Tushtots in the UK writes about his New Year's Resolutions

New Year - New me!

A 10 point plan for a better me (as devised by my human)!!

When my humans packed away their Christmas decorations and a New Year loomed I decided to make a New Year’s Resolution. Something I have strenuously avoided in the past, as New Year Resolutions usually mean I have to deny myself some little luxury or pampering, in order to become a better, fitter or just a more adorable cat. I don’t think denying myself a bit of indulgence achieves anything positive in life.

My New Years Resolution is ......... to retire!!

I am now Ex-Human Supervising Officer, Tushtots, Retired

I thought about winding down from my duties here at Tom Cat Towers gradually, but instead have thrown myself into retirement wholeheartedly since my last visit to the vets and my 'health scare'. It’s not been that difficult as I’m an indoor cat and don’t really do a lot other than follow my humans round demanding food and/or attention when I’m not stretched out asleep.

In addition to snoozing for at least 18 hours I now have a new job description from my human which details my New Year’s Resolutions to make my new lifestyle as a retired cat work for us both:-

1. I will sleep in my new snoozee in the front room. It is sheepskin lined and snuggle-y. It is a lot better than trying to make kittens all night with the pink stuffed dog on Carol’s bed, occasionally falling off and mounting Carol’s knee by mistake, thus disturbing her much needed beauty sleep with my rampant rodgering and romantic ramblings. I can also fidget, scratch, pull knots out and chunter to myself to my hearts content.

2. I have started the New Year on a low protein diet as it has just been found that my kidneys are clapped. This health scare means a complete change and overhaul in feeding habits - I now eat healthily! I must not whinge when I am not given hand carved butter basted turkey, as this 'necessity', in my eyes, is no longer good for me. I must not drool and beg for high protein cat kibbles as they are now banned from my diet. Willi Whizkas can still have them, but only outside so I can’t ‘accidentally’ eat them. Therefore I am not allowed to sit at the window, sucking my tummy in looking pathetic with droopy whiskers in an attempt to look starved, trying to make Wills feel guilty as he Hoovers them down at a vast rate. On the other hand Wills cannot come back into the house and belch cat kibble flavoured burps over me.

However, I am now eating Joe and Jill's (lower protein) cat kibbles and they are gorgeous! Trouble is Willi Whizkas and Little Dumpty Roo have taken to them too in a big way. I have been told in no uncertain terms that I must not snorkel them down as if they are going out of fashion, I must share with my brother and sister as there are always spare bags in the kitchen with my name on and, if desperate, emergency supplies can be hauled back to Tom Cat Towers from Sainsburys at a moment’s notice. If I really try, and this takes a resolve of steel, I may be able to walk past the dish without guzzling a few mouthfuls. Trouble is, they have made my coat really glossy which mean more grooming. Good things always have a downside!!

3. I must not dash into the kitchen every time Little Dumpty Roo has a tiddle in the grit box, place two paws in and have a good sniff for about 5 minutes with my eyes closed as if in ecstasy. Apparently this is not acceptable behaviour for a gentleman-cat, and will not endear me to Little Dumpty Roo, or my humans! If I am not careful I may earn the name ‘Pervy-Piddle-Puss’!

4. I am an inside cat, I don’t do outdoors (except on a lead). Therefore when Willi Whizkas manages to drag himself in from a night’s worth of adventures I must not gambol up to him and thrust my damp nose up his bottom. Instead I must sniff his neck fur and lick him nicely between his ears when he lowers his head. If I continue to poke my nose up Will’s derriere, I must accept that he will thump me quite hard with his table-tennis-bat sized paws. If he does this, I am not allowed to spit and cuss as clearly I must understand that I deserve to be walloped.

5. After almost 7 years of hostilities, it is time that the paw of friendship is extended to Evil Marmalade Ginger Bits, the ginormous intact ginger-tabby who lives over the road.  It is no longer acceptable for me to sit for hours at a time on patrol waiting for him to mosey into my garden and spray up my trees and bushes. It is not nice that I glare and cuss under my breath when he does appear.  When I go for a walk on my halter and lead I must not make a beeline for the foliage that Evil Marmalade Ginger Bits has sprinkled on, chuffle my face through it so that the scent is all over my facial fur and expect Carol to then kiss me. This is not deemed to be a sociable thing by humans and Carol does not appreciate the fragrance of ‘Eau de Tom Cat’ on her face.

6. It goes without saying that muddy paws are not allowed on the white duvet cover – apparently.

7. Feline-farts are not funny and not clever when humans are giving cuddles, ditto tuna-burps!

8. When going out on my halter and lead first thing in the morning I have to accept that Carol must get to work and time is limited. So ambling round the garden in my own dream world, having long slurps from the pond, then sitting gazing at birds is not on. When I dig holes to park breakfast I have to make an executive decision and go with the first one. Not dig one, try it out for size by waggling my bottom over it, excavate a bit more then abandon it, waste time picking new sites, digging further holes then eventually going back to the first one I dug.

When raining I need to be quick. Humans don’t have fur and don’t like getting wet, it makes them grumpy. I should be grateful that I have an escort at the end of my lead to accompany me on my external jaunts and should therefore be considerate of this service.

9. Fur balls do not amuse humans. They do not seem to appreciate the absolute pleasure of noisily retching one up in the early hours of the morning as they race out of bed flick the lights on and fumble round in a confused manner trying to find where on the new carpet I have projectile vomited one. I must try and curb this habit a bit.

I cannot point the claw of suspicion at Little Dumpty Roo or Wills as I am the only tabby and the evidence is there before me on the new carpet. It is also not nice to have eaten cat kibbles just beforehand to add content and colour to the offering.

10. When visiting the vet, it is not my right to expect a thermometer up my bottom every time. This exquisite pleasure is reserved for when I am really ill, not just having inoculations.

So far we are just a few days into the New Year and to be frank I wish I hadn’t bothered. My old slothful life was much more fun!!

Tushtots and Carol Turner

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