Willi Whizkas

Willi Whizkas

As a child I loved being read or told a story, I still do, I never grew out of it. John Paws is very good at telling tall tales and would make up stories about our cats which he would tell me at night as we relaxed with a glass of wine, I now make up the characters and plots then John closes his eyes and sees everything from the cats point of view, for example, when you buy a cat a new sparkly jewelled collar, once it’s round his neck he won't see it again!
Willi Whizkas really exists - he lives with us. He picked us as his humans in late 1999, when he was a really cute beige Maine Coon kitten he had been looked over as a show cat as he was 'ginger', but once he got his paws under our table he showed his true colours!!
In real life Willi Whizkas really is a cat on a mission of naughtiness and adventure, so we started to watch what he would get up to. Some cats would come into his garden and he’d attack them quite furiously, others he’d just ignore. Some cats he just casually greeted whilst others he would run to greet them then sashay off into the bushes tails entwined with his playmate for another day filled with adventure and derring-do.
Some days he’d sleep all day on the bed too exhausted to even raise an eyelid, others he’d be out with the dawn chorus, coming home reluctantly at night bursting with excitement, covered in bits of twigs, grass and slugs, other nights he’d be so tired he could barely drag his tail through the door before collapsing on the mat almost comatose.
So we started to speculate as to what exactly he was doing whilst out of our sight, and the Willi Whizkas series was born. In 2001 we started to write the stories down as we had rattled off quite a few by then, we thought it would be nice to keep a record so we could read them again later as some of them were very funny and it was a shame to lose them.
TutshtotsTushtots joined us in 2001. He was in a poor neglected state; his fur was one solid felt and full of fleas, his broken jaw had set crooked and his teeth were shattered. He really was so hungry his tummy skin did hang down like a bag of udders and he didn't have long on this earth things were so bad. We held our breath not knowing how Willi would react to the new 'emergency' member of our family, but he absolutely adored him from the first moment he set eyes on him. He looked out for him after he'd been shaved of all his fur, he would love and lick him and when Tushie cried he would lick him between his ears to calm him down. When Tushtots fur grew and he was allowed out, Wills took him on adventures and cuddles up at night with him in their ‘snooozeee’ on the work surface in the kitchen.
Tushtots then made a career move, shortly after being rescued he became a ‘baby’, he doesn’t want to be a cat anymore, he just wants to be loved and cuddled by his new humans as for once in his sad life he feels secure and loved, he now only goes out on a collar and lead much to the amusement of Willi who will break off from important tasks like supervising newts in the pond, inspecting nests or marshalling baby birds round the lawn to come and escort Tushie and myself round the garden when we have ‘walkies’. Tushie is now a very much-loved cat!
The tales are ‘true’ based on what we have seen our ‘boys’ do. We have just finished book 5 and in a few weeks time we’ll start on book 6 with a whole host of new characters.
We are hugely complimented that people are buying the books, and bowled over that the book is being enjoyed and laughed at because we wrote the stories purely just for our own enjoyment. We never ever expected that they would be good enough to be published and we were just happy that friends who loved them and saw their own cat and what it did in the tales were passing them around. Never in our wildest dreams did we think our naughty cat would be going global and a 'cult book' in America!!
Over the road live two marmalade coloured cats, we call Ginger Podgers and Fred Who Stares, they join Willi in his next book, The Tiddleswick Taillifters along with Grumpwhiskers, Pusstachio and Skwonx In fact we have so many cats such as Al Caponie and his cheesy brother Mouse Caponie, Woolleybum and Mewriel in humorous stories that we can’t wait for the next books to be published so ‘fans’ who loved the first book can get into Willi’s World and enjoy the fun.
We haven’t published the tales for money. We have all we need in life, our small home, happy cats and full tummies so if we do make a little bit from the books it would be a bonus, and we’re so daft we’d spend it on the cats anyway!!
Willi and Tusher get fan mail, but because they are so busy out having adventures, the mail is answered on their behalf!
To contact Willi we have a web site with an email link http://www.williwhizkas.co.uk/ and he loves to hear from others, humans and cats!!
© Cat Turner (UK)
Willi Whiskas is available at Waterstones, and all major bookshops and can be purchased from Amazon. This is the ISBN number 1903 506183 and the price in the UK is £7.99.
Please click here to read more stories of Willi and his friends 

Santa WilliAt Christmas, humans send each other Round Robins. I quite fancy a Round Robin. A fat robin, plump robin or even a scrawny robin would be nice. I've never had one and they sound delish!

