. Softie cleaned me up while the British One cleaned the floors, but instead of staying in and coddling me all day, the two of them piled on lots of layers of clothing and left for the day!

How rude!

I was feeling much better by the time they came home in the evening, half frozen to death after attending something called a football game. I curled up on one lap, then the other, until I was sure the two of them were properly thawed out. I dined on a nice bit of fish, which didn't upset my tummy, and then we all went to bed.

I'm glad things are back to normal around here.

Snow!

I no longer need to worry about the "kindhearted woman" symbol out in front of my house.

A heaping helping of that cold white stuff has fallen and covered it up.

An Amusing but Bad Website

My human has shown me a website which I find to be amusing and wrong, all at the same time.

I know without a doubt that I shall never be pictured on the site. Nobody puts stuff on me and gets away with it!

"From the 1880's through the Great Depression until after World War II, hobos used a system of simple markings on fences, posts, sidewalks, buildings, trestles, and railroad equipment to aid those of their kind in finding help or avoiding trouble. These signs were usually written in coal or chalk to let others know what to expect in the area. A cat with a smiling face and a big heart meant a Kind Hearted Woman lived there who would help those in need of a handout of food or safe place to sleep."

All well and good for hobos, but I am rather upset that somehow MY house has been given this same "kindhearted woman" designation--but for cats instead of hobos.

First that horrible ginger cat "Gordon" showed up, hanging around my front door and escorting Softie to the bus stop each morning. Sometimes he'd greet her in the afternoon as well! I've also seen him chatting with the British One and getting lots of scratches behind the ears and belly rubs. It does not please me.

Well Gordon has without doubt been shooting off his mouth to the Neighborhood Kitty Association, because yesterday when Softie got home she went back outside to get the mail and a little black velvety head popped up at the garden wall and greeted her loudly. Softie, kindhearted fool that she is, greeted the black cat with several meows (Softie thinks she can speak meow, but it's worse than some of the other languages she tries to speak) and the next thing I knew, "Velvet" was lounging on the front door mat, getting a very good scratching indeed!

The "smiling cat" symbol has obviously been chalked on the sidewalk in front of my house to let all the neighborhood kitties know that Softie is just a big, well...softie. She's simply way too friendly with strangers. This must stop.

I must get outdoors and erase the symbol before it goes any further.

Gordon is a Moron

"Gordon" turned up at the front door as Softie was leaving this morning. I sat on the top of the sofa and watched out the big front window as he dashed around under her feet, criscrossing in front of her, legging it up and down the steps of neighboring houses and racing atop the stone walls that line the front gardens. I could see him chattering away with her, all the way to the bus stop.

I wish I still had that kind of energy.

Don't Like Ginger-bred

There is a ginger cat who likes to sit on my front porch. Sometimes I see him flopping around on the sidewalk, or walking along the stone wall in my front garden too.

I don't like him at all.

He is trying to weedle his way into the good graces of Softie. He has met her at the front garden wall for several days, chatting her up and flopping over on his side to show her his belly. Each time he visits, she gives him a scratch behind the ears, speaks kindly to him and strokes him from head to tail. She is too dim to realize it is all subterfuse to get inside my house and take over.

I don't think he even realizes I am inside, waiting to swipe him upside the head and show him what's what.

Softie and the British One call him "Gordon," ostensibly because he bears a strong resemblance to a former Saints football manager. I don't care about that. What I care about is this ginger cat has crossed the line, and I need to get outdoors and slap him about a bit.

"Gordon" left a slaughtered black mouse on the front porch for Softie. That is MY job, and one I am not going to hand over easily. I would have gladly--and proudly--slaughtered the mouse for Softie, had I been able to get outside and do some hunting. She doesn't need some skinny ginger upstart giving her succulent gifts such as that. He is encroaching on MY territory, and something must be done.

If there are mice about, I need to find them. Softie hasn't had a proper gift from me in a long time. I do love watching her jump around and scream.

Unwanted Visitors

I am quite angry with Softie right now. She has crossed the line and I'm so upset with her that I may not sleep with her tonight.

She answered the door earlier and a strange girl came into the house. Being the charming, friendly and incredibly handsome cat I am, I went over to greet this stranger, only to discover that she wasn't a stranger at all! Softie let into MY house the dreaded Tammy from the not-quite-evil hippie vet's office! To make an already bad situation even worse, Tammy was visiting to administer some sort of fluid in a big bag to me. She had a big needle and everything!

I was NOT pleased. I growled when I saw Tammy hooking up the bag, because I remembered what happened when she did the same at the office. She poked me in the middle of my back with a big, bad needle and put fluid under my skin.

And she did it to me tonight--IN MY OWN HOUSE! This is simply unacceptable. I made noises about the indignity of it all, but the pair of them told me what a good boy I was. If this is what being a "good boy" means, I am going to be as bad as I can possibly be.

I have no doubt that if the British One was here Softie and the evil Tammy would not have been able to get away with such awfulness. He would not have let her into my house.

After Tammy left I sulked on my blankie, then decided to take action.

As soon as Softie was out of sight, I had myself a nice poop on the stairs.

The Summerland

Sometimes I can faintly hear the Summerland calling to me. I know that as time passes the call will become louder, the pull stronger, and eventually I will be unable to resist the temptation to check it out. We cats are much too curious to not get to the bottom of things.

Sometimes I dream about my friend The Baron, and he tells me that when I cross over the Rainbow Bridge my old body will be renewed and I will be able to run and play again. It's quite tempting to wish myself at the edge of the Bridge, because I don't have nearly the get-up-and-go that I used to.

However, I worry about Softie and the British One. I'm not sure how they would get on without me here to keep them in line. If not for me, who would keep them out of trouble? Goodness knows they need constant supervision.

So for now I will continue to resist the pull of the Summerland, because I am not sure what my humans would do without me here.

Escaped Suitcases

I don't like the look of that suitcase in the bedroom.

It appears to be trying to convince the British One to leave.

How did it escape the closet? Which human set it free?

I wonder if I sit on top of the suitcase and refuse to move, if that will be enough to convince the British One to stay?

Happy Thanksgiving!

Glorious eating today!

Oh how I love Thanksgiving turkey.

Why isn't Thanksgiving every day?

Little Drummer Kittyboy

Each year when the weather turns cold, my humans erect a tree inside the house. In years past I have helped them with this task, but this year I decided my preferred method of help would be to lounge on the sofa and watch.

My humans decorate the tree with bubbling lights, little shiny baubles and loads of glittering bat-ables.

When I first came to live with Softie many years ago, she used to keep a real tree inside her house when winter visited. In fact, the first thing I ever did when she brought me home was to run behind the tree and have myself a nice poo. It's what I was taught by my mother when we lived outdoors, and I knew nothing of litterboxes back then, but pooing on the tree skirt is apparently not the way to a warm welcome in a new home. Each night I would climb the tree and tip it over. It was great fun!

The next year Softie thought she was clever by putting a planter hook in the ceiling and tying invisible fishing line from the hook to the tip of the tree. She really thought that would keep me from knocking over the tree!

It did, in a way, I suppose. Instead of the tree crashing to the carpet, it dangled at an amusing angle, and when Softie would discover it upon waking, I'd be scolded but oh, it was worth it.

Afterwards she got a fake tree.

The first fake tree she had was a hand-me-down from the old lady and man in whose barn I was born. It was a bit more challenging to climb this tree, because trying to scale the trunk was akin to trying to shimmy up a mop handle.

But I did it, much to Softie's dismay, and bent every single branch on my way up. Fun doesn't even begin to describe it. I had a party in that tree every night for a month!

Softie isn't the brightest light on the tree, but she eventually figured out that my favorite bat-able was a certain shiny green drum, and after she learned to hang it from a low, easy to reach branch we got along just fine.

The British One once caught me in the act of stealing the green drum from a branch. I was sitting handsomely on the arm of a chair, bored with the conversation he was having with his mate Malc, who had come to visit from England for the holidays. So engrossed in words were they, that they were not paying any attention to me. How rude! So I nonchalantly reached over and plucked the shiny green drum from the tree and held it dangling from my paw.

Malc and the British One roared with laughter, which spooked me into dropping it onto the carpet. I then proceeded to pretend it never happened, which amused them both greatly.

As I inspected our tree this week I noticed that the shiny green drum was hanging from the lowest branch, right next to my Poang chair.

It is comforting to know it is there, even if I no longer have the overwhelming urge to pluck it from the tree and bat it all over the hardwood floors at 3am.

Turkey Taxidermist

I've stuffed myself full of turkey baby food and delicious diced chicken over the past few days, but today I am just not hungry.

The British One seems worried because I refuse to eat. I have a bad feeling I am going to be taken back to the semi-evil hippie vet again soon.

Softie, however, has reminded me several times over the past few days that this Thursday is THANKSGIVING!!

