27 December 2018



Woof’s been here a week and it’s been great having him around. Every day we’ve had a different adventure, one was hunt-the-kitten when Woof decided to go walkabout through the gardens. Mom was wild with worry and dad wasn’t much better.

It was dad who set off a search, roping in some of the near neighbours while I was locked in the house with mom. She had me on her lap most of the time. I tried to convey to her that Woof would be fine, that he was an intelligent youngster who already knew his way around. If only she could speak my language! I felt for her though, after all she was in charge of Woof and if something awful happened she would take the blame.

Woof was found, of course, and I had to smile when I heard where. He’d not gone very far at all; he was discovered taking a nap in next door’s shed. From what I gathered it was Smokey who gave the game away. Seeing him pawing at the door roused the neighbour’s curiosity. If it was my shed I’d have looked in there first, which confirmed my suspicions that humans aren’t always as bright as they seem. How can you conduct a search without investigating the obvious places? I heard the neighbour say that Woof must have climbed in through the open window and considering the height of it I can only feel proud that he managed to get up to it at all. That’s my boy, I thought, as I listened to the story. I think dad also felt that way.

Yesterday’s torrential rain put an end to outside play. It was okay for me to go out but mom was worried in case Woof caught a chill. Silly mom! It was warm rain, not that icy stuff we get in winter. Still, we have to trust the judgement of humans sometimes!

It hit me as I stepped over the cracks in the crazy paving, that sniffing around without Woof wasn’t much fun. I’d been teaching him all sorts of interesting stuff, like how to aim his pee at dad’s prize roses without getting caught on the thorns. On the serious side I did show him how to cover his pee with soil. Swatting flies was another way of passing time. Woof was quite good at that. I had to stop him chasing butterflies, though, when I had to prod him out of some thistles. He’d been looking up instead of checking where he was going. Not something a cat should ever do. One of the best games we had was lying in the long grass pretending to be big tigers stalking squirrels. Not that they seemed to care, they were too busy rushing round even to notice we were there.

That’s the trouble when grass is allowed to grow, the squirrels think it’s a playing field. Even as Woof and I walked out after today’s siesta a couple of them were still running round in circles. It’s anybody’s guess what game they were playing. Knowing how excited Woof gets I held him back until the racing nutters had zipped off. I didn’t want anything to go awry on such a magnificent day. Summer had taken ages to arrive and I wanted nothing else but to enjoy it. Mom and dad, too. Mom said she wanted to sunbathe in her new bikini when she came back from shopping. Dad said he couldn’t wait to see her in it. I was certain he’d seen her in it before but I could be mistaken. A lot of dressing and undressing goes on in our house and I can’t keep up with everything.

Of course things went wrong when Woof and I saw the field mouse at the bird feeder. From our hiding place behind the rockery we watched one run up the branch the feeder was hanging from, saw him scurry up the feeder to the top level hole where he sat on the tiny perch and helped himself to a gourmet meal. We couldn’t catch him while he was in the feeder but we left the rockery and waited for him to come out. Sadly, he saw us and went up the tree instead of down. Fed up with waiting Woof decided to take matters into his own paws. He jumped onto the same branch and waited for mouse to come by. The idea was to catch him before he got to the feeder. I knew it was a mistake but Woof wouldn’t listen. That’s the trouble with youngsters, they think they know everything.

While he waited in front of the feeder, I remained on the ground looking up. I saw the mouse coming and waved a paw to Woof, who then got thoroughly excited. He saw the mouse and lunged forward. The mouse scarpered and Woof tried to follow, completely forgetting they were on a narrow bough. He fell, well slithered to start with, but then he went down straight ...  into ... the pond. Plop! Oh dear, I sensed trouble looming.

You’d think, by dad’s prompt appearance, that he’d been waiting for catastrophe to strike. He ran down the garden so fast you’d think he had ants in his khaki shorts. His language was what mom calls ripe. Unfortunately for Woof he’d fallen into the middle of the pond which meant dad had to wade in to get him. It was that or let the little chap drown. Woof, of course, was struggling in the water, once again bogged down by that green weed. You should have seen him. I thought it was bad the first time but now he looked like a slimy green monster. Bits of wood stuck to his head looked like antlers. It was really hard not to laugh.

