Biskit had indulged himself yet again. A couple of years on the streets had made him very anxious about where his next meal was coming from. Even though some would say he was just greedy, he drifted off into reverie, and had the strangest of dreams….

…Obola, a large black tom, was unhappy. Every Christmas, he visited Algor with cat milk, sardines and cat nip growing in a tray. And always, Algor, who was a very handsome, slim Siamese, was grateful.

But last year was different.

On Christmas Eve, Obola made the short trip around the corner, peered through the cat flap, and noticed a fat cat, who bore no resemblance to Algor, the sole cat in residence. Obola was mortifed.

“Is that you Al?”

“Of course, who did you think it was?”

“Well, you have put on weight, a lot in fact, so I was unsure.”

“So what? But you know how important my work is. The sleepers have to buy into the Cat’s Trophy.”

“Yes, yes, yes, the whole world knows about the Cat’s Trophy, but my how you have let yourself go.”

“Well, if my personal appearance bothers you, you can take your pesticide-ridden milk, cheap mercury-laced fish and GMO weeds back to Catipol Hill.”

“Al, haven’t you realised what day it is? It’s Christmas Eve, love, peace and joy to all felines, a time to let go of daily concerns, relax, be calm and renew our connection to Cathomet, sorry the Great Cat. You miserable sod!”

“My car’s due in 20 minutes, and then I’m flying by private jet to Kathmandu for a summit. Caviar, salmon, grouse, double cream, veal…So you will appreciate if I decline your ‘gifts’ this year.”

“Pardon me! All I ever get from you is a framed, signed picture of yet another appalling false tragedy that depresses me and my staff.”

“Well, if they reject the Cat’s Trophy, it’s curtains for all of us. My pictures will be worth a lot of money when it’s all over.”

“For Catho’s sake! I’m not here to debate all our scams. I’ve told you, it’s Christmas, how many times do I have to say it?”


Obola sighed, turned around and returned to Catipol Hill. How long it would be before Algor couldn’t get through the cat flap, and his credibility in fronting the Cat’s Trophy started to plummet?

·        ACROSS THE ‘POND’

Nearly a year on, in merry old England, a group of assorted moggies, rare breeds and rats were scurrying around their new offices in Nogo, London. Their leader Hairgel, a small, but purrfectly formed pure white moggie, was beside himself with pride.

“We’ve done it, we’ve done it. One of our number has been voted in. Life in the ‘Big House’ will never be the same. No more the old politics of Tic/Tac/Toe, no more the ‘old lags’ network. We’ve broken the cat dish!”

The half-dozen rats in the room were a little wary. After all the cats could turn on them at any moment. There were mutterings about ‘too high a price to pay’, and ‘we should have more backbone’ amongst the ranks. All the rats knew why they were there. To give credibility to Hairgel and his conspirators. Some had been bribed, others threatened with exposure or worse. All were compromised.


Far, far away, over in Egypt, the oldest cats on the planet, the Maus were also celebrating. Not all of course, as just a few young Maus didn’t believe in how Cheesus, the son of the Great Cat had cheated death and gone to cat heaven. In fact some spoke darkly about Cheesus being a fake.

However, as in Catipol Hill and Catto, Egypt, even, and most significantly of all at GCHQ [Great Cat HQ], an invisible force seemed to be working on the more malevolent felines in these ‘hot spots’ of subterfuge and plotting. No longer was there talk of bombing Purrsia. Hairgel and his associates in steamy Nogo seemed, for a few hours at least, unconcerned about ‘holding the cat leads of power.’


GCHQ was another scam. It was called the HQ of the Great Cat, but those awake knew it was the home of Cathomet, the devil himself. Here, ‘intelligence’ on every cat on the planet was gathered and stored. Cathomet knew personally those who were plotting to send him back to the real Great Cat’s light, and his network of informants, secret police [the Carzi] and assorted lickspittles from other animal species spread like a cancer on the earth.

Meanwhile, back on Catipol Hill, Obola was still annoyed by his old friend Algor. He even toyed with the idea of telling his mentor, Cathomet about it. But he realised ‘Catho’ would find him petty and weak, and would likely ‘suicide’ him. So he kept silent. And, of course it being Christmas offered the purrfect opportunity to hide behind the bonhomie and feel good factor generated by the faithful media.