I am simply saving room for as much Thanksgiving turkey as I possibly can.

Baby food! I've got the cutest little baby food!

Well now! I do believe the British One is my favorite human in the household.

My loyalty fluctuates quite frequently, usually dependent on who is serving up the delicious diced chicken and strawberry swirl yogurt, followed closely by who has the brush and a waiting lap.

However, the British One has done something extraordinary, and now he is my favorite human.The British One served me the most fantastic, savory meal today--it was called "baby food" and it tasted of Thanksgiving turkey.

Oh how I swoon at the thought of the taste! I could not get enough. I ate every morsel and then forgot my dignity and begged for more. When it was not forthcoming, I went back to my little blue dish and licked it clean. I could think of nothing else but MORE! He finally understood the gigantic hints I was dropping (rubbing around his ankles, yowling loudly to demand more, dashing around the kitchen with big eyes) and spooned out the remainder of the jar contents into my dish. I couldn't wait and tried to get my head into the jar, so he let me lick clean the spoon.

I cannot believe this incredibly delicious treat is reserved for tiny humans! Why had I not been informed about "baby food"? Softie and the British One call me their "baby" so why have I not been partial to these tiny jars of delight before today?!

At least now I understand why the tiny humans cry and wail until the little jars are opened.

I shall do the same.

A Feast of Chicken and Strawberry Swirl Yogurt

I am feeling much brighter today and have already polished off two heaping helpings of delicious diced chicken (and the day is still young!).

The British One took me to the evil hippie vet again this morning, who said that I am doing much better but says I need to gain back the weight I lost by not eating last week. I shall feast on braised chicken and gravy, turkey baby-food and strawberry swirl yogurt--if my humans realize that I will devour the foods that I love, if only they serve them to me.

I want to thank all my friends who sent me get well wishes, including Cooper, Molokko and Keiser. I would also like to extend a HUGE THANK YOU to Keiser for the abundance of blue ribbon rosettes she has so kindly gifted me. I am humbled to know so many care about my welfare.

Perhaps my friends could implore my humans to step-up the dosage of delicious diced chicken and strawberry swirl yogurt?

Evil hippie vets and scary thunderstorms

The British One took me to the not-quite-evil hippie vet, whom I have now decided IS evil. At least a little bit.

He did things to my bum that I cannot discuss in polite company. I yowled and growled and put up a struggle, but he got what he was after in the end (no pun intended).

I also got shots of fluid and had blood drawn, and it seems that my irritable bowel syndrome may be back with a vengence. Dr. M said I have too many white blood cells in my poo, but he is running some more tests to be sure IBS is what is causing my grief. He has prescribed another bout of Metronidazole to be squirted down my throat every day for a week, which is another reason he is evil.

He wanted to keep me overnight, hooked up to an IV because I am somewhat dehydrated, but happily the British One rang Softie and they decided to bring me home, but unfortunately it also means I have to go back to see Dr. M again on Wednesday. If I am not any better, I might have to spend the night. I really really hope I am better by Wednesday, because I do not want to stay away from my humans. They need a lot of guidance, afterall, and I cannot imagine what they would do if I was not there to supervise them.

The weather has turned chilly and stormy, and I was extra glad to be at home in bed with my humans (sleeping between Softie's knees) because I do not like loud booms and bright flashes of light in the night, and last night there was an over-abundance of booms and flashes. All three of us were awakened many times, and I decided that it might be better for me to sleep right between my humans, because I don't think they like the booms and flashes either. I think they needed comforting.

I know I did.

Oh Dear

Oh dear.

I'm really not feeling very well. My humans know this and are trying to make me as comfortable and happy as they can.

I do not understand why they keep crying.

Feeling Poorly

I feel very poorly.

Softie and the British One are worried because I am not eating, but I am just not hungry. Every time I eat anything I have very bad problems in the litterbox.

Softie tried to get me to eat by preparing a delicious braised chicken and gravy dish for me, which I enjoyed quite a bit until a few hours later, when it exploded out the other end.

I have retired to the chair and am mentally readying myself for a trip to the not-quite-evil hippie vet. I know they are going to take me.

I hope they are going to take me.

Birthday Depression

Yesterday was my birthday, and it has made me very depressed.

I am not as spry and playful as I used to be, and my humans tell me that I have become very demanding in my old age.

I am not demanding because I am in "old age" but because it is the only way I can get my point across to my humans, who are incredibly dimwitted a lot of the time. I NEED to hound them loudly to get what I want, as I have realized that being nice doesn't get me very far sometimes.

But getting older has caused me some depression, and I did not touch my delicous diced chicken at all yesterday. I haven't touched it today either.

I'm just not hungry right now, and I hope this does not mean a visit to the not-so-evil hippie vet.

Super Kitty

I am incredibly impressed with a fellow kitty in Wenatchee, Washington, who, like me, must hate riding in metal monsters. This kitty took action:

Cat survives traffic, 70-foot fall, 600-foot swim
Associated Press Nov. 8, 2005 10:33 AM WENATCHEE, Wash. - One plucky cat is waiting to go home. But no one knows where home is.

The cat is resting up at an animal shelter in Washington state after leaping from a pickup, scampering through traffic, plunging 70 feet into the chilly Columbia River and swimming 600 feet to shore.

Officials at the Wenatchee Valley Humane Society say the cat "ate ravenously" after its ordeal. Now they're trying to figure out whose cat it is. The gray, long-hair calico has no collar.

Witnesses say the cat came off a pickup truck that was driving across a bridge. It managed to dash through traffic, and Humane Society officials found it cowering in the center of the bridge. But before they could catch it, it leaped over the railing.

They watched the kitty hit the water below, go under, surface, then swim like mad. A man in a kayak helped guide it to shore.

Bad Little Boy

I was a "bad little boy" yesterday.

I made several messes downstairs, and upstairs. And all in the span of half an hour.

I hope this does not mean another visit to the not-quite-evil hippie vet.

The Best Thing In The World

I wasn't "cowering" on the back of the sofa last night, regardless of what Softie and the British One thought.
I was counting the beggars. Yes, that is what I was doing.

There were over 400! I think the most popular costumes were witches and fairies for the girls, and Batman and Spiderman for the boys, although there were several firemen, policemen, cowboys, footballers and Darth Vaders as well.

I only counted two tiny humans dressed as cats.

Why is this, I wonder? I think it is the best thing in the world to be a cat!

The Dreaded Doorbell

I've just noticed several large bags of candy on the kitchen counter.

This can only mean one thing: tiny humans ring will the dreaded doorbell and beg for sweets.

I'm not afraid of the tiny humans, and I'm not afraid of tiny humans dressed as pirates and fairies and whatnot. And I'm not afraid of the doorbell.

I just don't like my sleep interrupted. That's all.

Not Getting Any Younger

I am possibly angrier than I have ever been with my humans.

Yesterday the British One let me go outside with him for a little while, which was very enjoyable while it lasted. The weather was warm and sunny, and I wanted to explore! Naturally the British One couldn't let me do any exploring--instead opting to dump me back inside the house when I started to wander.

To top it all off, Softie got home early and went outside with three pumpkins, newspaper and several knives. I cried and begged to be let outside with her, and finally she relented and let me come outside with her.

I immediately chewed on some grass, walked around the back garden and sniffed around on the flowers and shubbery, then had myself a nice little vomit of the grass I had just eaten.

Softie was hacking away at her pumpkins so I thought I'd have a mosey over to the fence at the alley--which is when Softie swooped in and scooped me up and dumped me back inside the house. I wasn't doing anything wrong! I wasn't trying to sneak out of the garden, and I'm not stupid enough to actually leave the garden and into the alley! I see too many metal monsters travelling up and down the alley--I'm not about to put myself into harms way.

It was a BEAUTIFUL day, and I only got to be outside for a small fraction of it. I stood up on my aching, arthritic hind legs at the kitchen door, and watched Softie carve the pumpkins in the sunlight. I yowled and cried and pounded my paws against the glass. I scratched the glass and made a very annoying noise, and I yowled some more, but neither of my humans let me go back outdoors and into the warm sunlight.

There will not be many more beautiful days until next spring. I think I am entitled to sun myself and sniff the brisk breezes before the ugly winter sets in. Being outdoors is one of my greatest simple pleasures. I do not like to be denied!

I'm not getting any younger, afterall.

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall

For many years, Softie has held me up to a sheet of glass and told me what a pretty boy I am.

I know I am incredibly handsome, but I had no idea why she needed to hold me in front of the glass to tell me.

Until last night.

She was carrying me around in her arms (which I adore!) and as she passed by the sheet of glass in the upstairs hall she turned and said "Look at that pretty boy! Isn't he handsome?"I glanced around and sure enough, there was a cat staring at me! I panicked a little bit, realizing there was another cat in the house--one that I hadn't even seen come in. To top it all off, he WAS incredibly handsome.