Needless to say I was punished. You’d have thought I’d personally pushed Woof into the pond the way dad went on, and on, and on. In the end I bolted up the stairs out of the way, leaving poor Woof to undergo yet another cleansing operation. I only ventured down when it was all over. 

I dreaded to think how mom would react when she came home. When she did, although I expected an explosion, she hardly said a word. Even as she looked at the green mess on the floor she was grinning at dad, saying that something was positive. Well I knew what that word meant. She told me when I first got taken in that I was a positively lovely pussy cat. It must mean that she’d grown to like green weed. 

Well, I’m leaving them to it. One way and another it’s been a hectic day. Meow.


Wishing you all a very happy New Year

20 December 2018



Woof was brought to see us the other day. He is growing fast but still playful. Just a few months ago he was a tiny bundle of fur; now that his fur is longer and his face is taking a more mature shape I want to keep stroking him. He’s very cute and extremely placid. When I nuzzle his neck he doesn’t back off like some cats do. The only foreign cat I know these days is Smokey and he isn’t a patch on Woof. Yes, the Persian is something else.

I took him down to the lily pond to watch the frogs sunbathing. It was peaceful. The only sounds being an odd spaced out croak or two combined with a woodpecker’s distant drumming. One of the frogs was trying to catch the insects hovering on the water and most of the time he was successful. The speed of his tongue was amazing. I tried shooting my tongue out but it was disgustingly slow. Imagine all the disappointments if I had to catch mice that way.

Woof was mesmerised by the frogs but he soon relaxed and tried to play. Every time he extended a paw to touch one, the frog jumped; and so did Woof. Not literally, of course, just an automatic reaction. He must have thought it was great fun because he kept doing it until the frogs decided they’d had enough and hopped to the opposite side of the pond. I was totally taken by surprise when Woof tried to go after them. He leapt like a gazelle, tried to land on the lily pad, and promptly toppled into the murky water. 

He got out all right but you should have seen the mess on his white fur. It was like he was wearing a green weed coat. It was just my luck that my mom and his mom chose to come down the garden at the very moment Woof emerged. I have to say that his mom’s screams are very similar to my mom’s anguished cries.

Naturally as an older and wiser cat I had to take the blame. My mom thoroughly berated me, not letting up even when I rubbed against her legs. She relaxed eventually but not before warning me to take better care of the precious kitten. After all that I felt duty bound to keep Woof out of further trouble. Next time, I decided, I’d let him chase mice instead. Surely nothing untoward could happen then.

When he’d had a bath and been dried off we settled down for a nap in my bed. I’d been ordered to go there and stay there but Woof went voluntarily. It was the first time I’d ever shared and I quite liked the feeling. Being so close made me feel quite maternal. I lay with one leg across him so he was held close. Yes, I was in a strange mood, calm and philosophical. If I wasn’t the age I am you might think I’d fallen in love with the little chap.

By tea time Woof’s mom was ready to go so it looked as if the mouse hunting expedition would have to wait. I did hear some good news though: Woof was coming to stay when his folks went on vacation. He was just as delighted as me when I told him. I vowed to spend my time planning what we could do when he arrived.

When mom and dad are in bed I usually slip through the cat flap to do a bit of night hunting, but after saying goodbye to Woof I didn’t feel up to it.  Instead I lay on my bed, listening to the barn owl while I went over the day’s adventures, and realised I missed the little chap. I thought about him, remembering how warm he felt lying next to me. Did Tom ever feel that way when Sukie sneaked in? Not that he’d ever said, but my imagination was running amok. I suppose I could ask him next time we meet.

Decision made, I snuggled up to giraffe and started to think about frogs and mice and those little beetles that crunch under my paw, and wondered how long it would be until Woof’s folks brought him back. Was I too old to fall in love, and worse was Woof too young to love me back?

See you soon. Meow!

