I see Dead People!

My owners and I live in a rather old house with creaking floorboards. Added to that, my female owner is not a great lover of the dark; being left alone in the house for more than 48 hours; the cellar.

The long dark evenings are boring for an intelligent feline, and I have discovered an amusing past time. Freaking out my female owner.

If I stop and suddenly look intently at a point in the distance, better still an open doorway or up the stairs (when there is nothing actually there) then I can convince them that in some supernatural way I am seeing the paranormal.

It's not so outlandish I suppose - Buddhists in South-East Asia thought that the souls of the dead pass into the bodies of sacred Catty-kin before moving on to the next life, and a common belief is that fellow Kin can see the aura or psychic energy that surrounds the body of humans. 

Whatever the derivation of such beliefs, next time my female owner is Home Alone, I will wait until dark, jump on her lap, catch her eye, and then  look intently over her shoulder. Maybe for added effect I will open my mouth as if to whisper "I see dead people!". Mwah....ahh....ahhhh!!

That'll teach her to ignore my requests for additional rations!

Let it Snow; Let it Snow; Let it Snow!

Freedom at last! Last week I felt like Aung San Suu Kyi (the Burmese opposition politician recently released) - I had been subjected to Catty House Arrest since the snow began to fall. I tried to venture out last Thursday but the snow was up to my underbelly, and so I made a swift 180 degree turn and high tailed it back into the hallway.

This was not my first experience of snow - last year my owners got over excited at the heavy snowfall and made a "Snow Cat" (left) in a sort of post modern statement against the traditional Snowman.

Having completed their "masterpiece" they carried me out of the warm house and tried to take my photo in the snow. I keep my claws sharpened for this exact threat scenario, and their blood dripping from shredded hands meant they would never try such a stunt again!

The house is cold despite the heating being turned up, and so I have demanded blankets and have taken to eating my breakfast and then retreating for the morning on to my female owner's lap to seek extra warmth. She does not seem to appreciate such company because it impedes her tapping her inane ramblings on the keyboard!

I have ventured out in the last few days, but now the snow has been replaced by freezing fog, frost and sleet, and my sensitive paws can take it no longer!

Since I am not a lover of this sort of Winter Wonderland, I shall hibernate next year. I have heard that Bear Kin pile on the pounds in the Summer in order to sleep through the Winter, and I feel I could manage such strategy with aplomb.

After all it encompasses two of my three hobbies; eating and sleeping! How hard can it be?

Kitty Advent

Well it appears to be THAT time of year again - the time that humans start to prepare for that ritual of bringing a dead tree into the living room and eating foodstuffs out of socks! And when I pray that my owners forget about the Cat-sized "funny" Christmas Tuxedo and Reindeer Antlers they insist will make me look cute!

On Wednesday you can start to open your Advent Calendar, and for your delectation here is The Kitty Advent.

Day 1:- The "joy" that is the deleted Christmas Card list as your Kitty walks across the keyboard and pressed the "delete" button!

Day 2:- Order the Turkey for the Christmas Dinner and the back-up Turnkey to replace the one that Kitty started to scoff in the few moments between you taking it out of the oven to "rest" and you answering the front door to your guests!

Day 3:- Start the Christmas Pudding - remember that everyone in the house must stir the pudding whether you invite them to or not, so that means Kitty too. After all you can always pick out the fur afterwards!

Day 4:- Dig out the Christmas Tree baubles and take them out of their boxes just as the telephone rings.....

Day 5:- Visit local store to replace the broken Christmas Baubles that Kitty slapped about the living room floor after she hooked them out of the box you left on the floor, when you answered the phone.

Day 6:- Take Kitty to Vet to remove shard of said Christmas bauble from her left paw.

Day 7:- Take the Christmas lights out of the box and spend hours after work unwinding them from the tangled mess of wires.

Day 8:- Untangle the wires again, since you left them in the living room with Kitty while you were at work, and the temptation for her to "play" was too much to bear.

Day 9:- Test the lights and find that in Kitty's "play time" she had chewed through some of the wire and so there is a broken link, but you have no idea where it is!

Day 10:- Second visit to local store to replace Christmas lights.

Day 11:- Bring home the dead tree and place it in living room in the sand-weighted bucket to acclimatise.

Day 12:- Clear up mess created by the falling tree that occurred when Kitty climbed to the top, got scared , panicked and jumped, while the tree topples into the mantel sending ornaments and the sand in the bucket all over the living room floor!

Day 13:- Attempt to place lights on tree with playful Kitty around your legs and the base of the ladder, in an apparent attempt to overturn the ladder and cause Cat-icide and make this your last Christmas ever!

Day 14:- Hang baubles taking care to hang none lower than the tip of Kitty's tail, to avoid them being knocked off by the over zealous rubbing of said Kitty against the tree base and the base branches.

Day 15:- Go Christmas shopping remembering to buy Kitty Christmas treats, such as an irresistible Catnip Toy and all the wrapping paper and bows and ribbons for the presents. Throw bags down by door and fall into an exhausted heap on sofa for the rest of the day.

Day 16:- Clear up the shredded mess that occurred after Kitty went into heated frenzy upon smelling the Catnip, whose potent aroma apparently also imbued its irresistible properties to anything else that was in the bag with it (who knew?), and emptied the contents of the said bags on to the floor and then shredded all the wrapping paper and bows.

Day 17:-Take third trip to store to buy replacement wrapping paper and bows, and this time when you get home go straight upstairs and place them safely in the cupboard. Go back half and hour later, open cupboard door and remove Kitty.

Day 18:- Start wrapping presents.

1. Clear large space on table for wrapping presents. 2. Go to cupboard and collect bags and boxes in which presents are stored and close door. 3. Open door and remove Kitty from Cupboard. 4. Go to cupboard and retrieve rolls of wrapping paper. 5. Go back and remove Kitty from cupboard. 6. Go to drawer and collect transparent sticky tape, ribbons, scissors, labels, etc. 7. Lay out present and wrapping materials on table. 8. Remove presents from bag. 9. Remove Kitty from bag. 10. Open box to remove presents from box. 11. Remove Kitty from box. Have stiff drink and decide that's enough for today.