I felt a surge of overwhelming jealousy toward the cat, and then I realized that there was another Softie in the glass, and she was holding the incredibly handsome cat. It took me a few seconds (well, possibly even minutes) to come to the realization that the glass was reflecting her image, which also meant that it was reflecting MY image!

That was ME inside the glass! I kept looking back and forth from the image of Softie to her, and then at myself.

I wonder why I could never see myself before now? I used to have two good eyes to see myself, but I never did. Now I only have one good eye, but that one good eye saw a VERY handsome fellow in the glass, and that very handsome fellow was ME!

A Happy Chappy

I got plenty of lap time over the weekend, and a very nice, long brushing. On top of that, I had many helpings of delicious diced chicken.

As if that wasn't enough, the British One finally switched on those radiator thingies, and it got toasty in the house, which made me quite a happy kitty.

What more could I ask for?

I'm sure I will think of something!

Monkey Business

The British One has returned with more suitcases than he left with, and inside the suitcases are new and unusual items. Items I have had to investigate, sniff and occasionally bat around or treat with utter distain.

One item in particular bothers me. He watches me all the time, and is able to hang around in places that I can no longer reach because of my stiffening legs. I had a good sniff around on him when he was first unpacked, but now he has been placed out of my reach, and he taunts me from upon high.

I overheard the humans talking about him, and apparently he is quite elderly--as he is older even than the British One (!), and has a mate who sustained a wee injury during his travels. The British One is attempting to work out a way to fix him.

I hope he doesn't get fixed. One Teak Monkey hanging around out of my reach is more than enough.

The Return of The British One

At last!

The British One has returned.

Things can get back to normal around here. It's been WEEKS since I had an extra helping of delicious diced chicken and a nice warm lap during the day.

Truely Wicked People

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Softie just read something to me which had greatly distressed me.

There are some truely wicked people in the world.

Incredibly Handsome

I got a wonderously good brushing last night while Softie watched something silly on the Animal Planet channel. After the brush I was combed and then brushed some more.

It might be hard to believe, but my coat is shinier, glossier and softer than ever. When I strut around the house my tail is magnificently fluffy and fanned out like a peacock.

All modesty aside, I am incredibly handsome today.

There's a Moon Out Tonight

I had the overwhelming urge to sing in the dead of night.

It was quite dark in the bedroom, but a glint of moonlight streaming in compelled me to yowl quite boisterously. I then leapt from the bed and onto the chilly hardwood floor, where I yowled some more. No meek little cries for me! I really bellowed them out, and sounded quite good if I do say so myself.

My singing roused Softie from sleep and she groggily asked what was wrong. Nothing was "wrong" at all! I just felt like singing at 2:25 a.m. Is that so wrong?

I leapt back upon the bed and walked all over her, trilling and chirping and generally letting her know that I was happy and trying to share the love. She poked an arm out from beneath the duvet and gave me a half-hearted couple of strokes, and scratched under my chin.

We then fell back asleep.

Nightmares

I awoke with a start from a very frightening dream involving a large slobbering dog and no place to hide. Even when I realized I was safe inside my house, on a blankie-covered Poang in the lounge, I was still fearful.

I did what I had to do, which was wake up Softie to tell her about it.

I don't think she enjoyed being rudely awakened with my incessant yowls at 4 a.m., but someone needed to be told about this dream, and reassurances were needed that it would never happen to me.

She climbed out of bed, located me in the hallway and stroked me until I was calm. Then she fell back into bed.

I decided it was best, since I was already upstairs, to sleep there too. I climbed all over her looking for a good spot, and finally decided on the foot of the bed.

I don't like nightmares!

If Only...

If only I wasn't spooked by the boiler.

If only I could figure out a way to switch on the spooky boiler to heat up those radiator things.

If only I could figure out how to get inside the Magic Portal, I could switch on the spooky boiler to heat up those radiator things.

If only I could warm myself up enough to leave the comfort of my blankie, I could maybe figure out a way to get inside the Magic Portal, so that I could switch on the spooky boiler to heat up those radiator things.

Hasn't anyone else noticed the cold?

A Bleak Day Alone

The weather has taken a turn for the chilly and bleak, and this house is cold and lonely.

I miss the British One. If he was here I could curl up in his lap and have a nice, warm nap.

Softie brought out my favorite warm blankie and put it on the Poang chair, but it's a poor substitute for a good lap.

Take a Look at My Life

Softie received some documents in the post the other day and has confirmed that I am actually older than we thought. I am almost 19 years old, instead of almost 18. How rude!

I don't like this at all.

Zen Kitty vs The Evil Eye Vet

Another break in the routine.

Softie slept in this morning, which gave me pause for concern, and then when I was not fed at my normal time this morning I suspected the worst.

Sure enough, I was stuffed into the dreaded Pet Taxi and driven to see the evil eye vet Dr. K. I took the high road and didn't create a fuss on the drive up there (I am quite pleased with myself about that), nor did I create a scene in the doctor's surgery. Dr. K was away on holiday, so a lady eye vet checked me out, and I have to say, I liked her much moreso than Dr. K, because she was gentle with me and didn't scare me. I was ever so glad to get back into the dreaded Taxi though. I do not like lights shined into my eyes, nor do I like having them poked and prodded with implements of destruction.

I became Zen Kitty on the ride home, making myself calm and at one with the world. Then I tore into a lovely extra large helping of delicious diced chicken when I got home.

Softie went off to where ever it is she goes during the day, and I sat on the back of the sofa and watched a man do some landscaping in our front garden.

Sometimes I miss my old garden, where I could go out onto the deck and doze in the sun. I wonder what happened to that garden? I wonder if another cat has taken up residence there, and I wonder if he catches as many mice and shrews as I did when it was my home.

I could really rip into a juicy little grey mouse. I really could.

Of Dog Parks and Starving

I nearly starved yesterday!

I only had two helpings of delicious diced chicken, because Softie goes somewhere during the day and doesn't come home for my mid-afternoon feeding. Very rude.

I decided my best form of complaint would be to ignore her all evening, which is what I did. Unfortunately, she got a call from Jennifer, the human of my dog friend Buster, and the two of them took Buster to something called a Dog Park.

I'm unsure what a Dog Park is, but it doesn't sound very appealing.

Soy Means Starving

My diary has been chosen as a "Daily Pick" by the fine folks at Catster and I am quite pleased about it.

I feel like celebrating with a pot of strawberry swirl yogurt!

Oh. But I can't, because the stupid suitcase escaped from the closet and convinced the British One to take it away, so he isn't here to open the yogurt pot and eat half of it before I get some.

It is no use asking Softie to open it. She doesn't eat that sort of yogurt. In fact, she has found the perfect way to keep me from ever wanting to eat ANYTHING that she eats. Everything she eats is fake. Fake meat, fake milk, fake yogurt.

Soy--blech!

I miss the British One. Not only does he normally keep me company during the day, but he eats lots of delicious foods that get shared with me. He is my afternoon feeder-person, and now that he is away it means I will not get an extra helping of delicious diced chicken, which I have become accustomed to.

I may starve before he returns.

A Case Of You

A suitcase has escaped from the closet.

The British One has been filling it with bits and pieces when he thinks I am not looking.

I have a bad feeling this means a change in my normal routine. I have a bad feeling this means I will not see the British One for a few weeks.

I do not like this turn of events.

Stupid suitcase!

The Not-Quite-Evil Hippie Vet

Well now. I may have to rethink this whole "evil vet" thing.

My evil vet is something of a hippie. He wears Birkenstocks (even in winter!) and is incredibly laid back about things. I had already decided he wasn't such a bad guy when he told Softie and the British One to ply me with delicious diced chicken way back in the winter, but now I think I might even like him a little bit.

The British One took me to visit the evil vet yesterday, and aside from having things put up my bum (which is not very pleasant, let me tell you) the evil vet seems to have set my tummy to rights and made me feel better. I was given some sort of injection, and he tried to give me a pill--which I'm pleased to say he did not suceed in doing--and then some vile meds were squirted into my mouth. But the vile meds didn't taste the same as the vile meds my old vet Dr.R used to prescribe. These tasted...not so bad. Not good, by any stretch, but not bad. I didn't foam and make a scene like I usually do when meds are squirted down my gullet, so I won't complain too much about the fact that I have to have the meds twice a day for the next week.

I am much brighter today, and feel so good that I have jumped into the large upstairs windows and watched the world go by. And I have watched the neighbors with the big deck. From this vantage point I can also see over the big wooden fence of the next door neighbors garden. Which means I can also see the evil Mooch pacing around like the crazed dog he is. He has no idea I am sitting there, so he has no idea that I can watch him sniff flowers and scratch at fleas. It's quite entertaining.

