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