Sealed With A Hiss!

As you all know I am something of a territorial cat. My home and the land surrounding it to within several hundred yards is mine. All mine. That's just the way I've always rolled and since moving to my house that's been the case also. Nothing's changed in my mind. However, there is a cat living two doors down by the name of Elsa who was technically here before me and as such I've had to engage in something of a turf war with her. Now though, after several months of tactical (and physical) purr-suasion, we have come to a sort of mew-tual understanding.

Make no mistake, I'm top cat around here and Elsa knows that but we tend to give each other a wide berth most of the time. We've also come to an agreement that I can go into Elsa's house and eat her food and she can come into mine and eat the mass-produced shash that the humans put out for me sometimes (you know, Felix and that sort of muck).

One thing I do insist on though, every time that Elsa comes in, is to give her the hissing of a lifetime to remind her who's who. If I see her in the kitchen I stop and hiss as loudly as I can as a warning not to overstep the mark. You see, hissing is one of the finest weapons in a cats arsenal. Let's face it, we'd all prefer not to have to use our teeth and claws unless absolutely necessary and so by hissing we're issuing a warning to back off in no uncertain terms. And of course it works. It works on humans, dogs, swans, geese (although they hiss back) and especially other cats.

We are cats and it's what we do. Why, it's part of our hiss-tory (see what I did there!)

PPP x

Happy B.C.A.D Everyone!!!

Hi gentle reader. Today is Black Cat Appreciation Day and so I thought to myself, what could be better than to treat you all to some fabulous pictures of me? And no, this isn't laziness and I'm affronted that you should even consider such a thing. Anyway, here we go.

A shot of me, in repose, in front of the fire

Me checking out the strange box that the lummox plays his prog rock on

A classic, languorous pose

A thoughtful and poetic outdoor shot displaying my full-some tail at it's best

And finally, my late brother. What a handsome fellow he was

So there you go gentle reader (or should that be gentle viewer?), a real feast of gorgeous, silken, black furriness to brighten your day. Don't say I never do anything for you!

PPP x

A Bit Of A Pickle

Do you recall, gentle reader, about two years ago, when I wrote about the annoying habit that the lummox had begun by calling me 'Picky'? I wasn't at all happy about this but over time it subsided and he began to refer to me more often as just simply 'Pix', which I allowed as it seemed quite cool in a way having an abbreviation. However, it saddens me to report that things recently have taken a turn for the worse. You'll not believe what the f***ing idiot has started calling me now. He's calling me... drum roll please...

'PICKLE!'

For crying out loud what on earth is wrong with the man? He's 53 years old for Gods' sake. Not old enough for dementia but old enough to not use such childish language in reference to me. Pickle? I ask you. What the bloody hell is that nonsense all about? And the awful, gurning face he has when he says it and the vile, hairball inducing, babyish tone of voice that makes my fur stand on end. Well, two can play at that game. I can think of plenty of words beginning with the letter P that I could use to describe him. For example: Prat! Pillock! Ponce! Popinjay! Prick! The list could (and should) go on but I simply don't have the time to waste on the pansy (there's another one).

Hopefully it'll stop at some point soon. If not I may have to leave a mouse on the bed or shit in one of his slippers. Yes, yes, that'll teach him. I just wonder what nonsense is going to come spewing out of his odious mouth next.

Pickle? FFS!

PPP x

What Does He Think I Am? An Armchair?

I'm incensed gentle reader. I'm outraged, offended and affronted.

By whom? I hear you ask. The lummox perhaps?

No! Not on this occasion. This time it's that Terry fellow who calls himself a vet. And I used to like the guy, I really did. He helped me over an eye infection last year and kept me looking beautiful. He knows how to get a cat into a carrier with the minimum of fuss. And, he allows me to walk all over his surgery and laptop without question. But now, he's overstepped the mark. Well overstepped it.

You see, it was time for my annual check up and flea control (and don't take that high-pawed stance with me, we all get them) and so, today, I was whisked away to the vets post haste as they wanted to check my weight as well. No problem there, I thought, no problem at all. Imagine then, to my surprise and horror, that he told Ange and the lummox that I was now classed as a 'big' cat and, get this, that I was 'well upholstered'. What is that supposed to mean? Well upholstered? He makes me sound like a piece of furniture! I tell you what, I almost felt like treating him like a piece of furniture and giving him a good clawing. The truth is, I was too shocked at the time to do anything about it.

I ask you, seriously, I ask you. Look at my photograph, and tell me that that isn't the sveltest example of feline form you've ever seen. Ok, ok, so that picture is 6 years old but so what. Nothing much has changed. I'm as petite and as lissome as I've always been. Well upholstered my pencil sharpener! The man wants striking off. Vets, pfft!