Yes, I'm beginning to suspect that my evil vet isn't really all that evil. I think he actually understands me.

I think I also understand him.

I think we are going to get along just fine.

Still Ill

Still not hungry.

There are rumors of an evil vet visit soon.

Farewell to the Tree

I have not had any more "episodes" overnight, nor have I had any so far today. My tummy is still a little iffy, and as a result I am wary about eating any of the delicious diced chicken that was placed before me this morning.

Softie also gave me some dry kibble, which she must be crazy to think I would actually want.

The British One and I have been watching a noisy event going on in the garden behind ours. There are a lot of humans in the garden, and they have been climbing the gigantic tree and tying ropes to it. Then they began to make a lot of noise and the limbs began to fall.

It is a sad day for me whenever a tree gets cut down, because it is one less that I can use to hide from dogs, and it means one less scratching post. I suspect the other kitties in the neighborhood are not very happy about it, and I am fairly certain that the squirrels are in an uproar over it.

I have always enjoyed watching the squirrels in that tree, and greatly enjoy watching them balance their way on the overhead wires that crisscross through the tree.

I wonder what they will do now that their home is gone?

Tummy Troubles

Oh dear. I'm not doing too well again. I guess I must have overdone it at the wedding, because I have a very dicky tummy and am struggling with my litterbox duties.

The British One took me outside, which I thought was going to be quite nice, but then Softie came outside too, and she had a wet cloth with her and he held me down while she cleaned me off. I really do not like for anyone to mess with my hind legs--or my hind end! I wiggled around and growled at them, and pulled my very fluffy tail underneath me so that they could not mess with it.

I have wandered from litterbox to litterbox, trying to make myself go so that the evilness in my tummy can be purged. I even lost my senses a little bit and tried to poop on Softie's shoulderbag, which got me into a spot of trouble.

I am not hungry for my delicious diced chicken, and I don't want any strawberry swirl yogurt. I just want my tummy to feel better, and I want to stop smelling funny.

Is that too much to ask?

Hazel Lucy & Buddy Get Married

My Catster friends Hazel Lucy and Buddie are getting married today!

I must say, the "dreaded bachelor party" was quite good fun, although there were times it got out of hand a little. Is there ever a time when one can have too much catnip? I might have had one of those times...

But I know I must put on a brave face to help escort the throngs of wedding attendees to their seats, even though my head is pounding and all I want to do is curl up in a warm lap.

Cheers to Hazel Lucy and Buddie--I wish them all the love in the world.

Get Lost, Lost

I have received another lovely blue ribbon rosette from the ever interesting and lovely Keiser. I am glad to have such wonderful friends. I am a very lucky boy indeed.

Sometimes I wonder if I am so lucky to live with my two humans, however. Don’t get me wrong, I love them quite a bit, and I am fairly certain that they adore me to the point of obsession.

That said, last night began the new series of that strange TV show called “Lost,” and in their extreme glee and utter geekiness, they completely forgot about me! As soon as Softie got home from wherever it is she goes each day, she began preparing a wondrous feast. I sat in the kitchen and hinted about some diced chicken, but apparently the British One had clued her into the fact that I had been fed a late afternoon snack, so I got nothing.

This cooking business went on for quite a while, and the smells in the kitchen made me swoon. Then Chris & Michelle (humans of my friends Jackson & Gabby) arrived bearing a very delicious looking cake which Michelle had decorated to look like the island on Lost. Dinner was served and no one gave me a single tidbit! I tried my “poor starving kitty” look, but no one was looking at me—they were all deeply engaged in conversation, and never looked my way.

So I decided to use the “sad little boy” look, but again no one seemed to notice. I do not like giving up my coveted spot as the center of attention! I slunk into the lounge and sulked on the sofa.

Softie snapped out of her Lost stupor long enough to remember to give me eye drops (which I would have been happy to miss, thank you very much), but afterwards I was again forgotten.

The worst was yet to come, however, because as soon as the program began I was moved from the sofa so the humans could sit down. Softie took over my Poang and I had no where to go! How rude!

I tried out each lap and ended up ensconcing myself upon the British One, who wasn’t quite as fidgety as the others. Even he was excitable though, and at the end of the show they had to immediately rewatch certain segments with something called a DVR. They did this for quite a while, and chattered constantly. After Chris & Michelle left for the night, Softie got on the phone with my late friend The Baron’s human and they discussed the show. The British One went upstairs to the glowing box and began to peck furiously at the keyboard, and it was a long time before anyone in the household went to bed.

I do not like disturbances in my routine. I think I may have to figure out a way to break the TV before next week.

I'll Strut Right By With My Tail In The Air

The very sweet and pretty Scooter has given me another blue ribbon rosette because she thinks I am handsome and debonair!

This alone makes me feel much better, and must certainly be why I have regained my appetite for delicious diced chicken and strawberry swirl yogurt.

I feel it is in my best interest to strut around the house with my tail in the air!

Under the Weather

I felt a bit under the weather this weekend. I didn’t even feel much like tearing into my delicious diced chicken! My tummy was bothering me too much.

In fact, I felt so horrible that I had an accident on the upstairs landing, and had to have my bum wiped a little, which I found incredibly embarrassing. Softie cleaned me up as best she could, and then set about cleaning up the landing. The British One coddled me and carried me downstairs.

Then, as if to further add to my dilemma, as soon as the British One set me down, my tummy rumbled and I started to dry heave in the dining room. He grabbed some newspaper to put in front of me, but I couldn’t hold it and ended up retching up all over his hand. He wasn’t very happy about that, but I didn’t get scolded because they both knew I was not myself.

My humans fussed over me for the remainder of the evening, and I was spoiled for choice on whose lap to nap on. They watched a new sci-fi program called “Threshold” and I didn’t like the noise made by the strange, alien ship, so I went into the dining room and dozed on the rug until it was time for bed. Then I slept at the foot of their bed.

For the rest of the weekend, I curled up on the sofa with whichever of my humans was sitting down, and napped soundly on a nice, warm lap.

Distinguished?

Sometimes I look old, like in my most recently added picture.

I don't feel that old. Except sometimes when I use the stairs.

Softie and the British One say I look "distinguished."

I'd rather be debonair.

Take Me To The River

Yesterday Softie and the British One let lots of people into my house, and they all seemed to be there to laugh and joke with our current UK visitors Rafe and Karen. Rafe and Karen are the humans of my Canterbury Cat friends Bella and Alfie.

Early yesterday morning Chris and Michelle (humans of my friends Jackson and Gabby) came over and Softie fixed a very delicious smelling breakfast for everyone. Michelle had brought homemade scones and fruit salad, and Chris made something called Bloody Marys for everyone except me.

As the morning progressed, more friends showed up, and more food was prepared and put out onto tables. Chris even brought over a grill, and I watched from the comfort of the sofa as he stood outside, preparing delicious smelling sausages, burgers and bratts. I was very chuffed to see our friend Lauren again, and to curl up on her lap to let her know that I, too, miss The Baron. She stroked me for a long time.

Neighbors stopped by to visit, and I took note that other area homes also seemed to have little parties happening. The neighbors behind my house have a multi-level deck (which I would LOVE to climb upon to doze in the sun) which was filled with laughing humans all day and well into the night. The neighborhood buzzed with people, and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time.

I, however, was stuck inside the house, but actually it suited me just fine. There were humans walking around outside with big barkers, and the streets teemed with noisy metal monsters. I was quite content to nap gloriously on the sofa, Poang and the occasional warm lap. I even got an extra helping of diced chicken!

Later in the evening it seemed to me that the entire world had a mass exodus toward the big river a few blocks away. I sat up in the window and watched the humans walking up the street, some carrying lawnchairs and blankets, some with coolers, some pushing tiny humans in little carts. I could not figure out why everyone was walking to the river. Personally I do not like water, so I was glad not to be taken along.

Then the big booms began. I do not like big booms. I also do not like bright flashes of light, and the sky was filled with them. Usually when there are bright flashes of light and big booms, it is raining very heavily, but yesterday was a beautiful day, and the night was as mild and nice as could be.

When the humans returned, they sat outside on the front porch and talked about something called "fire works." Could that be what caused all the big booms and bright lights?

Walking on Sunshine?

Yesterday a small black suitcase escaped from the closet and convinced our houseguest Sally to stuff it with personal belongings and take it away.

I was very sad to see Sal leave, because she has a spectacular lap to sleep on, and was quite happy to sit very still and read whenever I flopped on her for a bit of kip.

I think the humans realized that I was unhappy to see her leave, because they gave me a lot of attention last night, which I think I deserved. The British One fed me a pot of strawberry swirl yogurt, and Softie gave me an extra long brushing and then used the comb under my chinny-chin chin.