Day 19:- Lay out paper to enable cutting to size, try to keep the cutting line straight despite Kitty chasing scissors and scuffling with rustling wrapping paper. Throw away first sheet because Kitty tore a hole in it. Cut second piece of paper with one hand while holding back Kitty with the other. Place present on paper while cutting small lengths of transparent sticky tape to stick on side of table ready for use. Spend next 20 minutes carefully trying to remove transparent sticky tape (that attached itself to Kitty as she rubbed herself against the table), with pair of nail scissors. Have stiff drink and decide that's enough for today. The blood from the scratches Kitty administered was ruining the wrapping paper anyway!

Day 20:- Have stiff drink first, and retrieve roll of ribbon that Kitty has chased down the hallway. Repeat Day 19 with one exception - lock Kitty outside. Manage to wrap only five presents before giving in to the incessant scratching of Kitty at the door. Sigh, put the rest of the presents back in the box and let Kitty in. Put box back in cupboard.

Day 21. Hear distant mewing in the morning, spend the time you should be having breakfast trying to find out where the mewing is coming from. Open cupboard to find Kitty in present box. Go to work hungry!

Days 22 - 23. Frantically try to wrap the rest of the presents, having running battle with Kitty to keep her out of the box, away from the ribbons and wrapping paper and sticky-tape free. The best place for this task seems to be the downstairs bathroom - cramped, but try your best! Label all presents and place under the tree. Finally retire, making certain you are alone and the door is locked behind you. 

Day 24:- The dawn of Christmas Eve brings the realisation that the reason you could not find Kitty all morning is because she was locked in the living room with the tree and the presents and no litter tray! Who knew that shredded wrapping paper was so akin to litter tray granules! Not so absorbent sadly. Take fourth trip to store to buy replacement wrapping paper and bows, along with all the thousands of other frantic "last minute shoppers". Wonder if the RSPCA could "Kitty-Sit" for a few hours while you wrap presents and decide if you do want Kitty back!

Day 25:- Peace and Goodwill to All Men .....and Kittys....and decide that next year you will just buy festive gift bags and drop the presents into them on Christmas Eve......
Fah-lah-lah-la-la-lah-la-la-laaaaaaaaaaaaah

Southern by the grace of God

My male owner has to work away from home this week in a place called Manchester. Frankly why anyone would want to go North of Catford defies me, but his endeavours provide my tins, so I will not question his motives.

I have not been to The North, and since I have a dislike of Whippets, flat-caps and battered-and-fried-confectionery, I am left wondering what my Northern Catty-kin are like? Would I have much in common with the Scouser-Mousers or Manchester-Moggies? Do Lancashire Cats wear clogs on "thea paws and spark 'em on t' kerbsides while waiting ahtside o' t' mill?"

Amongst my Southern Catty-kin I have heard many jokes about Northern Catty-kin;

Why do Northern Catty-kin prefer mushy cat food in their bowls rather than round kibble?

Because they can't keep the round kibble on their knives!

Why should you never ask Northern Catty-kin if they come from Yorkshire?

Because if they are not from Yorkshire, they'll be insulted. And if they are from Yorkshire, they'd have told you already.

Northern Catty-kin can always tell when they or their owners have crossed the border into the South because Southerners keep fruit on the sideboard when nobody is sick.

A much beloved pet, Northern Catty-kin "Tiddles" dies, and her owner asks the stonemason for a headstone with the words: 'Lord, she was thine'. The stonemason writes: 'Lord she was thin'. The owner says: '"You've missed off the e, you'll have to do it again." Weeks later the owner goes to see the stone on the little grave he had dug for Tiddles, and it now reads: 'Ee Lord she was thin'. 

I speak the Queen's Meowlish with a distinguished flair. Although from Dorset (Daa'set) I have not adopted that slow rounded drawl, and I have no idea how I would understand the mewsings of my flat-vowelled Northern Kin. 

Would we have anything in common to mew about? Would I come across Northern Catty-kin celebrating another triumph with their large Leeks in the local vegetable show? Would they keep referring to "Our Kid" when talking about younger Kin? Would I ever get past the fact that when they ask me if "I want me tea?", they are either asking me if I want a beverage or my evening repast?

My worries have been somewhat allayed by finding this wonderful translation site (click on this link) which translates Southern Meowlish into all sorts of Northern Dialects. Always willing to share my insights as widely as possible, using this site I will set about translating my mewsings. Let's start with the pleasantries.

"Hello my Northern Catty-kin, my name is Mr Patterson. How do you do?"

Translated;-

Yorkshire meowlish:-"Ayup uz Northern Catty-kin, uz nem is Mr. Patterson. 'A does thee doa?"

Scouse meowlish:- "Ariite me Northern Catty-kin, me name is Misti Pattisin. 'Ow do yous do?"

Brummie meowlish:- "Allroyt me Northern Catty-kin, oim Mr. Patterson. 'Oo d'ya does?"

Geordie meowlish:- "Aareet me Neerthern Catty-kin, me nyem is Mr. Patterson. Ha d'ya dee?"

Scottie meowlish (or Scotmeowlish):- "Awrite mah Northern Catty-kin, mah nam is Mr. Patterson. Hoo dae ye dae?"

Goodness this is exhausting!  

In the spirit of all Southern English Cats before me I shall just assume that everyone speaks (or should learn to speak) the Queen's Meowlish and if they cannot understand me "ooop North", I shall just meow louder and more slowly!

Mimi, my Nemesis!

I have been reading with interest this week about the UK Government's plans to reform social welfare so that those who can work do work. All this talk of those who lie around the house doing nothing, not contributing to society and being feckless, made me think about my own situation.

Since joining my current owners I have admittedly put on some weight, but have always maintained that the illusion of my widening girth is caused by the lushness of my fur which makes me look like I have my "winter coat" all year long!

But I have to admit that now I am beginning to look like the "before" picture of a diet/fitness regime advertisement, and have been suffering from Cat-Apathy! The trouble is I have always maintained that in my past 4 lives I was a workaholic and so it was high time that I fostered a lazier attitude in my last 5 lives, added to which there is an enormous amount of peer pressure to remain useless!