PPP x

Meow-sical Chairs

Oh I'm having such fun at the moment gentle reader. And I'm driving the lummox to distraction with it too, which is a bonus. On wet days, when I'm bored and can't sleep, I watch what the lummox is doing or rather, where he is sitting. He doesn't know I'm watching of course, being such a dullard, but I am. He'll either be sat at his laptop attempting to convince himself that he's a writer (pfft!) or sitting on his fat arse reading some archaic old Edwardian literature that no-one gives a hoot about anymore or listening to that God-awful twiddly-diddly-dee progressive rock that he insists on playing and I watch and bide my time. I know that before too much longer either his gluttonous appetite or his weak, over-soused bladder is going to make him get up in order to gratify himself. And the moment he does I'm in there like a shot. I steal his chair from right under his bulbous, bloody great nose. Yes, I lie there on the chair he's just vacated with a contented countenance, knowing that there's not a single damn thing he's going to do about it (scared you see) and look on as he sadly retires to another chair, groaning and moaning like an aged orangutan with a hernia. Then, and this is the best bit, I give it ten minutes before getting up and going upstairs to lie on the bed for a few hours, ignoring his cries of 'Oh Pixie!'. You may say this is cruel to do something like this to a dumb animal but let's not forget that this is the man who has thwarted so many of my attempts at mousing, purchased unbelievably shite cat food for me and filled my house with methane gas to the point where I don't think we'll ever clear the effluvium no matter how many windows Ange opens or how many incense sticks she lights. So I say 'balls to it, let's have some fun at his expense!' And it is, so very, very much, fun!

PPP x

Duck And Dive

It's not my fault that someone put a pond just over the wall from the back of my house. Likewise, it's no more my fault if ducklings lose their way and end up on the wrong side of the wall. And it's not my fault that I am a naturally kind and generous cat who enjoys bestowing gifts on people. So why oh why did Ange have a dicky fit when I brought a pair of ducklings home for the two of them this morning? Prattling on about how naughty I am and that ducks are our friends. Erm... I've got some news for you lady. Ducks are food. Check out the cat aisle in Pets At Home.

Anyway, I ignored her lambasting, thinking that at least the lummox would be pleased, given that the man will eat pretty much anything. But no! I had to watch whilst he gave in to his wife's whims and tenderly put the brace of ducklings in a paper bag and place them in the bin outside. Pathetic or what? All he had to do was rustle up a batch of orange sauce and he could have had a gourmet breakfast for himself. I tell you, I simply just won't bother in future. They can blasted well feed themselves from now on.

PPP x

A New Beast

There I was minding my own business, reading the latest copy of Good Mouse-keeping magazine. A couple of good articles this month too. One on combatting the effects the Meni-paws and another on soft fur-nishings and the best way to scratch them. I was enjoying myself, just relaxing and cat-ching up (see what I did there) with my reading. When all of a sudden I heard the most awful bloody commotion coming from downstairs. A sort of high pitched 'yipping' sound is probably the best way I can describe it. At first I tried to ignore it thinking that the lummox had got himself trapped in his flies or something, but it went on and on to the point of distraction until finally I could stand it no longer and I went to investigate what on earth was going on.

I padded down the stairs as silently as possible and stopped just before the bottom. My nose instantly alerting me to the presence of the blonde berk and his over-active tail. But there was something else abroad in the air and I couldn't quite work out what that smell was. It was similar to the berk but not quite. 'Sod it' I thought, 'I'm going in' and I nimbly leaped into the living room. Imagine my surprise when I came face-to-face with an unknown creature that I'd never seen before. At first I thought it was some kind of monster or perhaps a demon from the bowels of Hades or maybe the local zoo was missing something. It was brown and furry and had ears like an elephant despite being quite small in stature. I wasn't going to take any chances though and I turned and scampered back upstairs.

Since then, I have discovered that this unknown thing is, in fact, a spaniel puppy. A yipping, biting, cavorting spaniel puppy that belongs to Erin, of all people. Huh! I'm surprised at her, bringing that beast into my house. It's bad enough having one dog about the place without a puppy tearing around like a whirling Dervish. Honestly, you'd think people would have more respect for me than that. I mean, I wouldn't mind so much but it evacuates itself on the floor and that's plain unhygienic, especially in areas where my food is prepared. As you can guess, I'm not best pleased and Ange and blubberboy had best watch their step after allowing this to happen.

Stay tuned for further developments.

PPP x