We took delivery of another TWO large scratching mats over the weekend. One of them has been put into the dining room and I don't like it one little bit. I've decided that I do not like the way it feels underpaw, and am very unhappy that the humans have removed my soft rug in favour of this one. I can no longer sleep in one of my favorite spots as a result. It's very rude. The other scratching mat is still rolled up and wrapped in plastic, and it better stay that way because the only rug left to replace is the other soft one, in the lounge. Softie and the British One keep making noises about how much they hate these rugs, which were here when we moved in, but I quite like them. They are comfy, soft, and worn just enough to be cozy. The humans call them "horrible."

In other news, the humans have been rather excitable today due to someone called Katrina. I sat and watched a bit of the Weather Channel with them but I never did see Katrina. All I could see was a lot of churning water, which did not interest me in the least.

My good friend Hayden has two humans on vacation right now, and are holidaying somewhere near this Katrina person. The British One received a message from them, saying that they had only been inside their rented beachhouse for ninety minutes when they were evacuated! Now they are sheltering elsewhere and not having a very nice time.

Katrina certainly has been making waves.

A House With Guests and All The Rest

The British One and Softie's houseguest Sally has taken up residence in my bedroom, and she shuts the door at night so that I cannot go in and pad around on her. I cannot sleep on the end of her bed. I cannot go in and test out the gigantic new scratching mat that smells so lovely.

I'd be angry about it, but she has such a wonderful lap and lets me nest on her lap whenever she sits down on the sofa. When she reclines the sofa I am able to climb right up onto her chest and put my paws on her shoulders and nuzzle my nose under her chin and she doesn't mind! I like that!

I might even be annoyed that they leave me early in the morning and go outside and explore and do things, while I am cooped up inside the house while the weather is so nice, but it gives me a chance to nap gloriously on the Poang.

Perhaps I am a little bit annoyed that sometimes my afternoon delicious diced chicken is late, but I'm being good about it and not leaving any gifts on the carpets or hardwood.

More Goodies for Me!

The British One and I took delivery of a very large something or another several days ago. It smelled very interesting, but was wrapped in a heavy plastic that was difficult for my nose to penetrate.

Yesterday I finally found out what it is: a massive kitty scratching pad! I was dozing on the bed when the British One hauled it upstairs and began to unwrap it. I had to find out what was going on, so I ventured into my other room (the humans refer to it as the "spare") and helped him with his task. After it was unwrapped the mat smelled very good indeed--not catnip good, but good nonetheless. The British One said it is a rug made of sea grass, which is why it smells so wonderful. Softie says it smells like the green tea she used to drink as an exchange student in someplace called Japan.

We rolled out the mat and moved the bed on top of it, and then put a few weights down on the edges, apparently to keep them from curling. I was very interested to inspect my new mat, but the British One carried me out of the room and shut the door behind him.

I didn't even get to try it out!

Blue Ribbons Galore

I have received a shiny blue ribbon rosette from the very lovely and clever Keiser!

Thank you so much, my good friend!

I always enjoy reading Keiser's journal entries and looking at her pictures. She is a very fine kitty indeed, and I am pleased to know her.

The British One and Softie are helping me celebrate my fourth ribbon with a pot of strawberry swirl yogurt and a good brushing. I think I might even be able to persuade them to take me outside to flop around in the grass later today.

Just Call Me Paddy

I seem to have laid quite a guilt trip onto my humans regarding the misappropriation of my Kitty Adventure Room, because yesterday they took delivery of a brand new bedroom suite and installed it into one of my bedrooms.

I know the bedroom suite is mine because a small, padded kitty bench arrived with the shipment. They put the padded kitty bench at the foot of the bed so that I may climb upon the new bed without struggling. The bench is very soft and much easier to climb on than the small blue Pottery Barn stepstool I have been using until now.

The small blue stepstool has been left in my other bedroom, so that I can still climb up on that bed, should I choose to. I’ve learned that their friend Sally is visiting soon from the UK, so I may use that stepstool to climb into Sally’s bed and pad around on her.

The last time she visited, when we lived in my old house, she nicknamed me Paddy. I can hardly wait to pad on her again!

A Deception to The Rule

I have been deceived and am not very pleased about it.

There has been much ado regarding the mysterious fourth bedroom, which I had been led to believe was going to be my very own kitty room. It was relatively small to be a human bedroom, and I was quite chuffed when I discovered that the strange, noisy men had ripped out the floorboards. I took this to mean the room would become my very own Kitty Adventure Room. There was a large window with which to oversee my domain, and lots of interesting tunnels in the walls and floor for me to explore.

Not that I was ever allowed to venture into the room unsupervised! The British One and Softie always seemed to be right there whenever I tried to get in. It was my very own Kitty Adventure Room, and I wasn’t allowed in. How rude!

I thought it odd when items for this room began to turn up and they were NOT kitty related, but I took it all in stride. I was never going to use a human sink, toilet, radiator or cabinetry, but if they insisted these items go into my Kitty Adventure Room, who was I to complain? I could live with the clutter of human stuff, because the radiator would keep me warm in the winter, and the other items would be good to climb upon for a better vantage point out the window.

Then the strange, noisy men covered up all the interesting tunnels in the walls and floor with very slick, shiny tile. New lighting was installed, doors were put into place, mirrors were hung and the whole room began to take on the appearance of a human litterbox. They already have a litterbox! It’s a perfectly good one too, which Softie gushes about to her friends because it was built by someone named Art Deco. I have no idea why they feel the need to have another, newer one, where my Kitty Adventure Room is supposed to be.

I’ve suffered all this upheaval; all those long days locked away in the kitchen and dining room, listening to the strange, noisy men clamber around upstairs making a big mess, and for what? A human litterbox?!

It’s very unfair.

A Bittersweet Anniversary

Today marks my one year anniversary of being on Catster.

I have had a lot of fun so far, and have met loads of lovely kitties whom I am pleased to call my friends. I have especially enjoyed trading emails.

Today also marks the first day I am without my good friend Baron von Stinkerton. The Baron took leave for the Summerland yesterday, and I miss him terribly. He was such a good pal, and a good natured guy as well. If my humans tried to put jester collars or Dumbledore hats on me, I'd use the claw on them! The Baron, however, took it all in stride and actually enjoyed playing dress-up with his human.

Even though my friend The Baron is no longer with us, he lives on at Catster, and for that I am ever so grateful.

Until We Meet Again

My good friend The Baron has had a good life, living with a human who adores him. The Baron has been ill for a little while, and although he does not want to have to leave his home and his human, he hears the Summerland calling to him.

May his journey over the Rainbow Bridge be peaceful and painless.

He has been a wonderful friend and companion to all who have known him. He will be sadly missed.

Wedding Bells

I have been asked to be a GKM (Grooms Kitty Man) for the upcoming wedding of Hazel Lucy and Buddy, which will be held in September.

Of course I accepted! It is not every day a friend gets married, afterall. Plus I already have a nice tuxedo handy, so she will not have to worry her pretty furry head about scheduling a fitting or rental for me.

I do hope white shoes will be acceptable.

Anonymous Revealed

I would like to thank the lovely Scooter for my second blue ribbon rosette! I am indebted to the Scootster for clueing me in to Anonymous too--who has been revealed as the very pretty Kazumi Joy.

Thank you both for the ribbons. I have had a wonderful time batting at them and fraying the ends with my newly cleaned teeth. The humans continue to carry me up and down the stairs, and continue to ply me with delicious diced chicken.

It's a wonderful life!

A Blue Ribbon Rosette

I have received a blue ribbon Rosette from another kitty on Catster.

I do not know who Anonymous is, but I would like to thank them. It fills my fluffy white bib with great pride.

Softie and the British One have helped me celebrate my achievement by serving an extra helping of delicious diced chicken and giving me a good, long brush last night. Then, instead of having to walk up and down the stairs between the floors, I have been carried by the humans.

I could get used to this!

Thank you Anonymous!!

Have My Instincts Failed Me?

All day yesterday I suspected the humans were up to no good. At the top of the list of making me suspicious was that they slept in late. I awakened Softie by walking all over her, but she didn't get up! Instead, she picked up a book and began reading. So I decided to wake up the British One by walking all over him, but it didn't work.

Whenever I am not fed my delicious diced chicken at the appointed time each morning, it usually means I am in for a dreadful time at the evil vet. I decided to try to go back to sleep, or at least to feign sleep. I curled up into a furry little ball at the foot of the bed and closed my eyes--although I made sure my ears were up and very alert.

Eventually Softie got out of bed and went downstairs, but I was afraid to follow her for fear of the dreaded Pet Taxi. So I stayed in bed with the British One. Momentarily, however, he too got out of bed. He switched on the glowing box in the office and commenced pecking away at the keyboard. I continued to feign sleep.

