Today I woke up with a real bounce in my paws. 5am, time to wake Maid up with a massage on her wobbly tummy and flabby boobs then a good loud purr. I know that she appreciates the attention even though she pretends to be asleep.

It is best when my claws have been sharpened to perfection on the base of the bed as they add a certain zing to the massage as Maid winces in pleasure as I puncture her skin. Eventually I am rewarded with my bowl of kibbles as she climbs groggily out of bed to face the day and its demands I make upon her time.

I then followed Maid round until she finally cottoned on that I wanted to play, something I haven’t bothered to do for some time. We played ‘sploshes’, my favourite game. Maid waggles a peacock feather over a sheet of newspaper, I put my ears back, make my eyes go eyes go large as I lunge forward over the paper making a great noise with my paws extended as I pat at the feather. Half an hour later, and I was quite exhausted, my paws were almost on fire from galloping over the carpets.

I don’t really do outside, and as it was a cold rainy day I wasn’t going to go out anyway although the greens did look tempting in the pots outside, drizzled in a dressing of rainwater. I hoped Maid would take the hint and pick some shoots and bring them in for me. But she isn’t very bright and the penny didn’t drop with her so I gave up trying.

I was rather bored after Maid stopped playing with me. Gingie-crew were tucked up in snoozzee corner. Mikey-Mike, cheeky thing that he is becoming, had come into the kitchen soaking wet, shook himself, splattering drops of water everywhere then and climbed into the snoozzee in the lounge joining Gingie-crew in a group huddle. I cannot believe that they just allow him to walk in and invite himself into their snoozzee corner. Is Willi Whizkas a complete custard? Surely he should be defending his territory and seeing him off, not rolling over and letting him snuggle up with him and Dippi-Duck.

The well sucked catnip mouse on my designer duvet held no interest for me and I got fed up watching the rain drops trickling down the window pane so with a yawn I slithered down off the bed and ambled into the kitchen to see what Maid was up to. You never know with staff when they are sloping off or shirking duties you have to keep a sharp eye on them when they go quiet, so a surprise personal appearance always keeps her on her toes. The kitchen smelt quite interesting and my nose eventually lead me to the glass screen on the box in one of the floor units. A light was on and an object which had an odoursimilar to roast chicken was inside the box, wrapped in foil. I sat there for almost an hour, but nothing happened, although the glass screen did give off quite some warmth. Nothing moved so after a while I found myself unable to keep my eyes open. I flopped on my side and had a good sleep. Nothing much had changed when I managed to open one eye, so I went back to my designer duvet for forty winks.

Later in the day Maid put down some warm chicken scraps for the Gingie-crew who dived into them as if they had never seen food before. I was offered some mere morsels by Maid, but as I do not eat human food I turned tail and gracefully left the kitchen before I was covered in fat and grease by the Gingie-crew who were desperately slurping the scraps down in a most undignified manner. I despair. Did their mummy-cats never teach them fine dining manners?

I was offered another slice of chicken breast by Maid, and with my usual great dignity, I refused it. Feline royalty, such as one’s self, do not eat human food, you never know where it came from or what it may contain.

Maid’s version!

Who else has a complete air-head of a bimbo cat, who sits in front of an oven for at least an hour just watching a chicken roast? Then doesn’t want any when it is finally offered to her? I had been woken early in the morning by claws picking at my tummy as Madam had a glazed look on her eyes purring away as she padded on my tummy. I kept my eyes closed in case she stopped doing it, it’s not often that she paw-pads me. Made a note, her claw tips need clipping!


Dogs Come when Called

"Dogs come when called. Cats take a message and get back to you."

"Of course, every cat is really the most beautiful woman in the room."

Edward Verrall Luca (essayist)

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