Last Christmas, Dippi-Duck and I sat under the tree waiting for Santa Paws to arrive down the chimney. We must have dozed off and missed him, because when we woke up, the room was filled with presents and he had gone. Christmas was brilliant and Dippi was sooo excited.

Dippi and WilliThis year, Christmas will be very lonely. Dippi died suddenly in April. I am still devastated. When Big Ben chimes in 2014, all I will have is memories of my little disabled friend with a big lion attitude who let me supervise her and gave each of my  days meaning. There are still lots of her Dippi's Demon tales and fabulous photos to come and I know she will be delighted that they will be uploaded onto The Daly Mews website by Pauline.

I have tried to cast my love and caring onto Dumpty Roo, but a withering glance from Miss Snooty Pants soon put paid to that.

Saint Ben of Park House Surgery has suggested that my human gets me a kitten for company, something for me to care for again. I'll keep you posted.

Mikey Mike, the black and white tom who moved into my snooozzee with me, has also gone to the great mouse hunting field in the sky, and Evil Sydney, the big ginger tom, also died. All my furry friends seem to be leaving me as I get longer in the fang.

My human noticed my days are long and lonely and my whiskers droopy with sadness so she started a Facebook page for me. I've already got over 500 friends from around the world, so that has perked my whiskers up! I have loads of photos which get loaded on. It's all good fun.

Willi and presentsChristmas is my favouritetime of the year, lots of turkey and Napier Catnip mice.

I hope you have a fabulous Christmas with your humans and Santa Paws brings you lots of presents and delicious catnip. I also look forward to you finding me on Facebook and I'd love to hear from you. 

Lots of cat kisses

Willi Whizkas   XXX
TomCat Towers

Willi Whizkas on Facebook

Willi_WhizkasWilli Whizkas is not a particularly bright cat. We know this and it has been confirmed by our vet. When intelligence was handed out Wills was nowhere to be seen!  He just has fluff between his ears where his brains should be. He watches in amazement as our other cats open doors and walk through, whereas he will just sit and cry until a human lets him through to the food on the other side.

Then one night, in a once in a lifetime flash of brilliance, he worked out that if he was outside, in the middle of the night, feeling a bit cold and wet, then  if he just tapped his claws on the glass panel by the front door, a human would wake up and obligingly let him in. If that didn't work, then thrash with both paws, claws fully extended and drum constantly on the glass until a human got so irritated he would be let in. Smile on whiskers then cuddle up with annoyed human whose night's sleep had been ruined. However, it appeared that having learned such a fabulous trick, it was to be cruelly taken away from him.

Willi Whizkas had a pea sized lump on his front left leg, which last October the vet diagnosed as arthritis. Wills was approaching his 12th birthday and seemed to be slowing down, coupled with a very cold winter he seemed the throw himself into his dotage, and took to whiling the days away in his snoozzzeee by a hot radiator. He just got lazier and just seemed content to sleep the days away.

Even the blackbirds were getting to be too much trouble to go out and terrorise. It was too easy to just supervise them from his snoozzzeee rather than go outside and chase them around. The lump on his leg started to grow, and we thought it was the arthritis setting in. He developed a cough and started to wheeze and snore. Old age, we put it down to; he was getting to be an old cat that needed looking after. In fact Tom Cat Towers had become his rest home as he did less and less and snored more and more.

One night we noticed he was walking strangely, almost on the inside of his paw. He was hobbling. When we picked him up his lump, which was solid, had exploded in size and felt very gel-like. He had lost weight, gone off his food and was just lying around on his back wheezing and shaking; he looked and felt very sorry for himself.

It was an instant trip to the vet: Saint Ben of Park Street Surgery. It didn't look good. The initial prognosis was that he had a very aggressive tumour, possibly cancer which may have gone into his lungs which could account for the lethargy and wheezing. If it hadn't progressed into his body, then he would have to have his leg amputated. I felt sick. Wills had been such an active cat, and to lose his leg and have to learn to walk again, we felt quite heartbroken for our big ginger wuss.

The best news would be that he lost a leg, but at least we would still have the old rascal! The worst scenario was that we would have to figure where in the garden we would soon have to lay him to rest.