I heard Softie calling to me, and I heard the beeping box in the kitchen, but still I worried that it was a ruse to get me downstairs, where I was sure to be stuffed into the Pet Taxi and whisked away to the evil vet.

Presently Softie also called to the British One, who went downstairs. I could hear them having a nice breakfast by the clink of cutlery on dishes, but I wasn't going to be lulled into a false sense of security, only to be stuffed inside the Pet Taxi. I stayed put.

It was mid-morning by the time Softie came upstairs and asked if I was hungry. Of course I was--but I still suspected they were up to no good, and I told her as much from my warm duvet. She scooped me up and carried me downstairs, and so sure was I of the Pet Taxi that I immediately began scanning the floors while still in her arms. Oddly, I didn't see it.

She placed me in the kitchen, where a heaping helping of delicious diced chicken awaited. I thought this was very strange, as normally they do not feed me before I visit the evil vet, because I tend to be very sick inside the metal monster if I have eaten. I tentatively began to eat, but kept stopping to watch Softie and the British One because I was SURE one of them would appear with the dreaded Pet Taxi at any moment. But soon the British One was dressed in his painting clothes and had disappeared upstairs to paint a bedroom, and Softie had put on a floppy hat and her Chuck Taylor's and gone outside to fire up the grass-eating noisemaker.

I stayed alert all day, in between naps on the bed, sofa and Poang chair. Nothing bad ever happened and I was not taken away to the evil vet.

Have my instincts failed me?

A Tale of Suitcases

Softie managed to let one of the suitcases escape from the closet, and it has convinced her to fill it with clothing and personal effects. Luckily it appears to be one of the small suitcases, which hopefully means she will not be away too long.

This morning she said her goodbyes to the British One and me, and left with the suitcase, saying something about a business trip. What business could the small suitcase have?

The next few days will be Lads Only at my house. I suspect that the British One and I will be doing a lot of painting, a lot of listening to BBC Radio, a lot of eating delicious diced chicken, and a lot of telly viewing. I might also find time to nap during our busy schedule.

The Kitty Salon Adventure

I know something happened to me yesterday, but I’m not quite sure what it was.

I KNEW the humans were up to no good when I wasn’t presented a dish of delicious diced chicken for breakfast yesterday morning. They tip-toed around, pretending that they had simply “forgotten” to feed me, but I knew better. I knew something was up.

Sure enough, I was swept up into Softie’s arms and stuffed unceremoniously into the Pet Taxi. I didn’t even struggle this time, deciding to take the high road and face my fate with head and tail held high.

Softie packed me into the metal monster and took me to the evil hippie vet, where she left me alone. I looked at her through the bars of the Pet Taxi and made a feeble little meow, which I knew melted her heart and made her feel extra guilty for leaving me alone.

I don’t remember a whole lot after that point. I was taken into a room and given a shot, which made me very sleepy. I wanted to fight and struggle, but I couldn’t be bothered. I just wanted my beddie-bye basket.

Next thing I remember was waking up, quite woozy, inside a metal cage. There were other cats in other cages around me. Some were quite angrily upset about their predicament, others cried and fretted. I laid there and watched the comings and goings of the office staff. I took note of the fact that my nappy dreads were all gone, my claws had been clipped, and my teeth felt so wonderfully smooth and clean. The evil hippie vet checked in on me a couple of times, and then I heard a voice I recognized: The British One had come to rescue me!

I was so happy to hear his voice—and even happier to see him standing at the doorway to carry me home. As soon as we were home I climbed up into his lap and fell asleep as he stroked me and told me what a good and handsome boy I am.

I was still drowsy and a little uncoordinated by the time Softie came home, but I was ever so glad to see her! I climbed into her lap and dozed while she brushed me and used the comb on my chin and bib. I’m not sure what the evil hippie vet did to me, but he certainly has made me more handsome and adorable than ever.

Nurse Nickie

The British One awoke sometime in the night and was very sick. He came downstairs into the lounge to avoid waking up Softie, so I sat on top of him and tried to make him feel better.

When he went back to bed, some hours later, I followed and slept at his feet, safe in the knowledge that if he needed me, I'd be right there.

He's still got a dicky tummy this morning, but I am certain that I have made him feel better by lying directly on top of him as he lies in bed watching the entire Stingray DVD boxset.

He and Softie have dubbed me "Nurse Nickie."

A Purge on the Magic Portal

A very curious event happened yesterday, which I watched unfold with great disinterest.

All last week I followed the humans into the Magic Portal and helped them sort through various boxes and containers. The boxes and containers were then carried up into the lounge, where the contents were again taken out and stickered, then put back into the boxes. I believe there was way too much energy exerted into this odd practice. I got bored with it and situated myself on the sofa where I could keep a watchful eye on them, and where I could doze undisturbed.

Yesterday morning, bright and early, the British One and Softie hauled all the boxes and containers out onto the front lawn. I made noises about going outside with them, but they rudely shut the door in my face. My humans simply have no manners.

I watched from the front window as tables were set up and the contents of the boxes taken out and placed upon them. I noticed that the next door neighbors (owners of the evil Mooch) had also hauled items out onto their lawn. Glancing on up the street, I saw other humans doing the same.

The strangest bit about the whole exercise is that out of nowhere strangers began to descend upon the front lawn. They picked items from the tables, handed paper and coins to the humans, and then carried the items away. It was all very odd, and I was glad to be inside the house, safe from the strangers and their grabbing hands.

I overheard the owners of the evil Mooch (whom was also locked away indoors, but never seemed to cease his big barks) conversing with Softie and the British One, and from what I can understand, this practice of hauling items onto the lawn is called the East Row Historic District Community Yard Sale.

As far as I know, our yard was not sold, but nearly everything else was! Softie got sunburned, the British One complained a lot about the heat and humidity, and I napped gloriously on the sofa, in the comfort of the cool house.

More Sad Times

My friend The Baron von Stinkerton has been given some very sad news. He has lymphoma and may not be with us much longer.

He is such a good kitty, and very sweet.

Softie, the British One and I will continue to send good vibes to him and his human Lauren. Please check out his site on Catster.

Of Barons and Bombings

Today has been filled with bad news. First I got the sad news that the Baron is very ill indeed. I am worried that he may be incurable--but I don't want to think about that. I am going to continue to focus my kitty energy toward helping him get better.

Then I found out about the terrible bombings in London. I have never been to London, but Softie and the British One go quite a lot. I sat on the office desk and listened as the British One rang his friends and family to make sure they were safe. Normally at this time of year the British One is over there, but this year he didn't go because they are doing so many renovations to our house. He and Softie still have a home in England, but it is not in London. I have never been and don't want to go, even though the next door neighbors have a very beautiful female kitty named Poppy. I have seen pictures of her and she makes my heart do a happy dance.

I am ready for this bad day to end.

More Bad News

I have received more bad news regarding my friend The Baron. He is very, very ill and it makes his human cry, which makes me, Softie, and the British One cry too.

He is a good cat, and a good friend. I am so depressed by his sorrowful news that I haven't even felt much like eating my delicious diced chicken. I'd much rather curl up on the dining room rug and mope.

My heart is breaking for my friend.

My Dear Friend The Baron

I am worried about my friend The Baron. He has been a very good friend, and his human Lauren has a wonderful lap.

The Baron has been ill recently, and had to visit the evil vet. Lots of bloodwork was done and we are all very worried.

Please send get well messages to Baron Von Stinkerton. I am worried for my friend.

Still Too Hot

Over the course of the past several weeks there has been a lot of what the humans refer to as "bad weather."

It has been very, very hot indeed--so much so that I have not yearned to go outdoors. I much prefer the comfort of the cool, air-conditioned house.

Yesterday we finally got a reprieve, but unfortunately it came in the form of severe thunderstorms. I do not like thunderstorms. I do not like loud noises in general, but coupled with bright flashes of light and balls of ice falling from the sky--it's a recipe that produces one very worried, stressed kitty.

I sought solace on top of the British One, who sat on the sofa speaking on the phone to his cousin in Australia. Apparently he was having great difficulty hearing her because of the noise from the rain and balls of ice hitting the windows and roof. It sounded to me as if the roof was falling in!The British One and I also feared for Softie's safety, because she was late coming home from work. Eventually she made it home, but I was very worried about her and could not eat any of my delicious diced chicken until I knew she was safe.

Today is bright and sunny. There is no rain, no loud booms, no bright flashes of light and no balls of ice falling from the sky. There is also no sticky humidity.

I believe it is time to inform them that I would like to go outside.

Too Hot!!

It has been so hot and humid that I have not been allowed outside.

I don't mind not getting to go outside, because the British One let me go outside with him over the weekend and it was TOO HOT! I was panting within minutes of going out, and ran back inside to the safety of the air conditioning.