When your owners lavish you with food, attention and a private indoor bathroom, there is little incentive to be active, so I maintain that I had no choice! But now that my male owner has started to refer to me as "Jabba the Hutt Cat" when I sit back on my haunches to wash my underbelly(!), and my female owner strains when she picks me up, I have decided that it is not my fault that they that have no idea of portion control and that encouraging me to have a sedentary lifestyle is exposing me to the number one Catty Killer ahead of curiosity!

Enough is enough; I am going to demand a smaller dish and always leave a small amount of Catty kibble at each meal! Paul McKenna"eat" your heart out!

To make matters worse, the word on the Catty grapevine is that my former position as the "Dorset-vermin assassin" has been filled.

My previous owners procured me in order to manage the vermin problem on their land, having been assured that I was a veracious hunter with finely honed assassin instincts. Unfortunately for them this was a classic case of a "trade description scam", since I believe I came with the descriptor, "Will Ignore You and Destroy Your Furniture for Food". In any event I enjoyed the chase rather than the kill, and my appetite was only heightened by the efforts - capable of eating my weight in Catty kibble, I did not "earn my keep" and was sadly disappointing. 

My semi-feral-lithe-Nemesis is called Mimi and is lauded as a prolific serial killer who prefers to live outside, hates being picked up and is known as The Terminator in rodent circles! I have to admit I am miffed to have been replaced by such a accomplished creature, and am going to keep this information on the Catty-down-low in and about my current 'Hood, because I don't want my hard earned Rep to be destroyed by a GIRL!

In the meantime, the new fitness and diet regime will start today after the weekend soon.....Well, I have to exhaust my current supply of food, before ordering their low fat replacements, don't I (?), since I am always being told that there are Catty-kin in Ethiopia who would be very grateful for my food, if I deign to complain about my owners' offerings!

Until then I shall work on my biceps with a tin of Whiskas in each paw, use my scratching post as a sort of punch bag to work on my upper body strength, and stop snagging morsels from my owners' plates! No more eating between meals either. Now, how many calories are there in spiders, flies and my male owner's slippers?!

Home Alone

I have been abandoned! I am all alone in the World! I am unloved......

Well, what else do you call it when your owners go away for 4 whole nights leaving you at the mercy of surrogate feeders! While I admit that the people my owners have chosen are very kind, they don't know exactly how I like my food dishes to be arranged, they are not privy to the "special" nicknames lavished upon me by my soppy owners, and they have yet to invite me to sleep on their feet at the end of their bed, and as such they are poor substitutes!

To make matter worse, it appears my owners have gone to stay at a place a few miles away from my previous 7 homes! Not wishing to be paranoid, but could it be they are in negotiations for the upcoming Catty-Transfer-Window (akin to the Football Transfer Window) and are planning to pass me onto my 9th home and back to Dorset?

I have been racking my brains to understand why such transfer would be deemed necessary? I have amused my owners, submitted to their demands for cuddles and kisses (yuk!), and tolerated their foibles and strange demands that I do not sharpen my claws on the furniture! The only possible reason for transfer would be because of my superior intellect and wisdom, they feeling inadequate by contrast, and are seeking to offload me rather than try and elevate themselves to the "high bar" I have set!

Since I have no Manager, I have been "sold" very short on my previous 7 transfers - no £200,000 per week or transfer fee for me, Mr. Rooney! Just packed off with my Catty Carrier, Litter Tray and leftover food and off I went!

I have decided to order several "pay-per-view" movies while they are away - after all, I will say innocently, "Exactly how long did you expect a ball of wool to amuse me?" I have also decided that I will be very "offish" when my errant owners return, withholding my affections and limiting contact to feeding times, until I know the "score". If I am to be required to pack my water dish and feeding bowl into my spotty handkerchief, I shall leave with dignity and my Catty whiskers held aloft - oh, and leaving a fresh fish to "mature" behind a room vent, or under the car seat, for good measure! Hell hath no fury like Catty-kin scorned!

In the meantime I will take the Chav-set Rooney's lead and book myself a recuperating rest away in Dubai!

It's Catty Flu Season

My male owner had "man flu" last week - whilst feeling sympathy for him with his runny nose and sneezing fits, needless to say I raised our household "Germ-Alert-Threat-Status" from Amber to Red, and frantic paw washing was instigated so that I and my female did not catch the dreaded virus! I must keep her well, since upon checking the larder, I noticed that I was down to my last two tins of cat food, and I have yet to embrace Internet Shopping!

They say that the virus is not transferable from human to animal, but with the amount of fussing and kissing (Brrrrrrrr...yuk!!) I get from both my owners I am taking no chances, and in any event, I am sure they said that about swine-human transfer 30 years ago!!

After dashing off a quick typed checklist (below) for both my owners listing the early symptoms of Cat Flu to enable swift intervention, and purchasing my swine flu mask, I realised to my horror that there is no insurance upon my person! 

I can understand that investing in Catty Life Insurance would be fruitless, because in order for the Company to pay out I would have to die nine times! But to have no "health insurance" is worrying. I have seen the state of the Human National Health Service and to be honest I am more of a "Private-Room-One-to-One-Care" sort of Cat! I just don't "do" rows of Cat-beds in crammed wards with harassed nurses, and would require hourly health checks, First Class food and regular fussing to recover from any ailment!

Until such health insurance is instigated I have decided to have a self-imposed "house arrest", which is timely, since the weather has taken an Autumnal turn to the colder and wetter, and so this has conveniently provided me with the excuse not to leave the house for almost a week!

As always, I like to take the "belt and braces" approach, and so taking my lead from the sort of "restroom" cleanliness checking schedules I have seen in restaurant/service station establishments, I have set up a spreadsheet detailing the following symptoms, and have stuck this on my female owners' office door, with hourly check boxes for her to initialise, having inspected me for the onset of any symptoms. 

If she forgets to make such checks, I have kept my claws sharpened on her leather chair, and a swift "reminder claw swipe" should suffice!

I think I may be in danger of becoming a hypochondriac.....or it may be that it is the big brain tumour I may have that is making me think I am a hypochondriac! Hmmmmmmm?