He was booked in for anaesthetic and X-rays and we held our breath as we waited to hear the worst. In the meantime he was on 'spoilt-duty' as he was offered his favourite foods. But tuna bored him and being hand fed his absolute favourite Royal Canin Maine Coon kibbles held no joy. It was so sad to see him almost fading away.

It was with heavy hearts that he was taken to Park Street Surgery and left for the day.


When we got him home it was as if we had brought a new cat back!!  He went straight down the garden, bounced over the fence and  was off after mischief and adventure.

It turned out that he had a bursa - a protective sac which had grown rapidly round his arthritic joint. The wheezing was due to a chest infection and a low-level allergy which he'd had since a kitten (which wasn't worth trying to pin-down at his great age).

The bursa had 20ml of liquid drained off and he was given a course of antibiotics. As he is getting stronger and better and the weight is now starting to pile back on him, he views the pill bottle with great suspicion and it takes two of us to wrestle the pills down him. His Royal Canin kibbles are being hoovered down at an alarming rate. He can't be bothered being hand fed individual kibbles; he has to gobble them down as if he's never been fed! We have to hide the tin as he's almost worked out, in desperation, how to get the lid off!

The blackbirds have become very wary as he swaggers into the garden with a glint on his whiskers! Our old mogbag looks good for a few years yet!!

In 1989 Oliver Zinfandal arrived at TomCatTowers!.

I had been put in touch with a cat fosterer who had a Persian cat, desperate for a new home. I was told that he was very affectionate and loving, the perfect family pet. He had been bought as a very expensive wedding present but as children arrived they were all allergic to him!! I realise now what that allergy was!!

We arrived early at the fosterer’s home and as we waited for her to get home we peered through the window to see the most magnificent, huge Persian cat, all grey with a beautiful white bib and an extravagant white moustache. I fell in love with him instantly. As we were led into the house we stepped over a black cat on the carpet. He was very quiet, we didn’t realise he was dead. Poor thing must have died during the day.

We were introduced to Oliver who was enormous! He grumbled and growled as he sat on a shelf glaring at us. It took four of us to wrestle him into a cat basket. The basket rocked from side to side on the back seat of the car as we drove home. Oliver grizzled, spat and snorted with the continual hisses all the way to his new home. I just assumed he was a bit upset.

Oliver may have been a rescue-cat but thought his new home at Tom Cat Towers was completely beneath him as he proceeded to turn his finely tuned, pedigree squashed nose into the air as he contemptuously ignored all and sundry. Any attempt at friendliness was met with a tongue curling hiss and a snarl.

Any efforts to detangle his matted pelt were met with all out war. Oliver did not hold back on the violence and had no idea that it was not acceptable to go for the kill when approached with a comb or brush. He would savage any human who dared to touch him and he meant to seriously harm.

OliverHe grumbled and spat viciously in the faces of our other two gentle cats, Willi Whizkas and Tushtots who shared his home and he would bowl them off their food with an aggressive hiss or a good swipe from his massive paws. If we tried to pick him up he would growl and yowl constantly, then try to bite, quite nastily, any part of human flesh in reach of his snapping fangs.

Oliver was a monster. Not the loving adorable cat we had been lead to believe he was. No wonder nobody wanted him and his previous owners were ‘allergic’ to him! He was a nasty cat!

Family were afraid to come round as his behaviour was so bad he actually frightened people, especially when they saw him draw blood when I approached him!!

It got so bad that we only had three options. Take him back. Give him to someone else (But who? No-one would want a vile animal like this; it would be unfair to the new owner) the third option was to put him down which didn’t seem fair to Oliver.


In desperation we called BBC Barking Mad. They did not believe how naughty he was and how he would growl like a dog all the time. They had quite a shock when they did meet him!!

They filmed him with Philippa Forrester and he performed like the little alpha-diva he was. He cussed, spat, snarled and his piece-de-resistance was to savage my hand so badly we had to stop filming and seek urgent medical attention - very quickly as I dripped with blood yet again!!

A training routine was set up by the cat psychologist. Basically, Oliver was treating TomCatTowersas an hotel. So all his food, treats and snacks were removed and Oliver was to come to us for food. He had to learn that Oliver was not the boss, I was.

Oliver, to be honest was terminally stupid. I think he had just got through life on looks alone as he was really gorgeous to look at. But he was a complete airhead. The only time he used his brain was to work out that a rustling plastic bag waved loudly in his direction contained ham scraps from the deli counter. It took about six months for him to work this one out! He would waddle as fast as his fat legs would carry him to look cute and appealing in an effort to ensure these scraps ended up down his greedy fat neck and not his two brothers, Willi Whizkas and Tushtots!