Even in a nice cool house I have been overcome with lethargy. My favorite pasttime this week has been to stretch out on the dining room rug and let the cool air gently blow across my fur.

Ah bliss!

I Don't Wanna Be Sedated

Bright and early this morning I was unceremoniously stuffed into the Pet Taxi and taken to the evil vet. This is the evil vet who is not really quite so evil, and who always wears Birkenstock sandals. This is good to know in case I decide I no longer like him--because I could easily jump from the examination table and bite his toes and ankles.

He looked me over and did some blood work on me. I cannot be quite certain, but he seemed to be speaking to Softie and the British One about possibly sedating me and then having a go at my teeth and nappy dreads.

I don't think I like the idea of someone messing around with my teeth. The last time this happened I ended up missing three teeth and my back and front legs didn't want to cooperate properly for the evening.

A Good Brushing

Over the weekend I took up residence on Softie's lap. She has been feeling poorly and I have been trying to cheer her up and make her feel better.

She paid me back with a good long brushing, which I thoroughly enjoyed until she attacked me with the evil scissors. I let her clip me a little bit, but I drew the line at having my back legs clipped. I don't like anyone touching my legs--and she knows it!

Now I'm being threatened with being taken to a professional groomer, and I don't know what that means.

I'm a Good Helper

Softie has been under the weather for the past week. On Thursday she ended up having to go to a human vet to be checked out. Luckily I did not have to go with her. I stayed at home and helped the British One paint the upstairs hall, stairway and ceiling. I helped by watching as he balanced himself precariously on a plank of wood stretched across the stairs and a ladder. I made sure he didn't fall as he used a paint roller on a long pole to paint the ceiling of the stairway corridor. It's an old house, and the ceilings are very high.

Softie has to take a bunch of evil, vile meds because of an infection in her chest. She coughs a lot, which is not very comfortable when I am dozing on her lap, but I feel it is my catly duty to curl up on her to help her feel better.

I think it is working. She, like the stairway corridor, seems to be a little bit brighter this morning.

Mmmmmmmm...Pork Rinds!

A solitary strange man came to my house today. He is one of the men who comes in and makes a lot of mess and noise, but today he worked fairly quietly, probably because he didn't have his cohorts in crime with him.

I was not relegated to the dining room and kitchen today, as I normally am when the strange, noisy men appear, and I took full advantage of it by watching the strange man from the comfort of the office desk. The best vantage point being, of course, right in front of the British One as he tried to peck furiously at the keyboard.

After a brief struggle, the British One gave up trying to peck furiously and went downstairs for a snack, so I crept upon the strange man and watched as he worked on the wall. It's all very odd--there have been holes knocked into walls to make doors, and doors covered up to make walls. I can't quite wrap my head around it.

The strange man turned and spoke to me, which startled me into dashing back to the office, just as the British One reappeared with a nice plate of pork rinds. The strange man called to the British One, who set the plate on the desk and walked into the hallway.

I saw my chance. How could I resist a heaping plate of pork rinds when they are placed right in front of me?! I sniffed them and decided they smelled quite delicious, so I tentatively licked at one.

Superb! I began to lick all of them at once, savoring each greasy bite. The British One turned and caught sight of my tongue on a pork rind, and he raised his voice a bit, but as I'd already had a taste I decided to continue until he scooped me up and dumped me into the floor.

I licked my lips for a long time afterwards.

Another Trip to the Evil Eye Vet

I enjoy having a routine that makes sense, and one that makes me happy. Therefore, I expect my breakfast to be served at the same time each morning. When this doesn’t happen, I usually suspect the worst.

The worst, of course, being a trip to the evil vet.

Yesterday I did not have my delicious diced chicken served to me at the correct time in the morning. In fact, I didn’t get it served to me AT ALL! I gently reminded Softie of it as she puttered around in the kitchen yesterday morning, but she ignored my pleas and persuasions. I had a bad feeling she and the British One were up to no good, and once again my kitty instincts were correct.

I was scooped up and cuddled by Softie, while the British One got the dreaded Pet Taxi from the Magic Portal. I was stuffed inside against my wishes, and carried out to the metal monster. I made several loud demands to be released, but Softie switched on the iPod, pulled the metal monster from the garage and headed up the highway. Soon I had calmed down and am proud to say that I didn’t drool or pant at all in the metal monster.

We arrived at the evil eye vet, who poked and prodded my eyes again. I tried to use the claw on him, but his assistant held me down rather well, so that I could not stick claw into flesh. Terribly unfortunate really, because I truly wanted to draw blood. I have to admit, however, that the poking and prodding didn’t hurt at all. I just don’t like strangers messing with me. I also don’t like bright lights shined into my eyes. It’s just bad manners.

Dr.K told Softie that I am stable and seem to be doing well. I could have told her that!

For my trouble, I was coddled and given lots of love and attention for the remainder of the day, and the British One shared a pot of strawberry swirl yogurt with me.

Cold Turkey

I don't understand it.

They know my most favorite food in the world is turkey. I have also been on this planet long enough to know that turkey, like my birthday, only comes around once a year.

The British One and Softie keep making comments behind my back. They think I can't hear them, and that I don't understand what they are saying.

They make references to cold turkey.

I wish I had some turkey right now. I think it would make my head feel a little better. I might have overdone it a little on the COSMIC CATNIP over the weekend.

Maybe.

The Cosmic Catnip Caper

Being locked away in the dining room and kitchen this week finally worked out in my favour yesterday.

After a delicious breakfast of diced chicken, the British One closed the pocket doors, shutting me off from the rest of the house. The strange, noisy men turned up at the house shortly afterwards, which I knew meant I was in for another day of being locked away.

I decided to make the most of it by dozing on the Poang ottoman, which has been moved into the dining room so that I may sit and look out the window. After awhile, however, I was bored of napping and decided to see what sort of mischief I could get into in the kitchen. As previously stated in another diary entry, I have found that if I stare at a door long enough, it will open.

Yesterday I sat on the kitchen floor and stared at the door to the Magic Portal, hoping my staring powers would pop open the door. Sorry to say the Magic Portal door remained firmly closed.

The door next to it, however, shuntered ever so slightly to the rhythmic pounding of the strange noisy men upstairs, then creaked open. I was startled by this development, but was not about to let the opportunity pass. I tentatively nosed the door open further, and discovered that this door--the door next to the Magic Portal--was filled with gastronomical delights of the highest order!

Filled to bursting with loads of tins of food and delectable edibles, I realized I had finally located the fabled Magic Cupboard! And I was living every cat's dream--full, unauthorized access to the Magic Cupboard. I could hardly believe my good fortune.

I began to sniff around inside, passing up the unopenable tins, the boring bottles of oil, vinegar, and cooking sherry, the sealed bags of nachos, crisps and the boxes of crackers. I could smell something wonderful, but the smell was faint. I nosed further inside the Magic Cupboard, until I was completely inside. Then I climbed up onto the lowest shelf, which I could easily reach, even with arthritic legs.

The smell was a little stronger on the shelf, so I began to root around until I had located the small, foil packet. It had been opened and sealed shut again with a puzzling plastic clip, which I attempted to figure out but gave up shortly in favour of the tried and true biting-a-hole-in-the-packet way. I gnawed away at the shiny blue and silver packet, eyeing the big smiling cartoon cat on the label with glee. I knew the packet well: COSMIC CATNIP TREATS!!!

After a time I had worked a decent sized hole in the packet and began to shake the packet with my teeth so that the treats fell to the floor. I quickly jumped from the shelf and gobbled them up. Feeling the happy buzz, I batted the foil packet all around the kitchen floor, a trail of cosmic catnip treats behind me. Once I had removed as many treats from the hole as I could manage, I knocked the packet back inside the Magic Cupboard and set about gorging myself.

Later I crept back onto the Poang ottoman and had the most fantastic dreams. When Softie got home that afternoon I couldn't even be bothered to climb down from the ottoman to greet her. I was feeling too fine. She scratched my head a bit, then went upstairs to speak with the British One and to look at the most recent destruction in the mysterious fourth bedroom.

They had quite a bit of cleaning to do upstairs but I couldn't be bothered to help, although I managed to wander from the dining room to the lounge, where I climbed up on the sofa and promptly fell asleep.

The humans eventually went out to dinner with the next door neighbors (owners of the evil Mooch) and didn't come back until late. I didn't care.

When they finally returned, Softie discovered the foil packet lying in the floor of the Magic Cupboard. She showed it to the British One and they both laughed quite a lot. I don't like to be laughed at, but I felt so lovely that I didn't care. I merely raised my head and looked at them, then let it flop back down on the ottoman.

Sometime in the night, however, I started not to feel quite so great. With a very violent surge, I jumped from the ottoman just in time to vomit yellowish-tan putty all over the dining room rug. Then I slept some more.

Today I am still very lethargic and my tummy is a bit dicky. I can't imagine why?