The Eyes: swollen and red with a "pus like" discharge?	09:00 initial when checked	10:00	11:00	12:00 – 21:00 etc
The Nose: sneezing; discharge? (first clear then, dear God, turning thick and green); loss of sense of smell?
Fever; loss of Appetite:  dehydration and refusal to drink water?
The Mouth and Tongue: ulceration of tongue, palate, lips; tip of nose; drooling?
Joint pain? Limping?
Paws: ulcers?

"Lost" in translation by Cats - in one minute

My owners are simple creatures. They both spend an inordinate amount of time staring at monitors and dispatching their job related inanities from their keyboards! When they come home, after opening my tin and their own, we devour our respective meals, and all retire to the living room.

Thankfully they are not interested in the sorts of programmes that involve the caterwauling of talentless wannabes, or the antics of "soap opera" characters. But, I have been periodically subjected to their sporadic devotion to certain long running  American TV series' such as "Lost", "Mad Men" or comedies such as "The Big Bang Theory". In addition my female owner irritatingly insists on subjecting me to any "corset wearing" costume drama/film ever made, seemingly with "Pride & Prejudice" on continual loop! Such programmes offer nothing to me, since they are invariably devoid of any substantive Catty-Kin characters.

I am currently suffering my way through "Downton Abbey" where the only Cat on screen is a scavenging kitchen Cat forever being abused by the below stairs staff - what lazy stereotyping!

Being simple creatures, they became disenchanted with "Lost" and gave up watching it, because they said that it had "become boring and convoluted". Judging from their often perplexed expressions, I would surmise that it was more a case of they could not fathom what was going on!

For those of you unfamiliar, "Lost" was an American television six-season series which follows the lives of various individuals and groups of people, most importantly the survivors of the crash of a commercial  passenger jet flying between Sydney and Los Angeles, on a mysterious tropical island somewhere in the South Pacific. Episodes typically feature a primary storyline on the island, as well as a secondary storyline from another point in a character's life. The problem for my owners seemed to be keeping up with the jumping-back-and-forth timelines!

They had the same problems with The Star Wars franchise and I have kept them away from "Heroes" et al to spare their blushes. For those of you old enough to remember, "Twin Peaks" nearly finished them off, and watching them struggle with films like "Memento" or "Mulholland Drive" was frankly painful!

Anyway, back to "Lost". Since Cats are supposed to be able to sense death, I could have told them that I knew that all the characters were in fact dead from the start, and that everything else was merely a story about being "in limbo" but I did not want to patronise. Since there are not alone in their confusion, and web-forums abound with discussion from similarly bemused humans, Catty-Kin have enacted a One minute synopsis of the whole six series of "Lost" for your cerebrally-challenged minds to understand.
To quote another bewhiskered genius, Simples!

My dish always runneth over!

It is official - dogs are half-wits. While I am tempted to end my post there, I suppose I should elaborate - ho hum!

A Bristol University study has "found" that some dogs are such extreme pessimists that they suffer anxiety when left alone. The Researchers came to this conclusion by studying 24 dogs of various breeds ranging from nine months to nine years old. First they began the study by going to a room with each dog in turn and playing for 20 minutes. They returned the next day, but this time left the dog alone for five minutes, during which the scientists recorded the animal's behaviour with a video camera. The footage was used to give each dog an anxiety score.

A day or two later, the dogs were trained to walk over to a food bowl that was full when placed at one end of a room, and empty when placed at the other. When the dogs had learned the difference, the scientists tested the animals' underlying mood by placing bowls in ambiguous positions – in the middle of the room, for example – and noting how quickly each dog went to the bowl.

The most anxious dogs were slowest to approach food bowls placed in or near the middle of the room, suggesting they expected to find the bowl empty.

The less anxious dogs ran to the food bowls, implying they were more optimistic.

Now, that is the Researcher's view of the results.

My view? The inferior being that is the dog, is neither "toilet bowl half full or half empty". He simply is a trainable simpleton, too needy for human interaction, and with the memory function akin to a goldfish, unable to think outside the box. That is why when his owner comes through the door each day he acts as if he has not seen them for years, while we Cats merely saunter from our chosen resting place or lift our heads momentarily from sleep, to make the briefest acknowledgement of their return.

No self respecting Cat would be fooled or made anxious by such "puerile antics" as moving a food bowl. If a Researcher tried to "play" with us for 20 minutes, he would find he would be permitted maybe 5 minutes of play, followed by 15 minutes of clawing, scratching, biting and hissing!

Supposedly "intelligent" dogs such as Lassie are paraded in front of us to show the guile and ingenuity of the species. I put it to you that Lassie was merely trained to jump and bark on command, and that without such training Lassie would have watched helpless on the riverbank, as the child was carried away by the torrent of waters, thinking to itself, "Oh well, we all have go sometime I suppose - now where is that bone?". 

Dog owners should take heart - they are in no danger of finding their dog reading Sylvia Plath, overdosed on worming tablets, with the Cat standing over them saying, "It's a cry for help!!". If a dog is "depressed" they will be distracted for hours by nothing more challenging than a chew toy.

Cats are eternal optimists - that is why the corners of our mouths are formed into permanent grins!

And why not be so optimistic? All available food is our  food, every piece of furniture is ours to sit or sleep upon, our affections are ours to bestow and withdraw at will, and we are equipped with such superiority of mind that when our bowl may be found empty, we can merely enter through the cat flap of the neighbouring Kin and eat all their food, and the dog's too!

A Gift From Me To You

It's Monday, it's October, Christmas is too far away yet - so here's A Gift from me to you

"Laughing is the sensation of feeling good all over and showing it principally in one spot" (Josh Billings)

Mr. Patterson xxxxx

Biting The Hand That Feeds You

......And then there were two. Last week my fellow neighbour Kin, Appollo (or Polly) died. He was to buried with his brother Zeus (who died in July) but due to some rather worrying signs of exhumation by the local Fox community, his owners decided to have him cremated and scatter his ashes instead. So that just leaves me and their brother Achilles (Bill to his friends) as neighbours.

