Cat-o-pause

It is my 7th birthday on Sunday, and I have been in a reflective mood lamenting the soon to be past "best age" - six.

To quote A.A. Milne (Now We are Six, 1927),

When I was One, I had just begun (to discover the joys of sharp claws on furniture and my owners' bare knees)
When I was Two, I was nearly new (my paw pads were still pink and my belly fur impossibly fluffy)
When I was Three, I was hardly me (I was between homes and dislocated)
When I was Four, I was not much more (on my way to my current owners, with numerous fleas, ticks and assorted other "hitchhikers" along the A331)
When I was Five, I was just alive

But now I am Six,

I'm as clever as clever (I think we can all agree that this goes without saying?), So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever. 

Sadly, I shall be clever-and-six for a few more days and then it can safely be said that I will be middle aged. The start of my own Cat-o-pause, if you will.

I shall spread around my middle, start thumbing through motorcycle catalogues, and lust after girly-kittens half my age - or worse than that, I am now officially in danger of becoming a MACIL - the feline equivalent of the Middle-Aged-Cat Man-in-Lycra (MAMIL) brigade of puffing and panting middle-aged humans who polish the rear derailleur of their much-drooled-over Pinarello Dogma carbon cycles, whilst lowering their mirrored shades and pedalling into the hills, to compare GPS route-finding cycle computers and pretending that they know how to stretch!

There are some advantages to getting old - no longer do I have to get my kicks from tearing around and chasing birds - I can get the same "high" now from standing up really fast from my water bowl!

Ah! My kitten-youth was a wonderful thing - what a shame I wasted it on chasing my tail and now it is too late to start painting a portrait to put in my attic (à la "Dorian Gray")! Everything slows down with age, except it seems the time it takes for my Whiskas to attach itself to my hips! Sigh.

Obsessions of a Scaredy Cat

I have been reflecting this week that it is fortuitous that my owners are not famous and so are in no danger of having their phone calls or emails hacked. Otherwise, the details of my recent mortifications would no doubt be plastered all across the "Mews of The World". 

This week has been all about my obsessions and fears - not for me the common phobias of spiders (never understood this one, since they are a very good source of protein!) or heights (I delight in scaring the beejeesus out of my owners by venturing out of their fourth floor window, leaning back, and mewing, "Look! no paws!" - on a side note I should add that I love to climb high so that I can look down on everyone - it's also the reason I hate birds!)

No, for me the fear of all fears is..........window cleaners! I have promised to stop paddling at the windows and leaving my DNA, paw-prints and various "smears" all over the panes, if my owners will just stop procuring  the blood curdling thud of chamois leather and squeegee on the windows, but to no avail. I dread the monthly visit from those ladder wielding terrorists, when I am forced to slink away and hide behind the sofa until the torture ends - this week, the dreaded visit happened at supper time, and I was forced to miss a meal rather than brave the wicked scrape and squeak on the window panes!

And it seems that this trauma has lead me to develop an unhealthy obsession with my owner's new roll top bath - as with any obsession I cannot help myself, and last night, as if in some sort of trance, I found myself in the bath in the middle of the night frantically pawing at the dangling plug, bashing it back and forth like some sort of demented furry boxer in training! As the bathroom light illuminated my shame, I turned to find my owners viewing me with perplexed-dishevelled-been-woken-in-the-middle-of-the-night-frowns, and my female owner disowning me with the words "....he's your cat, sort him out so we can go back to sleep will you!?".

Such scolding is harsh - from the look I gave her I know she knows that I understood every word.......and have filed it for reference! The next time I rub against her neck she will never be sure if it's pure affection, or a trial run for the jugular! 

I have decided to combat my phobia and obsession by developing a diversionary habit - overeating and fostering the cardinal rule that when fat, arrange yourself in slim poses!

Return of the Stray Cat

Mea Culpa Dear Readers

I have no excuses for my sixth month absence other than to say that if you think your lives are busy, just think what it must be like to have my nine lives!

Looking back at the last sixth months, I consider it to be time well-spent, though my female owner would disagree!

Quick recap:-

• Maintain lithe, handsome figure and continue to follow strict Eat-Sleep-Eat-Sleep Regime - check;

• Continue to endear myself to all the neighbours and visitors - check;

• Establish and maintain "Top Cat on the Block" status - check.

The year so far has included some notable events on which I formed wise "mewsings", but which were left unposted. A few morcels for your delictation:-

• Larry The Cat joined the Downing Street Coalition at Number 10 to solve "the rat problem" - an odd way to refer to the PM and his "Mini-Me", Nick Clegg, but according to a spokesman Larry has shown "a very strong predatory drive" and enjoyed playing with toy mice - translation: he is simple-minded;
• The Royal Wedding - ahhh the joining in matrimony of persons who are self appointed, often aloof and imperious, and who expect to be worshipped. Surely, traits that afford them the additional titles of "Honorary Cats", both? No accident the Female One is Kitty, Duchess of Cambridge!
• The Arab Spring - an revolutionary wave of civil resistance, whose demonstrators' slogan "The people want to bring down the regime" is inspiring. My female owner operates a dictatorial regime of "You will eat at this time and not at this time; You will not scratch the furniture; You will not hunt defenceless small mammals and bring them into the house; blah;blah;blah" - if she is not careful claws will be drawn, and I will go all "Day of Rage" on her %*ss this Friday;
• The Austerity Measures are biting - tell me about it! In a pitiful attempt to economise, my female owner thought about changing my branded food for generic rubbish! A well-timed "throw up-runny tummy" double whammy on my part, and she thought again! Cats know what "Food They Like". This is very important. I don't care what people think is good for me to eat. Royals don't eat just anything. I  eat what I want and will demand it with a relentless meow. I will turn up my nose at fare that doesn't meet my lofty standards. Now stock your larder with "own brand" baked beans and open another Gourmet Pouch for me s'il vous plaît!

Anyway, this on-again-off-again hot/humid weather is playing havoc with my fur, and I am developing RSI from all this unaccustomed typing!

'Til the next time Amigos!