Even then his ‘table manners’ left a lot to be desired as he hissed and snatched food to gobble down quickly, not even worrying that he may snap or bite fingers in the process. He got bigger and fatter and was almost too big and heavy to pick up. Not that Oliver did cuddles or nice!!

We bought Oliver every conceivable cat treat and toy. All were treated with utter contempt. He didn’t even give us the courtesy of sniffing them. Only one thing excited him. A Culpepper catnip mouse. He would lie on his back and lazily pat it for about thirty seconds before yawning and nodding off. Oliver was incredibly lazy. Just standing up was violent exercise to Oliver’s mind!

Oliver could snore. We knew exactly where he was by the thunderous snore. Like a tractor vibrating across a field, Oliver rumbled and vibrated his way through his 23 hours a day snoozes, catnaps, cat-kips, serious-sleeps and forty winks!

As Barking Mad was about to be aired on television in 1999 John Peel reviewed the programme, saying his owner (me!) had the patience of a saint to put up with such a monster. Oliver was described as making a continual noise, like a little thunderstorm.

Shocked by his very bad behaviour, viewers wrote to us. One person kindly sent a video showing how bad cats should be muzzled. I was horrified, but it did give me an idea. Grooming was still a wrestling match that ended in a pile of knots and fur, an extremely evil tempered cat and me, covered in my own blood!

We put a sock on his head. It almost worked. As he couldn’t see he didn’t have a target to bite. Nevertheless he would snap indiscriminately. It was funny. A snarling cat, black sock on his head with four white fangs piercing through the fabric snapping away whilst trying to grip onto human flesh. But it sort of worked and grooming was less violent but still hard work.

Strangely, he would let us bath him. He would chunter and grumble, but he would sit nicely as we shusshed him up and down in the water in the bath. He even had his own shampoo in a bottle labelled ‘Wash and Growl’! However, always one to have the upper paw, Oliver would wee on hands when his bottom was being washed. I’m sure he had a smug smile on his whiskers when he did this. He even let us blow dry him but it was to an accompaniment of chunters and cusses as he lay there on his back, legs in the air swaddled in towels with a totally martyred look on his furry-face!

He loved the garden and would waddle up and down the path like an old pantomime horse, spending his days lying under bushes snoozing his time away. He was 10 years old when we adopted him, by the time he was 18 he was starting to fade. He would still fight and snarl, spit and bite but occasionally, just occasionally towards the end he would let me hold him in my arms like a baby for a very quick cuddle as I told him I really did love him.

Hygiene was not a word that flashed through Oliver’s dictionary. In fact he didn’t really do personal hygiene. Grooming was something that he just watched the other cats do. Many a time he came in plastered with stuff on his bottom that he should have buried. We had to don a face mask, latex gloves and one person would hold the snarling beast while the other operated at the other end with scissors and soapy tissues. He even came home with a batch of maggots living on what was hanging off his bottom so they had to be cleaned off.

During the hot summer of 2006 Oliver came home yet again with a fully decorated bottom and it all had to be pulled off him. Off he then went into the bushes not coming in at night as it was so warm. By the third day a really obnoxious odour was following Oliver round, and it was the devils own job to catch him. We were horrified to see that his back end was alive with maggots. I cleaned them off and took away those that crawled out of him. It had to be an emergency trip to the vets the next day. Oliver was suffering from 'fly strike'.

The Vet, (the only word he really recognised- I did say he was stupid for a cat) made Oliver disappear for a couple of days. Despite frantic calls and searches he didn’t appear until the third day.

He had dragged himself home from whatever bush he’d been lying under. He was covered in brown blood and his backside was just heaving with maggots. As I rushed inside to get a towel he tried to do a runner but was headed off at the pass. I knew what would happen but hoped for the best as we rushed him to the vet.

She took one look at him and said ‘I can’t repair this’ Oliver, at death’s door, was given the final kindness. I broke my heart.

He’s buried in his favouritepart of the garden and we miss him dreadfully. He never was a lap-cat or a cuddle-kitten just a bad tempered, snarly old cat who was the worst cat in the world but who we loved with all our hearts. He featured in our book as Willi Whizkas Tall Tales and Lost Lives as Ginger Tompkins, but the fictional character was much nicer that the real life one!

People said that he must have loved us or at least liked living with us as he never ran away.