Will It Ever End?

The noisy destruction of the mysterious fourth bedroom continues.

I think it is quite rude to be locked in the dining room and kitchen for the entire day. Why won't they let me stay outside? Why do they feel the need to supervise my every move?

I feel like taking a crap on the rug.

Confusion!

As if last weekend wasn’t chaotic enough, all this week I have had to deal with strange, noisy men in my house. They have taken a great interest in the mysterious fourth bedroom. They have done things which I cannot believe Softie and the British One would be happy about. My humans must not realize that the strange men have knocked a hole through their bedroom wall, and they must not realize that the strange men have ripped out the walls and floor of the mysterious fourth bedroom.

Naturally I have been relegated to the dining room and kitchen during the day, so I can only inspect their work after they have gone. When I saw what the men had done I felt it my duty to inform the British One all about it. He didn’t seem too surprised by what I told him, nor did Softie. In fact, I think they must have known something about the strange men because on Sunday evening the two of them busied themselves with moving all their belongings from THEIR bedroom into MY bedroom, which I had been helping the British One paint.

They are sleeping in MY bed, with MY duvet and pillows. Of course I sleep with them, usually at the foot of the bed between Softie’s ankles. It’s quite disorienting to me, however, and I can never seem to remember which way the door swings open because it is different from their bedroom door. One swings to the left, the other to the right.

This morning I stood at the door trying to nudge it open, only to have the British One laugh at me and open the other side. It was an honest mistake, and one that could have been easily avoided if my humans had doorknobs on that door. The knobs were removed so that the doors could be painted, and the have not yet been replaced. How am I supposed to know which side of the door opens without a doorknob to guide me?

The Feline Ambassador

Saturday morning, bright and early, strange men came into my house and made a lot of noise and dust. I was banished to the kitchen and dining room again while they worked. The strange men worked in the stairway this time, and made a big hole in the wall. It has been covered over so I cannot explore it, but I will try to find a way around this small setback.

After the strange men left, Softie and the British One cleaned and tidied the house. I helped by meowing loudly at them to let them know where the dust and dirt were. I also meowed loudly to go outside, and finally Softie went out with me to the back garden. She clipped grass around the fence and I chewed it.

Softie and I went back inside and I took a short nap on the dining room rug while she prepared a lot of really delicious smelling food. The British One continued to clean the upstairs of the house, and the vile vacuum he was using woke me up. So I helped Softie out in the kitchen by discussing my diced chicken fantasies with her. She obliged and I had a nice meal.

Then the phone began to ring, and people began showing up. Some of them I knew, like Doug (the human of Maya and Inca), Christian and Michelle (humans of Jackson and Gabby), Lauren (human of my good friend The Baron) and Laura (human of Crackers). A lot of them I did NOT know, however, and it made me mildly distressed. Plus everyone was coming into the kitchen and dining room to fill their plates high with delicious smelling food, none of which I could reach.

To make matters worse, everyone went outside and enjoyed the back garden, and I was stuck inside the house! UNFAIR! As more people turned up some sat inside on the sofa with me, and I got a really good scratching from a guy named Brian. I ended up lying on his head for a time. I also took a nap in Jess's lap, and got carried around by Softie, Michelle and Laura.

It was a long day, and the shindig went on well into the night. It was very tiring to be the official ambassador and keep everyone happy and entertained.

This morning I slept in until 10am!

Lost

I have still not been allowed back outside in the front of the house. I went outside with the British One, but it was the back garden and at the moment I am much more interested in the front. I enjoy the shade of the front porch, and there are no fences to keep me away from exploring the neighbors’ front gardens.

Softie was inside preparing dinner when their friends Christian and Michelle turned up. They are the humans of my kitty friends Jackson and Gabby. A lovely meal was served up, of which I got exactly nothing, but it was okay because the British One served up a heaping helping of delicious diced chicken for me.

The humans are hooked on a television program called Lost. The humans take turns visiting each other to have dinner and watch the program. I always enjoy seeing Chris and Michelle because Michelle spreads my blankie out on her lap and lets me nest.

I personally do not see the fascination with this program. For starters, there is a big barker that lives with the survivors. I don’t like him. Second of all, they have a massive litterbox right at their feet and don’t even realize it. Thirdly, they have all those wonderful trees to climb, but no one ever does. Also, the caves seem like a great place to explore, but all they ever seem to do is sleep in them. And all those bare toes and ankles! They are just ripe for biting. I salivate at the thought.

Instead, the survivors of the plane crash are all preoccupied with building a raft (which is just silly because it involves WATER) and that thing in the ground called a hatch. I admit that my curiosity is piqued by the hatch, but I’d be able to sniff around on it and decide whether or not it was worth the trouble.

I've Got the Bad Cat Blues

Since my little dash for freedom last week I have not been allowed to venture out the front door. I realize that I might have overstepped my boundaries a bit, and I realize that I am being punished.

It doesn’t, however, mean that I necessarily agree with it. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I haven’t made my wishes known to both Softie and the British One whenever they go anywhere near the front door.

The British One took me outside with him, but it was in the back garden, which has a fence. After racing around in the sunlight and teasing the big barker next door, I tried to squeeze through the gate railings to get into the front garden, where I could see Softie planting flowers and mulching.

Oddly, I couldn’t fit between the gate railings. Try as I might, I just couldn’t get my body to go through. I got my head between the rails, but realized very quickly that I was going to become stuck if I went any further. This is quite puzzling, because I am a very svelte boy…or at least I thought I was.

The abundance of delicious diced chicken, coupled with the glorious spoonfuls of strawberry swirl yogurt, are obviously having an effect on my usually petite size. Therein is the dilemma:

Do I continue to enjoy delicious diced chicken and spoonfuls of strawberry swirl yogurt, or do I shun food in the hopes that I will drop down to a size that will squeeze through the gate to freedom?

No question about it really. It took too long for me to teach my humans to feed me the foods I love and deserve. I’m not going to abandon all that hard work! I shall continue to eat my delicious diced chicken and strawberry swirl yogurt.

I suppose I will begin training my humans to let me go outside in the front of the house whenever I wish. It will be a long and difficult battle, because my humans are not very clever.

I just hope it doesn’t take another seventeen years!

I Smell T-R-O-U-B-L-E

So I got myself into a spot of trouble over the weekend.

Saturday morning Softie went outside to work in the front garden. I watched from the front window, and each time she would come up to the porch I’d run to the door and yowl to let her know that she needed my help. I’ll never know how she managed any of it without my assistance.

I put on my best “poor kitty” look and made sure she could see me in the window. I went upstairs to swindle the British One into letting me go out, but he was too busy yelling at the glowing box as his team sunk closer to relegation, and he told me to stop whinging.

After a time Softie came back inside to get some bottled water, and I made sure to let her know that she couldn’t possibly finish the project without my expert advice. Finally she relented and told me if I “could be good” she would let me outside to help. I readily agreed.

And I bounded out the door and down the steps of the porch as fast as my legs could carry me! I rushed my way next door to make sure the horrible barker Mooch could see me, with Softie hot on my heels. She scooped me up and put me back into our garden.

So I scooted off in the other direction and had made it all the way down two gardens when she caught up with me. She told me I was a bad kitty and put me back on the porch. She had just sat down to enjoy her bottled water when I made another break for it, this time legging it into a neighbors back garden via their open gate.

I could hear Softie yelling at me, which made me run even faster. I raced around this strange garden, and Softie would have never ever caught up with me had I not stopped to sniff a flower near the neighbor’s back patio.

Banishment to the inside of the house ensued, but it was worth every second of freedom.

I must do it again sometime.

What's New Pussycat?

I quite enjoy helping Softie and the British One with their various little projects. It gives me a wonderful sense of well-being.

Yesterday the British One decided to tackle painting the second bedroom. I’m pleased he’s decided to rid the world of the vile colour in that room, as it was putting me right off of napping in there. It’s a very good napping room otherwise, because the bed and duvet are quite comfy. The massive window in the room is an excellent vantage point for watching birds, squirrels and humans walking their dreadful little yapper-dogs.

He donned his old sweats and commenced moving bits of furniture out of the room, while I helped by sitting on the bed, watching. He moved the bed to one side, brought in a ladder and buckets of white primer, and marked off the floor and window with wide blue tape. And then he did a very wonderous thing:

He opened the massive window.

I was up and in the window in no time. It was the perfect place for me to orchestrate the goings on inside the room, while being able to keep a watchful eye on the goings on outside in the garden and on the street. The British One switched iTunes on and began a long, sweaty day of priming the walls, doors and skirting boards. I helped out by lying in the window for most of the day, keeping him company and listening to him alternate between ranting at the state of the walls and singing along to Tom Jones.

I’m already geared up for helping with the second coat today. My massive window awaits!