After such proof of Catty mortality, I have been reflecting that if I can carry my inner Kittenhood within me at all times I will never become older. From now on I will refer to myself as Master Patterson and revert as often as possible to Kitten antics.

Talking about Kitten antics, when feeling favourably disposed towards my owners, I will often delight them by rolling on my back and exposing my ever-so-fluffy underbelly for fuss. Invariably only minutes later, instinct seems to overwhelm me, and I open my eyes to find my back paws, front paws, claws and sharp teeth wrapped around one of their unwitting hands. Somewhat embarrassed, I realise that within all Kin is the conflict between the emotions about being fussed (where we release our  "Kitten side" with our owners seen as some sort of Mummy-Cat-parent figure) and our "Wild side" where we are the hunter (and the said hapless hand, the prey!).

This week Ukrainian lion tamer Oleksie Pinko learned about this conflict when working with Big Kin. He was attacked by two of his lions, which had to be kept at bay by steel rods and water canons! Fellow Big Kin can be heard roaring before they lunge, strike and bite down on the trainer's left arm (this attack follows another dangerous incident a month ago at Las Vegas' MGM Grand Hotel when a lion turned on its trainer, although that time the audience were separated by protective glass, whereas only a netting appears to separate the lions in Ukraine from the circus audience!)

Now it could be that Big Kin were having a bad day; or were somehow frightened momentarily; or maybe they sensed an "intruder" to the ring and redirected their automatic territorial response by attacking the closest moving target (the said trainer)?

But I would submit that their Kitten Side was overwhelmed by their Wild Side for one mad moment! The trainer made the rookie mistake of pulling his arm away, and because this behavior is similar to prey trying to escape, it triggers a Big Kin's natural response to bite even harder. He should have moved his hand toward the back of Big Kin's mouth – rather than jerking away. No self respecting mouse would ever move toward it's predator, and this would have caused confusion and a loosened grip.

My male owner's hand is a particularly juicy favourite of mine. Unlike my female owner he has not perfected the high pitched “OUCH" that makes me instinctively loosen my grip (since it is the sound my fellow litter-mates would make when I used to play fight with them!).

There is a potential happy ending to this story - like me, Big Kin attacked the non-dominant hand - in this case the left hand. 

Kin Commandment Number 10 - Never Bite The Hand That Feeds You/Opens Your Tins/Controls The Cat Flap!

For Whom the Bells Toll

I am not at my best this week - suffering as I am, from a bout of tinnitus. For the last week I have heard nothing but the ringing of bells in my ears. Two to be precise!

I was the arbiter of my own doom - the mouse, who lives in the space beneath the back steps down to the basement, accidentally fell into my mouth and died, and my female owner believes she caught me in the act of "disposing" of it, when in fact I was about to present it to her for potential urgent resuscitation.

She has always made me wear a blue collar (ironic since I am definitely not blue collar material!) with one bell attached. The aim being to curb any predatory instincts I may have had towards birds, mice and other lesser beings. Anyway, needless to say, being the superior Cat that I am, I had learned how to keep my head still as I stalked, so as to minimise the sound this infernal contraption made.

I am the only cat on the block to wear such a belled-collar, and I feel rather aggrieved that I am being blamed for the fact that she says she has not seen as many wild birds in the garden this year. After all the British Trust for Ornithologists say in a recent article about such avian carnage, that 55 million birds are killed by Cats each year in the UK, and as much as I'd like to blow my own trumpet (or indeed ring my own bell!) I am not that good!

The BTO advised using more brightly coloured collars, more bells, or heaven help me, supervising my outdoor time during daylight hours! Since my female owner balked at having to follow me around the garden as I sniff and investigate every twig, leaf and bush in minute detail, she has opted for a second "louder" bell on my already crowded collar - it's only a matter of time before she adds whistles to the damn thing and my reputation will be well and truly shot to pieces.

I have not yet mastered the art of moving without sounding like a herd of tiny reindeer, and I am getting no sleep, since I am woken by the "tinkle" with every tiny movement.

Worse still, the ringing has got so bad that I can no longer hear the opening of my tins (from the usual 50 paces) or the fridge, from the other side of the house! At this rate I am going to need Psycho-Catty-therapy, but at least I will be able to answer the question "So, how long have you been hearing this ringing in your ears?"!

Since the bells are here to stay I need to train myself to ignore them - after all, rumour has it that Pavlov tried his experiments with a Cat in the first instance, but after ringing his bell to the apparently deaf ears of the said Cat (who merely lifted his head, looked at Pavlov disdainfully and went back to his daily naps), Pavlov realised he was on a hiding to nothing, and used a Dog instead for his Classical Conditioning experiments!

If Pavlov's Cat could do it, I can do it. As the idiom goes, I shall perfect the art of ignoring and overcoming this new affliction "with bells on*" (*Idiom Meaning - A term used to describe an object or situation which has been completed with a special finishing touch)

Super-Bog-Standard-Cat

My owners get very agitated if I wish to go out after dark, fearing that I will become a latchkey "Youf", hanging about on street corners, and only one step away from a Catty-ASBO. As a result I have a curfew, which I can manage to evade if I hide in the undergrowth when they call me in, and resist the temptation to be fooled by the rattling of my Whiskas tin or the opening of the fridge. Sometimes I am tempted, and inadvertently find myself locked in the house, watching from the kitchen window the antics of more wiley Kin, going about their night time activities, a series of glowing eyes and shadowy crouching feline figures skulking in the dark.

Maybe my owners do have a point - Catty Society Worldwide has degraded, with unplanned pregnancy rates rocketing. However, I have become very concerned by the proposed enforced sterilisation of all cats in Belgium and routine culling, that will effectively mean that Heinz 57 Variety Moggies like me, will die out! Even if our Yo-Yo-Knickers-Kin can have "One pregnancy every six months and 36 offspring in less than 16 months", that's no reason to allow only breeders and owners of "Siamese, Abyssinian and other special pedigrees" to be exempted from the new compulsory sterilisation regime. No offence to my Catty Brethren, Gilbert and Sullivan (two handsome pedigree friends of mine), but such genocide cannot be acceptable!?