Oliver was just too stupid to have even thought of that!!


Ginger TompkinsI almost don’t remember the time I was allowed out without Mummikins, my human who rescued me, on my lead. There must have been times when I first came to Tom Cat Towers that I was trusted to go out alone. I remember getting run over.

I was stalking Evil Sydney, a large ginger intact tom, who lives over the road. I was taking over the mantle of defending the territory from Ginger Tompkins. Gingie was about 16 years old, podgy and well, to be honest, well past his best. Sydney ran over the road and Ginger Tompkins waddled after him, Sydney ran back across the road as Ginger Tompkins , panting, heaved his bulk back across the road  after him. Sydney turned tail and went back across the road with Ginger Tompkins, the aggressor, after him, albeit with great difficulty putting one porky paw in front of the other. This to-ing and fro-ing went on many times as the humans just stood and watched with tears in  their eyes laughing at the sight of two elderly cats running back and forth across the road until finally Ginger Tompkins collapsed breathless on one side of the road, and Sydney on the pavement opposite trying to out-glare each other. So I took up the challenge of keeping Tom Cat Towers boundaries and bushes free from Evil Sydney.

One day after a good fur flying scrap in Sydney’s front garden followed by a good glowering stand off. Sydney hissed, I spronked then ran hell for leather for my own garden not seeing the big white van speeding up the road.

 Boom!!!! The van hit me, there was such a bang, Mummikins heard it from the bedroom and saw what had happened. She ran out fully expecting me to be splatted across the tarmac, her heart in her mouth. The van driver had stopped and was quite shocked but I was nowhere to be seen. Gardens were searched and Mummikins was in tears.  Eventually I swaggered into the kitchen as if nothing had happened. If Mummikins and the van driver hadn’t seen and heard it with their own eyes and ears no-one would have thought anything untoward had happened.

Needless to say I was down at the vets before my pink bottom touched the carpet!!

The vet thought I may have had really bad internal injuries and may not last the night, but I pulled through and since then I can only go out on my lead. However, last Saturday night when it was cold and dark Daddicat went out to find my brother Wills and didn’t see me sneak out of the door after him. I thought he may have appreciated the company as it was rather dark in the garden and he may have been scared to be out on his own. It was only when I was slurping water from the pond that he realised what had happened. More shouting from Daddicat as he tried to get me into the house before Mummikins found out then a load of grief from Mummikins about being careful with the most precious thing in the house (me!!) and if it happens again it won’t just be his crisps that get crushed!!

Since the crash I only go out on a harness, and have a static harness in the garden which lets me go everywhere I want to under the trees and bushes. My brother, Willi Whizkas, says it’s a bit undignified to go out with a human attached to the end of a lead, but I love having company. Someone to talk to, share adventures, someone to protect from fierce dogs and someone to look the other way whilst I spray up bushes, but best of all someone to hold an umbrella over me when it’s larruping down with rain so I don’t get wet!



Yesterday, howling gales and larruping down with rain, Tushtots needed to go out. So on with his halter and clipped the lead on for a lazy mosey round the garden inspecting which bush was to be christened. I followed him round, soaked to the bone, clothes wringing wet, hair plastered to my head and water dripping off my nose as I held the golf umbrella close to the ground over him so that his fur wouldn’t get a spot of rain on it!!

Needless to say Prince Precious took his time, waddled round the garden with me and the brolly in close attendance giving each plant and bush a good sniff. He noted the pond level was up so he continued his life’s ambition of trying to drink all the water, thus exposing the newts - that took a good 5 minutes before he gave up then it was hole digging time. And as the first hole is never ‘the one’ he has to excavate one or two more before he feels he has the most satisfactory one in which to park breakfast!!

Then another perambulation round the garden deciding which succulent choice blade of grass is the one that’s going to tempt him to chew on. Then over to the catnip bush, sheltering under trees so it’s nice and dry, for him to roll on for another 10 minutes before begrudgingly deciding that it may just be time to go inside again for a few sweeties and supervise me defrosting in a bath and finding dry clothes.

Read Cat's book called Willi Whizkas, featuring, Willi, Tushtots, and Ginger Tompkins. It's a great read!  Follow this link at www.amazon.co.uk


and this link at www.amazon.com


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One Cat is Company

"One cat is company.
Two cats are a conspiracy. 
Three cats is an attempted takeover.
Four or more cats is a complete coup!"

Shona Steele (Australia)