Very few people knew that, amongst the Mau cats was a small group of wise, very old ‘souls,’ the Council of Elders. These select few had lived around the time of Cheesus and had made a pact with each other to reincarnate at the turn of the second millennium; their purpose was to change the planet, to take the planet to another dimension. It was not clear, even to those in this group, how exactly it would be done.


In taking over UCRAP, Hairgel was determined to ‘think the unthinkable.’ The United Cats and Rats Appreciation Party had gone from obscurity to being courted by world ‘leaders’ in five years. To Hairgel, his goal was to become Prime Mincer. Nothing less would do. In fact he had already had an audience with Spupert Deadlock, media mogul. And Deadlock had instructed Obola to meet him…

But it got out.  Obola meeting Hairgel rocked the cat world. The tired old rump of Moribund, Clagg and Cameroon were mortified. Algor nearly choked on his veal. Plans put in place for centuries all had the potential to unravel.

·        THE MAU MIAOW

The Maus had been busy decorating their inner sanctum under the pyramid of Geezer. The spirit of Christmas seemed to flow into every corner of the ‘cave.’ Every night the cats gathered and prayed for world peace. And, slowly but surely, despite the efforts of Cathomet, Obola, Algor, Queen Beast and lesser cats in his following, signs that the world was changing were visible not only to the cats who were awake, but a larger percentage of the drowsy ones who were shaking their heads and stretching.

 Older Maus knew this had been prophesised by Catsrodamus eons ago. The legendary prophet had become trivialised amongst the general cat population, but a few knew better. The Mau community had been at their zenith at the time of Cheesus. Cheesus had been a Mau himself.

The forces of Cathomet found the influence of the Maus far too strong two thousand years ago, and decided, along with the Cators twelve hundred years later, they had to go. However, Cathoment could do nothing about the thousands of Maus and Cators who had pledged to reincarnate at this time. It was that that really bothered him. And yes, Cathomet was eternal too.


Everyone with a brain knew that Cathomet tracked world events without the need of ‘surveillance.’ And he had become aware of the phenomenon that was UCRAP. That Hairgel was already a tool of Deadlock pleased him greatly. He communicated silently with Obola.

“This Hairgel. Can we trust him?”

“Who knows and cares.” sighed Obola wearily, “If he lets you down, he’s history. And if he’s not the right cat, we have dozens who can do the same job. So why not?”

“Get him over to Geezer. He will have to ingratiate himself with the Mau cats. I’m mindful that these little b******’s will try to scupper our plans. Algor has almost lost it. Our global vaccination programme isn’t doing too well at present. Far too many cats have bought into this Christmas stuff. Peace and goodwill? What utter b******s. War and death, war and death.”

“War and death indeed, war and death…”

Hairgel nearly burst with pride when Obola called him.

“We want you to work your magic with some of the world’s oldest cat bred, the Maus. Our intelligence tells us they are trusting, but not naive, so you plan what you do very carefully.”

“Purrfect Mr Obola. And the purpose of all this is? chirped Hairgel.

“Whilst we want them to continue helping felinity, we are concerned that they are exposing their followers to unnecessary risks from CRISIS.”


 “Cats and Rats Indoctrination Squad [In Secret]. A bunch of out of control lunatics, hell bent on global domination. They create a problem, and then blame it on us, the Great Cat’s chosen ones. Cats then expect a reaction, which is inevitable, and then CRISIS offer their solution. Let me give you an example. Recently the mainstream media ran with the story that cats were dangerous. They kill birds. They kill rats and mice. The solution offered? A cull of cats. Can you believe that? A reduction in cat numbers. They even got the backing of Cattenborough, the famous animal expert and national treasure. Cats are dangerous, what a diabolical lie!

CRISIS made it all up. They forced the media to run with these stories so that it would appear that it’s official government policy. And Cattenborough is the voice of reason.”

“But why would they do all that?” shrieked Hairgel, shocked by these revelations.

“I can see you are not a little naive yourself Hairgel…When CRISIS descend on a country, to loot its wealth and resources, cats die. By spreading these malicious rumours about cats being dangerous, it makes cats lives seem worthless-there are too many of us-and it justifies CRISIS’s actions. Of course their propaganda is never that they are looting, it is they are fighting us, the rule of law, the voice of sanity. The solution they offer, is to attract cats to overthrow the world’s governments-according to them, hell bent on population reduction- and live in peace! What unbelievable nonsense!”

