Over Run

Help!!! We're inundated gentle reader. There are children everywhere. Running amok on my boat. Squealing and bouncing around like mad things. I've had to put my paws over my ears to block it out. It's Ange's friend you see and her grandchildren. Kids will be kids of course, I realise that. After all, I was a kitten myself once. But it's the lummox's fault really you see. He's getting them all over-excited with his cajoling and practical jokes. I mean, how many more times is the old plastic turd going to make an appearance or the squirty ring or the fart whistle? He's like a bloody big kid himself. And of course you can imagine the effect all that has had on impressionable young children. Squealing they were. Absolutely squealing!!! And it's alright for that great ox isn't it? He just went to bed when they had gone. I was the one who had had my sleep disturbed. And to top it all off I then discover that Ange's friend (Sadie or Lulu or something, I wasn't really paying attention) doesn't actually like cats. Huh!!! You've come to the wrong place then lady! For I am a perfect example of that species. The children of course were delighted to see me and naturally enjoyed the feel of my silken fur between their fingers. Shame on you though granny!

PPP x

Lummox Day

It's the lummox's birthday today. He's 51 years old. 51 he is and you wouldn't believe it. He looks a damn sight older if you ask me. All grey and lined and dishevelled. Still, it's his special day so I won't say anything bad about him. Well, other than the fact that he's a fat, boorish oaf who makes my life a misery with his flatulence and gluttony and that I can barely tolerate more than a few minutes in his presence at a time and that he's constantly blocking up the bathroom sink with his hair and making it reek and that he wouldn't know how to properly care for a cat if his life depended on it and that he ought to think himself extremely lucky that he has Ange and I. Talk about hitting the jackpot!!! Anyway, like I said, it's his day so I won't say anything bad about him.

I've got him the same present that I got him last year and the year before that and the year before that. A big, fat nothing. Well, I thought, why not? He's worth it. Ange has bought him a book all about interpreting dreams. Huh! One can imagine what kind of dreams he has. He no doubt dreams of over-indulging himself and being an absolute get! If he had any sense at all he would dream about me and how he could better improve his standing with me. Whatever, maybe there's something in that book about cats that might spur him on to such things.

I believe that the two of them are going out this evening to eat Asian cuisine again and therefore the air in the boat will be unbreathable by morning. I suppose I'll let it go just this once as it is his birthday. I just hope they remember to open the pigeon boxes though to allow the effluvium to clear. I don't want to have to spend the whole of July 21st cleaning my fur now do I?

PPP x

Ibstock - A Poem

Ange has gone away for the night

And I'm left here with that heap of shite

She's gone to somewhere called Ibstock

And I'm left here with that pillock

She's had to go because of work

So I'm left here with that great jerk

To feed me if he doesn't forget

But probably will because he's so wet

Yes to Ibstock's where she's gone

And so I find myself put upon

To sit here with a heavy heart

To sit and listen to him fart

Whilst playing his progressive rock

And she's away in damned Ibstock

I really miss her, yes I do

I think he has just followed through

I hope that she comes back real soon

So I'm not alone with this buffoon

I want her back, I want her here

And not this bloated sack of beer

And so I wait and watch the clock

Until Ange comes back, from Ibstock