14 December 2018



I don’t like dogs. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind them in their own place but when they come near me I just want to spit at them. It’s a natural retaliation when they bark and strain on their leads in an attempt to get at me, though I’m not sure what they think they could do if they did manage to get close. I’m fastidious about keeping my claws sharp and, according to mom, they’re lethal. A dog would soon know about it if I gouged his face. Oh dear, I hope you’re not getting the impression that I’m a violent cat; I swear I would only retaliate if I was set upon first.

Of all the dogs in the road the most outstanding is a Great Dane called Jackson. To me, he’s more like a horse. I wouldn’t dare spit at him. One strike from one of those enormous paws would knock me sideways and no mistake. At least he’s friendly. For all his size he doesn’t try to rule the roost. Not that there’d be any room for hens if he did. What I mean is, once he enters a place he dominates by sheer size. He never barks when I’m around and for a while I wondered why I got away with it and other cats didn’t. I began to wonder if it was because of my small stature. Perhaps he can’t even see me. Walking between his legs would be like walking under a bridge. Great if it was raining.

To add to my list of dislikes we now have a new fox visiting the garden. Even he would probably fit in under the Jackson’s legs.

Foxy II is younger and his fur looks healthier than his older relative’s coat, a much fancier shade of red. His tail seems bushier as well. Tom thinks he’s quite attractive as foxes go and I can’t argue with that. The old one looks a mess compared to this youngster. Dad reckons he’s suffering from the mange, whatever that is, and warned me to stay away. I looked at him in amazement when he said that, I mean, why would I want to go near him in the first place? Cats and foxes aren’t really suited to deep friendships.

What I do object to is that he, the fox, thinks cat food is put out for him. It only happens on fine days, of course, when mom puts the feeding bowls outside. She doesn’t like the smell of my food in her kitchen. I can’t think why, it smells delicious to me. Dad caught Foxy II at it one day and chased him off. Since then the little devil has kept his distance, going instead to Tom’s garden. I always know when he’s there because Tom lets off such a terrifying yowl it’s a wonder the whole range of wildlife doesn’t disappear. Right now though I’m too busy with my latest hobby to join in.

Actually it was seeing Foxy II licking milk bottle tops that started me keeping watch. That’s how I came to see what the blue tits got up to. Have you ever seen blue tits trying to peck through milk bottle tops? One of the little blighters succeeded the other day, had a right old time dipping its beak into the cream. Now I’m hell bent on catching him. Every morning I wait for the milkman to drop off a couple of bottles and then I take shelter in the long grass and wait for the first bird to appear.

First attempts were pathetic, the birds flew off the minute they saw me. Now I wait behind the Pampas and slink out when their stupid heads are hovering over the cream. I nearly made it one day, I was actually right up to the bottles before the tits caught sight of me. One flew off just as I lifted a paw to catch it. You can imagine it, can’t you? In my haste to catch a bird with newly sharpened claws I accidentally caught the bottle. One toppled against the other and they both crashed over on the hard slabs.

There was milk everywhere. Tom arrived on the scene, looking very smart in a new red collar. We both got stuck in to lap up the mess. It was like being uplifted to heaven. I just managed to get a lick of the cream on the bottle top when I was seized by a pair of human hands. I’d been so engrossed I didn’t hear dad coming. He was in a right mood. I was literally thrown into the kitchen and Tom was booted back to his own place. Mom gave me what for as well. I was in total disgrace. It put me off ever trying to catch birds again, at least while they’re pecking at bottles.

The chase is still enjoyable. When I’m up the tree I like to scare the life out of the chaffinches by hitting out just as they land on my branch. Nowadays I don’t go up too high, not since the accident. When I’m fed-up with that game I spend a bit of time trying my luck with field mice; one day I might succeed in catching one, if one ever slows down. The times I’ve hurt my paw smashing it down on a tail that’s suddenly not there is nobody’s business. Gosh they can’t half move. No sooner do I see one when they’re gone again.

And then there’s the frogs. I almost drool when I see them sunbathing on the lily pads. If only I could conquer my fear of water I’d leap onto a pad and nobble one. Not to worry though, I have all the time in the world to find a solution.

Yes, I can see I’m going to have a lovely summer.  Meow! 

