Oh dear.

You may remember last entry my tummy was rumbling so much? Well, it is rumbling even more now.

I returned to You Know Where and had to step back on that funny white thing and told to "keep still!" (multiple times) while they clocked the figures on the side. I'd gained some more weight! Goodness knows how, but there you go. Mum was told to feed me just HALF a pouch a day along with an extra dose of the biscuits. 

What a performance! Mum had to keep the opened pouch in that funny white cupboard with the light that gets cold inside (not the super cold cupboard, but the one in between that and the "normal" cupboards), and to make sure my food was at the correct temperature, she had to drizzle some warm water on it to heat it up before I could eat it. What a fuss. 

Anyway, to cheer her up, I decided we both needed a diversion from our stress, so I brought in a nice live mouse for us both to have fun with. Big mistake. After 20 minutes, Mum was frazzled out trying to catch the mouse, so I caught it for her - then promptly got pushed out the front door with instructions to "GET RID OF IT!!!!" I returned home 20 minutes later with the same mouse which had expired in between time, and proudly gave it to Mum. Why do you humans dislike the gifts we bring home to you so much? It was in that big black wheelie thingy in the garden before I could miaow. 

I returned to place with the funny white thing last Saturday and I'd still gained weight (not as much, thank goodness, but still gained). After a lot of talking between Mum and the Nurse, the upshot was - no more pouch. It seems the Nurse can't judge amounts well if pouches get in the way, so it's just the biscuits now.  They aren't that bad, and really do fill you up nicely (and Mum is very good about remembering clean water for me too), but I used to really enjoy my pouch meat. 

Still, mustn't grumble - my tummy is doing that for me!

Oh yes - we both want to wish you all a very happy (belated) Easter, and we hope that none of you (human or especially furry) ate too much of that funny egg shaped brown stuff that seems to be everywhere for that weekend. 

Denver

It's been an interesting (and painful) few weeks. 

I'm not normally political, but our politicians have been rushing around like headless chickens in something called a hung Parliament (which was the result of the Election). Mum says that is when no party has overall majority control. In fact, the only person who seemed to be calm after our Election was Larry, the 10 Downing Street cat - he walked out of Number 10 live on breakfast TV the next day, much to the TV presenters delight and promptly went off to visit the Treasury next door to find out if his job was safe. 

I've had Mum home for a week from work, that was lovely, but over all too quickly! Then we had a heatwave - phew, it got really hot, and it's not just you humans that get hot and bothered - our fur coats are wonderfully warm in winter, but in a heatwave - you can imagine how warm it gets.

Anyway, I went out during the heatwave and had a minor disagreement over territory with a local rival, who was also hot under the collar. I came back home feeling ok, but the next day I felt really weird - my left ear felt really strange and sore, so I wasn't up to eating very much - and Mum noticed. When I hadn't eaten all day, she phones You Know Who and the next thing - wow - I'm getting served up POUCH MEAT again for the first time in weeks! YUM YUM - I'd forgotten just how tasty wet pouch food can be. 

Two days later, I give an inward groan as the Transport Unit makes an appearance, and off we go to You Know Where for my weight check. The waiting area resembles a building site - they are making alterations, which does nothing to calm my nerves. 

At the weigh-in, I've lost a tiny bit more weight, so Mum and the Nurse discuss what to do (I'm too busy having my usual nose around). Mum picks me up to put me back in the TU - and notices a damp, spiky spot of fur under my left ear, which sometimes appears when I've been injured (you know, lots of grooming needed to keep it clean). She alerts the Nurse - and after a brief inspection, a big lump is discovered in my outer ear - from the minor disagreement no doubt. Next thing - OWWW - the lump is popped and a lot of stuff comes out, which is gently mopped up and my ear cleaned up. You Know Who comes in with a big needle - and I get an injection! Mum says it's something called antibiotics and they stop infection.

Mum then (inwardly) gets the needle when she is presented with the bill......................

Denver

Well, what is a cat to do??!

4 weeks of just eating "astronaut kibble" (biscuits only - I bet they get better food on that International Space Station thingy that Mum is so fond of trying to spot when it flies over the UK), and I'm just about tearing my fur out with frustration.

Mum is being very good with extra fusses but that doesn't really fill up the tummy area too good. So, a couple of days ago, I decided to take matters into my own paws.

I am very lucky - I live near the sea, so there is always plenty of bird life around here to watch and swear at out of the window. Gulls are strictly off limits - they are too big and vicious to bring down, especially when they have chicks (the bane of Mum's life - but that's a different story!), and the only way you can tackle them is if they have been injured before you get there, but you still have to be very careful.

Pigeon though - that is a different story! So, when I saw a nice juicy pigeon, I decided to go "self-service" at the Birdy Bar, and was successful! 

I decided to go into "Thursday Night Takeaway" mode (not to be confused with that TV show Mum likes so much), and dragged it home through the cat flap to enjoy it undercover in the Conservatory. Mum is getting ready to do the washing-up, and she sees me appearing to be licking my lips - oh dear! She finds the pigeon that I worked so hard to get, and my lovely supper is in the bin before I can blink. 

Then at my weigh-in, they found I'd still gained weight - only a really tiny amount, so I'm hoping that the biscuit only plan is starting to work, and I might get some more pouch in about a month's time when the kibble starts working. 

Back on the biscuits................... 

Denver

It's been another hungry few weeks.  

The ear healed up nicely, Mum is a dab hand with some moist cotton wool to mop up any unpleasantness. So, I thought I'd be really generous - she doesn't seem to like live mice, so I thought a nice rat (dead, of course), would be a small way to show my appreciation. It turns out that Mum dislikes rats even more than mice (even when they are dead rats) - she really freaked out, stood there shaking a bit before she summoned up the courage to grab (almost) all of the kitchen towel before she could dispose of it. She then phones the emergency Vet number on her mobile and starts wittering on about poison, frothing at the mouth and symptoms! Goodness knows why - I just sat there really puzzled, I do love my Mum a lot, so why doesn't she like the presents I bring her?

(Message to self: squashed seagull doesn't go down well either, especially placed outside the back gate before 6am on a Monday when Mum has to go that way to feed our friends' cat when they are on holiday). 

One good thing is that I seem to have reached what the Nurse called a "plateau" - strange, because I certainly haven't been anywhere near mountains - apparently near where we live there is some stunning moorland, but certainly nothing there that would qualify as a mountain. Mum explained that there is a stage of dieting that humans go through too where no matter how hard you try, you can't shift any more weight, and that is called a "plateau", and I seem to have reached it. So that weekend, I got another pouch! Whoopee!

I went back just before the end of August for my next check, and something seemed different - Mum seemed slightly on edge this time, which was a puzzle, and instead of one of the Nurses, I was seen by a Vet! Very strange - she weighed me as usual (oh no, gained a really small bit sadly), then the nightmare started. She poked and prodded me, looked in my ears and eyes, then forced my mouth open to check my teeth - what the heck was going on? Then a REALLY COLD metal object was placed against my fur and she listened to my heart beating! Yes, Vetty - I am still very much alive and (not) kicking, thank you (I'm too polite to kick as I love my tummy rubbed). 

Then she stuck a flipping needle in my neck! As I got back inside the carry case, I saw the Vet sticking things on a strange card Mum had taken with us - and it suddenly dawned on me what had just happened - it was my annual check-up and "boosters" (not to be confused with all those long things that go up vertically to that ISS thing that is whizzing about above our heads). 

At least I know I am fit and healthy for another year, and - best of all - I don't have to go back for another weight check for 8 weeks now, double the time between weigh ins. 

Stay safe and slim friends!

Denver.