Thankfully, there are some vocal dissenters to the proposed regime. "Pet owners will rebel and refuse to do it," agreed Marleen Meersseman, who helps to run a rescue service for stricken wild animals in the Flemish village of Nieuwkerke. "And this wouldn't be Belgium if people did not find a back door."

Hmmmm hmmmm - now I'm not what you'd call "experienced" in matters carnal and copulatory, and I don't wish to be crude, but even I, with my cursory knowledge of biology, know that reference to the "back door" is surely not going to ensure the survival of the Super-Bog-Standard-Moggy-Cat?! Just a thought?!

Jobs for the Cats

You will be familiar with the phrase "Jobs for the Boys"? As the Summer break ends and I see the world return to work, school or university, I have been reflecting that maybe I should contribute to the household purse by acquiring some useful employment?

It appears that my fellow kin are way ahead of me on this and have been joining the world of the workers for some time.

First, there is Iggy - the iPad Tester- having procured this much sought after post, he was assigned the role of testing whether there needed to be a "Paws App" - as a designated special needs group, Apple were rightly concerned that Catty-kin would find the iPad a more useful tool, than just being another warm place on which to take a nap! Iggy demonstrates that they need to redesign the screen surface to account for claw damage and pad-wear, and that he is a musical genius worthy of jamming with any of the jazz greats from Miles Davis to Dizzy Gillespie!

Then there is Calico Cat - the Printer Engineer (video 1) called in to solve the age old "stuck paper" problem, she demonstrates that when pressing buttons furiously, and turning the machine "off and on again" does not work, brute force and a thump of the paw will always do the job!

Next there is Marcus - the overly eager, yet inept archetypal Intern (video 2) - Keen as mustard to please, hoping that his "skills" will impress, but ultimately bodging even the most simplest task. His hapless "mentor" will have to ultimately redo everything his inept paws touched once he has gone back to college! Oh dear!

Moving on to Ginger - the nervous new Secretary/Office Assistant (video 3) - Her first "real" job, unsure of the systems and machines, she has been given a document that "Has to be in the post today, at all costs" and she has pressed the print button to produce not 1 copy but 100! She tried to rectify the fault without anyone noticing by pressing buttons, trying to hide the multitude of wasted copies that are spewing from the machine, but finally retreats to the corner, phased, beaten, embarrassed and surrounded by a veritable forest of paper!

Lastly, there are the Herd of 100 IKEA Cats- A London Store decided to "product test" by inviting a "herd" of motley Catty-Kin into their establishment out of opening hours, to see how they liked and used the ranges. They seemed surprised when "turf wars" broke out in soft furnishings between several Alpha Males, kittens got lost in the kitchen department and were later found asleep in the sinks, and one intrepid "Sherpa Tensing" Kin climbed the vertical display of Chairs (to Cat-Kin this is the equivalent of an indoor rock climbing wall!), got stuck between the two 20ft high displays, and had to be embarrassingly cut out! Genius!

As for me, I see myself in a more managerial/directorship role, but I understand to excel in those positions, you have to be a Fat Cat, and since I am not such a portly being, I will settle for being a taste-tester/product developer for Whiskas - mackerel flavoured cat-milk anyone?

The C-Atkins Diet

This week my male owner decided to begin a new regime of cycling to work as many days of the week as weather would permit. He is naturally athletic, but with a "go faster" gene that resulted last week in a "side swipe" at speed with a "telegraph-type" post (which he said "came from nowhere") - it seems he has discovered a previously unknown phenomenon of animated road "furniture"!. He hopes this week to replace his current bicycle with a super lightweight one-speed road model - he seems to have fooled my female owner with the premise that one speed means less "diversions" in terms of changing gears and taking his eyes off the road, when in fact my wiley catty eye has surmised that this just means that his one speed will now be "go even faster" - we have Accident & Emergency on one-paw-speed dial!

Almira Gulch in "The Wizard of Oz"

For many years my female owner has been seeking the "Holy Grail" - the exact balance of eating the food she loves with as little exercise as possible, that would allow for weight loss of the sort that previously sadly only prisoners of war would be able to attain.

This Holy Grail has escaped her thus far, but bless her, she keeps trying every exercise regime known to Man, hoping she will find the key to success. She continues to cycle around town on her antiquated "step through-sit-up-and-beg" bicycle (10 mile cycle, almost daily) looking like a cross between Miss Marple and Almira Gulch!

I find all this exercise fervour highly amusing - I sleep approximately 16 hours per day and yet maintain my lithe physique, with no need for such lowly exertions. I need no "new fangled" diet regimes to keep my sleek perfection. Cats have for Centuries been "following" the C-Atkins Diet - high protein, very little carbohydrate - it is nothing new - we were there first!

Running around like demented chickens seems crucial for the lesser beings that are dogs - in the wild, they live in packs who run around together all day. When domesticating them, humans used this failing by making them pull carts or sleds all day. Cats never did this and never will! Any self respecting Cat would no more pull a sled, than use the tradesman's entrance, that is the Cat-flap!

Even in our wilder history, we Cats only ever ran flat out to escape from a predator or more likely to catch our prey. For Cats it is all about intensity not duration - quality rather than quantity if you will. We Cats lie around all day plotting and planning, and then explode into action - the fast-twitch fibres (the main kind of muscles Cats have, which are much better at generating short bursts of strength or speed ) in my body mean that I am the Usain Bolt of the animal World, rather than the Haile Gebrselassie.

My owners try and engage me in inanities such as chasing a ball, or toy mouse on a string, but can be easily dissuaded from such embarrassments, by me merely lying down to nonchalantly paw at the toy, or haughtily watch their shenanigans, tip of my tail flicking - this means I am done, and so are they!

My body is a well-honed machine, that converts the food I eat into glucose, ready for that well-timed pounce to my food bowl, twice daily. When I move I am perfection personified - think sleek and fast - you envisage Jaguar (i.e. Cat) Cars - think slow and lumbering, you think Greyhound (i.e. Dog) Bus!

Now if you'll excuse me I need to limber up for my 100m sprint down the stairs to my food bowl - 9 seconds flat - eat you heart out Mr. Bolt!