08 December 2018



Mom bought me some new toys yesterday, a small giraffe and a highly colourful snake. I don’t go a bundle on the snake because it has no extra bits to chew but the giraffe is soft enough to take to bed. Funnily enough I seem to fall asleep quicker when I have a new cuddly toy as well as my earless mouse.  I play with it for a while, and have a bit of a chew on an ear, if it has one, and then I feel myself drifting off. Dad said I’m spoiled rotten. What do you think?

Well, last night, I had a deep sleep which I can only think was induced by the new giraffe’s presence. Not a thing disturbed me until I woke to hear mom going on about a cat show. I’d spent hours dreaming of victoriously catching rodents and now it looked like I was entering a really bad nightmare. I pricked my ears up, heard something about a charity fete. So much for feeling happy! Mom is always raising money for something, and the show might be a good way of doing it, but she’s not getting me there. I had enough the last time. All that grooming and pampering isn’t for me. And then, horrors above horrors, I heard another word. Bath. That did it. When she wasn’t looking I slunk out, heading for the open kitchen door.

Once in the garden I belted towards the plum tree. She’d never find me up there, and there I would stay until the heat was off. I’ve never circumnavigated the pond so fast, though why I went round twice I’ll never know. Even so, I reached the forsythia in record time, scooted up the apple tree and jumped across to my private haven. Only I missed my aim. The forepaws made it to the big bough but I couldn’t get a grip with the hind legs. I struggled to swing them into position but it was no good. For some reason I had fleeting visions of the male chaffinch trying to get into the bird feeder; our positions were identical. He failed as well. I remember screeching a few times as the claws gave up the ghost. Down I crashed, hitting the dirt deck with a terrific thud, twigs and leaves tumbling with me. Even the birds scarpered. It struck me then that I was too old for climbing trees. 

I’m not sure how mom knew where I was but I’m glad she found me. The pain in my back leg was excruciating. Honestly, I whimpered like a human while she bellowed into the telephone. Even in my state of shock I thought it was a strange thing to do. I mean, the telephone hadn’t done anything to upset her. And she was truly upset. Tears rolled down her face; she had to keep dabbing them with a tissue. You’d think she was the one with a painful leg. Humans are comical at times.

The journey to the vets was fast. Dad drove while mom nursed me on her lap. She’d wrapped me in a patchwork blanket and kept stroking me between the ears. I would have enjoyed it but for the pain in the leg. I whimpered a lot to remind her that I was in agony and that made her cry even more.

When we got there a nurse took me from mom, placed me on the cold steel table and started to examine me. Then Mr Vet came in, had a quiet conversation with the nurse before uttering the word operation. It meant nothing to me but I sensed that it was something unpleasant. It was bad enough having to endure the smell in that place, a smell that would have put me off having treatment at all if I wasn’t in so much pain. Mom was in a bad way, sobbing on dad’s shoulder while he tried to console her with words like she’ll be fine and the operation will soon be over. Me, I wasn’t so sure. I’ve heard of cat’s going in there and never coming out.

When the needle went in I felt the hatred rising and decided to show the nurse how I felt. It was just a little nip but she didn’t half squeal. I didn’t care; it made me feel a bit better.

Next thing I knew I was lying on a blanket in a cot, with my leg wrapped in something white. Me... in a cot.  I knew I’d never live that down. I admit I felt better, the leg was sore but not as painful. Mom was there, uttering words I didn’t understand. Diddums den meant nothing to me but from the look on her face I knew I wasn’t in trouble. The fall from the plum tree was like a distant memory. I tried to remember every detail though, just so I could brag about the experience to Tom and Sukie.

After a short stay at Mr Vet’s place, I was taken home. It was good to get back to mom and dad, and my giraffe, the earless mouse, and the grey elephant, and all the other toys that live in a box next to my bed. Even the snake looked good.  I licked his skin a few times to show there were no hard feelings, after all it wasn’t his fault he’d been bought to share the life of a cat.

Needless to say it was a fair while before I was able to get out into the wide world again and since there was no further mention of a cat show I felt secure.  I’d have to embellish the incident when I told Tom and Sukie about it; it wouldn’t do to be thought of as a coward by my best friends.

Must be off now, I’ve a bit more mental mouse hunting to do. Meow!