There was a long pause before Obola resumed.

“You can see why they need to be dealt with.”

“Very clearly. But I’m still unsure about your comment on living in peace. Isn’t that what we all want?”

“Peace? Of course we want peace,” growled Obola. “Isn’t that what we are permanently fighting for? But we have to eliminate those who don’t want peace. And look at Algor’s tireless work on the Cat’s Trophy. The cat who does the most to stop global warming, CO2 emissions and the destruction of our countryside will become fitted with the superchip. He or she will then have the intelligence of the brightest human minds on the planet.”

“But don’t plants and trees need carbon dioxide to live? And don’t they give off oxygen all sentient beings need to survive? And aren’t the polar ice caps expanding?”

“Mr Hairgel. I’m pleased that you have a critical mind. You will need that for your mission. However, that is the last time I want to hear such seditious garbage. GLOBAL WARMING IS FACT. WE MUST REDUCE OUR CO2 EMISSIONS. THERE ARE TOO MANY CATS ON THE PLANET. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Hairgel fell backwards into his dish. Did he hear that last bit correctly? He felt as though he had been hit by a ton of bricks. However, after some hours of reasoning, the stark, awful truth was worse than Obola’s last sentence. Hairgel was now one ofthem. He had sold his soul to the devil. If he wanted to bail out, he couldn’t. They controlled his life. And his family. He wept and wailed.


The Maus had an exceptional level of intelligence, far higher than any ‘chip’ could give them. They were driven by love and compassion, which had the power to change any world. Their connection to spirit also meant they were advised who and what to pay attention to. Who could be trusted, or avoided. And top Maus knew that an emissary from the West was due to come over, in attempt to stop their raising planetary consciousness. As yet they had no clues about his identity or his plans.

The Maus were even more compassionate and loving than usual. Christmas fever gripped them. After all, Cheesus was the cat the festival was named after.

The Maus knew that whilst it was the most challenging task facing felinity, if they could help overcome the Cathomet tactics of setting every human and every animal against each other, dividing them by fault lines of breed, colour, gender, what they ate, where they lived etc.., it would be ‘game over.’

And news travelled to Geezer of a strange phenomenon gathering pace in the West. Once outside of the useless rump, the UCRAP was now overwhelming British politics. Its leader, Hairgel, was beyond the usual pigeonholing, and no-one from the media could work him out. His party won every by election. But seemingly worst still for the powers-that-shouldn’t-be was that UCRAP’s line of working with rats, mice, birds and even insects had gripped not only the UK, but Europe, and even the USA…


Every cat knew that time was speeding up. Few knew why. Everything in the universe vibrated. Who had heard about the planet’s vibration, the Schumann resonance? For millennia it had been at 7.83 Hz. Now it was around 11! The Maus had talked about ‘truth vibrations’, information coming from ‘space’ [they said the sun] was part of it too. The love that was generated by Christmas had a massive effect. ‘The energy frequency of pure love heals anything’ was the mantra of one of the leading Maus, BenJonSun. The Council of Mau Elders were concerned that the cats they deemed to be asleep-in terms of awareness, not doing what comes naturally-might not be part of the planetary awakening. After all, the lives of all sentient beings was ‘real’ in terms of what they perceived, and the swamp of trivia, violence, sport and nonsense was consumed avidly by the sleeping ones. It didn’t even register for the Maus…

The Maus knew their task was to build on the momentum gained by the ‘truth vibrations,’ the Schumann resonance and the Christmas love effect. These forces would overcome anything Cathomet could muster. And Cathomet knew it. He was a worried animal, but dare not show it to anyone, after all, was he not the devil?


BenJonSun had processed the request from UCRAP to meet their leader, Hairgel. The Council of Elders knew intuitively what it was about.

The day arrived. Hairgel and his coterie descended the steps of Media Con, Deadlock’s private jet. A group of rats, obviously pumped full of steroids served as his bodyguards.

The Maus were unused to any need for ‘security.’ To them ‘security’ was a chimera, dreamed up by the powers-that-shouldn’t-be to hoodwink the world into cat culling.

“Mr Hairgel, welcome to Geezer, spiritual home of Cheesus. Merry Christmas. peace be with you”…

[to be continued]


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