Cool for Cats

My owners have expressed some concern that writing my Blog with six followers (Paws up to you all, my Peeps!) may lead to an exaggerated view of my own importance.

How ridiculous! I don't need my Blog to know that I am important! Cats ARE important! Every week there are stories about Cats from around the World proving that "The Cult of the Cat" is alive and well amongst all Societies.   

Cats are cool - it is official. The uber-trendy music magazine, NME recently featured an article on the "Most famous Cats in Rock" and band like Klaxons who feature their cat Orphee (the astronaut cat!) "Klaxon's Cat"; We are Scientists "We Are Scientists' Cat"  and Blink 182 "Blink 182 Cat" all feature my fellow Moggies on their album covers. Even the folk hero Billy Bragg features a cat (name unknown, left) who I swear is my Doppelganger! Many a mega rock star would sell their soul to be featured in the NME, and with effortless feline ease, there are my fellow kin gracing its pages!

However, some owners take Cat Cool to a cruel extreme. 

Personally the only piercings I can tolerate are those made by my claws into the supple leather of my owner's furniture (sooooo gratifying!). But it appears that a woman in the US (where else) is being prosecuted for piercing kittens with ear and neck rings and selling them online as "Gothic Cats". 

Apart from affecting their balance and causing infections, it does no kitten any favours to resemble a brain-dead-head-banging-Red-Hot-Chilli-Pepper-groupie! Rock 'n' Roll Dude! 

And then there is the strangeness of Cats as tourist attraction - meet the Taiwanese Tickle Cats.
Cool or creepy? There we have the tiny town inhabited by 200 people and about 400 apparently nymphomaniac Cats. They started with about 5 cats who obviously thought they were at a Sandals Resort for Cats and interbred, and now they have hundreds who have turned into a tourist attraction - people can buy feather tickling stick to "pet" the apparently friendly Taiwanese Kin, who seemingly bask in their new found glory! I still think it's a bit ....."icky".... and someone should check to see if they have webbed paws, with all that interbreeding!

I wish to be more than cool - I wish to be a Classic! A Cat of renown, and remembered for posterity.

This weekend my owners set off to cycle around London, on something they called the London Skyride? 15km using their own peddle power to traverse the centre of a car-free London with 80,000 other bi-ped-allists!

As I watched them peddle off from the comfort of my warm bed, I sent them with one goal - to photograph the (left) Edwin Landseer "Trafalgar Square" Lions, because Dear Follower I have a plan.

Apparently I have heard there is a Fourth Plinth in the Square, which they are constantly having trouble filling. Since there is already a precedent for Catty Kin in the Square, I am thinking of a bronzed stature of One, striking a thoughtful, regal pose, with the words;

"I BLOG, THEREFORE I AM" inscribed beneath. 

My argument being that I would seem an apt subject, since the NW corner (near where the said plinth is placed), has been the site of the King's Mews since the time of Edward I. 

QED!

I Wanna Be Famouse!

"In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes."(Andy Warhol).

Ahhhh......the bane of modern life.....it used to be if you asked any well brought up kitten what they wanted it be when they were older, they would say, a Champion Mouser or  Ship's Cat but now, the 21st Century Celebrity obsessed kitty will say "I Wanna Be Famouse!"

Those Kin who sold out

While it is true that some cats sold out to the almighty God of Celebrity (Top Cat, Tom (of Tom & Jerry), Sylvester (of Sylvester and Tweety Pie), Bagpuss, Garfield, Felix, The Cat in the Hat, Puss-in-Boots) others have been more dignified.

The Famous Office Cats

Cats have always featured heavily in the public eye - Abraham Lincoln introduced "Tabby" as the first White House cat, while the 29th President, Calvin Coolidge used to carry "Tiger" (a grey stripped stray) around his neck and when "Tom Kitten" (John F. Kennedy's Cat) died in 1962, he was given an obituary notice by the press! Even Downing Street had Humphrey, who was ousted by The Blairs when they arrived (presumably Cherie "Cheshire Cat Grin" Blair did not like the fellow Cat competition!)

Then there are the brave and intrepid Cat-kin 

Mrs. Chippy (actually male!), a tiger-striped tabby, was taken on board the Endurance by Harry McNish (the ship's carpenter, whose skills saved them from certain ruin), as a ship's cat and could walk along the ship's inch-wide rails in even the roughest seas and took great delight in jumping over the kennels of the sled dogs. Shackleton ordered him shot with the dogs when the ship was destroyed. The faithful McNish never forgave Shackleton and showed subordination, which cost him the Polar Medal, awarded to most of the rest of the crew http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/3818613.stm 

McNish is a cat folk hero - and a bronze statue of Chippy was placed on McNish's grave to honour the special bond between them. 

Scarlett (USA) who rushed into the flames of a burning building again and again to save her kittens, even when her eyes blistered shut. She identified her kittens using her nose, counting the five to make sure that she’d saved them all before collapsing into unconsciousness. Scarlett lived for another 12 years in the loving home of her adoptive family and continued to make headlines for quite some time. She was featured in numerous articles and books, and on the TV program Animal Planet. The Scarlett Room, which showcases animals available for adoption, and an animal heroism award have been created in her name.

Macavity, a mystery cat in the UK that rides the Number 331 bus several times each week, arriving at the same time at his usual stop, and getting off near a local fish and chips shop. The white cat, which has one blue eye and one orange eye, is said by fellow commuters to be the ideal travel companion because he “sits quietly [and] minds his own business."

<sup>The Web Heroes Maru (aka "Box Cat) (Japan)
http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/maru-the-cat
He seems to exhibit an exaggerated form of dumb cat behaviour - he is obsessed with boxes. Whenever Maru sees an open box, he must instinctively jump into it. He has his own Wikipedia page and Blog and “Entertainment Weekly" mentions Maru alongside Keyboard Cat and Nora the cat in its Notable Kitty Videos article. As of September 2009, Maru’s channel is the 9th most subscribed in Japan.”.

