The Litter Fairy

I'm ever so sorry to have to touch on this subject again but what is it with humans and their, frankly, vile toilet habits gentle reader? Take this pair of mine for example. They do their business in a plastic box (which they call - the Thetford) which they have to put fluid into to mask the stench. Then when the box is full they have to take up to the CRT building at the locks and tip it all down a hole. Can you imagine anything more horrid? No, neither can I. It's something or other to do with being on the boat and not having a full flushing Thomas Crapper and so they dump in a box. Deplorable if you ask me. When we were at the caravan they had a full flushing Thomas Crapper (well, that's what the lummox calls it) and that's almost as bad. They had to pump water into the thing to get rid of their waste.

Why oh why can't they be like us cats and use a litter tray. It's quick, it's clean and it's hygenic. And best of all the next time you go to use it all the poo has gone as if by magic. I know that many cats belive in the Litter Fairy and yet there are others who are sceptical about it. But, how else can you explain it? You go to the loo and then when you return to the tray the next day it's empty. Incredible! Maybe there isn't a fairy after all. Maybe it's the cat litter itself that's magic. Who knows? One thing's for sure, the humans could learn a thing or two from us and then they wouldn't have to put their plastic box in the back of the car and drive it all the way up to Five Rise to dispose of it.

Cats! The hygenic species!

PPP x

The Morning Chorus

The lummox let out a cascade of farts this morning when  he got out of bed. And you've never heard a more disgusting noise in your life. Ripping and squelching and bubbling away like a knackered fire hose. For a few moments I thought that he had, in fact, soiled himself. The odour convinced me of that as well. But I soon realised that he hadn't when he went to the toilet and unleashed yet another barrage of flatus over the lavatory pan that sounded like a chainsaw starting up underwater. Awful, my friends, truly awful! I think the problem was that the scouse hippie is over for the weekend and the pair of them had a night on the black stout. In fact, they've been on the piss since Friday. Something or other about some guy called St Patrick and it being his day. Well, I don't know what their cause for celebration was but I wasn't celebrating this morning when the fat berk let off. Also they had all consumed a large quantity of Thai green curry the night before as well which obviously didn't help. Listen up you odious uprights, if you're going to fill yourself with spicy food and about ten pints of heavy then you've no-one else to blame for the condition of your abdomen but yourselves. There, I've said it!

The effluvium has just about cleared now so I'm going to (tentatively) go back into the bedroom and get some shut eye. After which I might have a nap. Then maybe a snooze later on. Hopefully they'll all keep out and give me some peace. They can sit in the living room and blow off to their heart's content. I just hope they leave the side hatch open.

PPP x

I Don't Want To Be Picky, But...

The lummox is really getting right on my nerves folks. I mean really winding me up. He's developed this unbelievably annoying habit and I feel like scratching his bloody eyes out for it. He's started calling me 'Picky'. I don't mean picky as in being choosy about my food or something. I mean he's actually calling me Picky for my name. He puts on this irritable goo-goo gaa-gaa voice that should normally be reserved for kittens and babies and then abbreviates my name to 'Picky'. There I am lying on the bed enjoying myself and he comes home from work, sticks his fat head around the bedroom door and starts going 'Picky Poo Poo' at me like some kind of demented three year old. He's making himself look and sound ridiculous. I mean, I ask you - f***ing Picky! The name's Pixie you damned great bloated sack of Guinness and don't forget it.

PPP x

It's Electric

We have electricity! Yes, gentle reader, we have good old electricity back on my boat. I mean the proper stuff that comes into the boat down a cable not that 12 volt stuff that requires the sodding engine to be run every other day and therefore disturbs my peace. And you know what this means don't you? It means that we will soon have the fridge back up and running and as a result it will be filled with all the things that I like to eat. You know, salmon fillets and roast chicken and the like. Apparently the humans have to pay for the electricity and I shall of course let them. There is a meter or something that controls it and they have to feed it pound coins in order for the supply to continue. All well and good I hear you say. Well no, not entirely.

You see, having electricity also has it's drawbacks. The main one being that the humans use it as a means of entertainment. Before you know it they'll be watching all sorts of crap on the television with the volume too loud and then there's all those dvd thingys as well. I don't want to lie on the couch with all that going on now do I? The worst of it though is when they start playing music. How much Jethro-bloody-Tull does the lummox have to play before he's satisfied. And Uriah Heep. He never plays any of the cat bands that I like. I'd love to hear a bit of Deep Purr-ple or some Iron Meowden or even a bit of Deaf Leopard. But no, we have to endure endless repetitions of his progressive rock noodlings.

So there's good and bad points for the old leccy. We have lights and the fridge and even hot water if we need it which is all fine and dandy. But then we have constant re-runs of The Naked Gun and interminable bouts of Rush and Black Sabbath which is selfish and gets on my tits. So thanks Benjamin Franklin and no thanks at the same time.

PPP x