The Darker Side Cats
There are of course cats with a "touch of the night" about them - Brrrrrrrrr - Like Oscar the "death predicting Cat" (of Steere House Nursing and Rehabilitation Center of Providence, Rhode Island, for those of you who wish to avoid!). He is not particularly sociable – until a patient is on the verge of death, when he then snuggles up beside the dying individual, maintaining his vigil until the patient passes away. If denied access to the patient, Oscar will scratch frantically at the door!!!! Ghoulishly Freaky!!!!)
The Victims
This week I was reminded that some young "Wanna Be's" will do anything to get their Fifteen Minutes of Fame.</sup>

<sup>Lola, the 4 year old Coventry Tabby, is now "milking" (excuse the pun!) her new found fame - true she was dumped in a bin for 15 hours, but how many times did her Mummy Cat tell her not to talk to strangers, let alone rub up against them, purr and draw attention to herself?! Hopefully the terrible fate that befell her will alert other Kitty-Kin that you cannot trust strangers, even if they tickle your tummy! Worse than that she sold her story to "The Sun" and was inundated with "Whiskas Goodies" for her troubles - I ask you - does she look contrite?
http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/3110434/Its-just-a-cat-I-put-Lola-in-bin-for-joke-whats-all-the-fuss-says-Mary.html

So I'm left thinking what about my Fifteen Minutes of Fame?</sup> 

^{I could get my human owners to "stage a Lola", but only if they also put in the bin my bedding, my kibble, my Catnip-chew toy-mouse, and some Cat Milk. Having said that, when I was "found" all my "stuff" would be a giveaway, so I am going to have to think of another route to fame. Having heard some of the "singers" on The X Factor, I am sure I could give singing a few bars of "Memory" (Grizella's Aria from "Cats") a go. I am sure that the Autotune they are all talking about will sort out my Cat-erwauling!}

...."Memory,
All alone in the moonlight....^{Meooooooouuuuwwwww!!!!!!"}

"If you're OCD and you know it wash your paws! If you're OCD and you know it wash your paws!...."

I overheard my owners talking about the fact that they think I have OCD. I thought they meant I had Obvious Catty Disdain for other lesser mortals - which would be true!

However, I MewGoogled "OCD", and it turns out that it is a kind of neurosis known as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - repetitive behavior characterised by e.g. repetitive washing or behaviours always performed in the exact same order, and which if the sufferer is disturbed, often have to be performed again from the start, for fear of increased anxiety.

Cartoon by Jeff Swenson

How ridiculous! ........Excuse me for a moment while I wash my left paw, then my right paw, then my left ear then my right ear, then my tummy and finally my nether regions.....oh dear, I got distracted by a bird at the window......now where was I? Best start again.....I wash my left paw, then my right paw, then my left ear then my right ear, then my tummy and finally my nether regions.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, How Ridiculous! Owners (i.e. Pot), meet the black kettle!

My male owner has OCUT - Obsessive Compulsive Usage of Technology. Surrounded by three laptops in his home office, seemingly surgically attached to his iPhone, nigh drooling over his "PC Pro" magazine every month and recoiling when asked to use paper and or pen to do anything! He often says that if they would invent a "meal pill" that would give all the nutritional requirements without the need to eat, that would be progress! He better not pull any pill stunt with me, replacing my beloved catty kibble!

As for my female owner, she does have OCD - seemingly obsessed with my fur on any floor, furniture or other surface and perpetually armed with sellotape and dustpan and brush to remove the same. I must admit to the devilish enjoyment I get from sitting in front of her and feigning a frenetic scratching session - sends her into a fervour of flea spraying and sympathetic scratching of her own!

Anyway, I do not have OCD -  would know if I had OCD - to be on the safe side I will get my owners to ring the Vet to check...and then ring the Vet again at least nine times to check that they have not made a mistake! Now, where was I?...oh yes......I wash my left paw, then my right paw, then my left ear then my right ear, then my tummy and finally my nether regions.

Let's get this party started!

It is Official - my owners are categorically Z-list, since it appears that I was not invited to THE party of the Catty Season last week - The Algonquin Hotel Cat Fundraiser for Posh Cats http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2010-08-09/matilda-the-cat-hosts-fundraiser-at-algonquin-for-homeless-pals.html hosted by the current incumbent, Matilda. http://www.algonquinhotel.com/algonquin-cat

There were themed cocktails - Purrtinis (made of Grey Goose vodka, lychee juice, coconut, white crème de cacao and lemon juice), a Catty Runway for the annual cat fashion show, where “mewdels” from sashayed down the runway in elaborate outfits by "Meow Wear" http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/gallery/2010/aug/13/algonquin-hotel-cat-party#/?picture=365710688&index=0, while Cat therapists provided Feline Reiki. Heaven, darrrrrrling! 

I was bristling with snubbed feline fury....and then I saw the pictures of the event.....OH DEAR DEAR DEAR!
Clockwise from the left pic - Elvis (who was supposed to have died 33 years ago to the day) is alive and well - thank you very muuuuch! Pic #2 - Just call me Claw-o-patra, Queen of Egypt daaaaarrrrling!  
Pic #3 - Gay Dear?...Me Dear? How Veryyyy Dare You!  Now I'm off to find the Native American, the Cop, the Cowboy, The Construction Worker and the Soldier!

And finally...... this one (left) sent shivers up my spine as I had flashbacks to the Christmas that my male owner thought it would be cute to "dress" me in a "Red-Christmas-Sparkly-Bow" and bring me to work to parade me shamelessly to the office! {To those of you who said "How cute!" (yes, you know who you are!) I know where to find you, be afraid, be very afraid!}
I have not been so mortified since the Vet picked me up as a kitten, lifted my tail and exclaimed at the top of his voice "Yes, this one's a boy!"

So far my female owner has resisted any attempt to dress me up, but I am in need of a new collar and her penchant for pink and sparkles is worrying. She already has two bells on my collar in a feeble attempt to stop me capturing birds and small rodents (mmmmmm taste like chicken) , and when I move I sound like a small herd of Santa's reindeers!

So for now I maintain my self respect and dignity - she continues to think me (sometimes) condescending, stand-offish and demanding - true, and I have many other fine qualities as well!