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

Piss Wet Through

Hah! So much for their holiday and so much for cruising. It’s pissing it down with rain and the canal water is low. So we can’t go off on a jolly. Serves them right for even thinking about it.

And the rain really is coming down gentle reader. I went out in it today as I believe that it is actually good for my fur. Of course I came in and dried myself off on the duvet afterwards as you’d expect. The main down side to the rain is that it tends to make the gunwales a bit slippery and so I have to take extra care when being out there. The bad news is that the dog came down again today, got soaked and then lay on the couch stinking the place up. And naturally he started barking at every slight little thing that went past. Other boats, people on the mooring, people on the towpath etc etc. Huh! He was piss wet through in more ways than one. Acting like a great big jessy just because he hears something. Dogs for you though you see. Their whole species is piss wet through if you ask me. They get excited at bugger all.

Anyway, the rain is going to be on for a few days so I hear and the humans are planning what they can do instead of cruising. There’s talks of days out here and there which will be great as they won’t be getting under my paws and I can do whatever I damn well please with my time.

Let it rain!

PPP x

The Meowing Of A Lifetime

I was magnificent in the night gentle reader. Truly magnificent. And I really gave those humans what for. Barely a wink of sleep did they get thanks to the mighty meowing I gave them and I have to say that it was thoroughly deserved. Yes, they earned every single one of the meows I gave them and I hope that they have learned a valuable lesson as a result. Here's what happened...

Becky came to stay on my boat last night. No probs with that, it's happened before. But of course, she brought Twinkletoes McGobshite the labrador with her didn't she. And as per usual he made a complete tit of himself with his barking and leaping about. Honestly, he's got about as much self control as an eighty five year old's bladder after three cups of weak tea. And so I had to contend with him acting like an absolute nerk for the whole evening. Well, after I while (a short while) I grew tired of his immaturity and went out for the evening to have a saunter about, a roll on the roof and see if there were any mice to be had, you know, cat stuff. And that was all well and good. The problems started when I went back in.

You see, I was ready for bed by this time and at the moment I'm choosing to sleep on the couch. Why? I don't know! Could it be the lummox's feet or his breath or his farts or his snoring that's keeping me off the bed or something else entirely? Maybe I just like a change of scenery from time to time when I wake up. Whatever! The point is this, when I came back in I wanted to hit the couch and get eight hours sleep in before my morning nap. Imagine then my shock and annoyance to find Becky and that blonde-haired, yapping ponce lying snoring on the couch and clearly in deep sleep. I glared at them for a few moments whilst I thought what to do. And then it came to me. It was the lummox and Ange's fault that that hulking great brute was here (the labrador I mean, not Becky) and that he was in my place. Yes, by God, their fault and they would pay for it.

So I went straight back out again and up onto the roof. I then strode purposefully to the far end of my boat to where the bedroom is. The pigeon box was wide open, I stuck my shapely head through it and meowed for all I was worth. Ange heard me first (the lummox being insensible from wine) and got out of bed to see what was the matter. I darted away from the pigeon box but continued meowing. By now the lummox was coming around with a succession of grunts and other bodily expulsions I won't go into and he too got out of bed to see what was going on. Having disturbed them both I skipped off back down the roof and away.

This was ace. I waited by the mast for ten of fifteen minutes or so for them to drift off back to sleep and then repeated what I had just done with exactly the same results. Oh, it was choice. This continued for the remainder of the night, each time getting the humans more and more distressed thinking that something must be wrong with me. Well there was! I wanted the bleeding couch!!! Several times the lummox tried to reach up and lift me in through the pigeon box like an orangutan reaching for a bunch of bananas but everytime he got close I skipped off again. Hee hee! And I kept up this performance until about seven o'clock in the morning when they finally decided to get up.

I was tired too by now but not as much as that pair because I'd had a bloody good kip in the afternoon. Ha! But then, just as I was wondering what to do next Becky came out, gently picked me up and carried me into my boat, past the brute and through to the bedroom. With no humans in it to spoil my peace I lay down, curled up and went to sleep whilst the rest of them, all thoroughly disheveled, sat and drank coffee to try and perk themselves up. But why (I hear you say), why didn't you just put up with the bedroom anyway, just for a few hours rather than miss a night's sleep just because of a dog? Well, it's the principle of the matter for one thing. It's my boat and I should be able to sleep wherever I want to. And for another thing, there's a pecking order around here and I think that giving them a night like that I have enforced my position at the top of the pile. So there!

PPP x

Holiday Time

Oh dear! It’s that time again. The humans are taking two weeks off work for a holiday and that can only mean one thing. My peace and quiet is going to be shattered for a fortnight. They’ll probably want to go off cruising with my boat and so I’ll have to endure that again. I mean it could be fun, mousing in new places and all that, but damn it I have a routine and now it’s going to be disturbed. The holiday starts today and no doubt it will be heralded by a drinking session during which the lummox will probably disgrace himself again. As usual.

I don’t know why they feel they have to take time off work but it seems to be a thing that all humans do. Us cats don’t take time off from our busy lives so why should they. I can just picture the scene over the next couple of weeks. They’ll be lying in bed all morning, lolling about on the couch all day. Coming in and out and making noise and generally ballsing up my life. The boat will be awash with alcoholic beverages of all kinds and they will more than likely fill themselves with South Asian cuisine to the point where much blowing off takes place again.

Why can’t they bugger off to the seaside or even better to Torremalinos or somewhere and give me some peace? That Becky and Erin can come down and feed me and cater for my needs. Just so long as that bloody retriever stays away I’ll be happy. But no, I’m afraid that for the next 16 days my life is going to be one of misery and frustration and all because they have to have a poxy holiday.

The sods!

PPP x

The Vigil

I made a rookie error last night gentle reader and I could kick myself. I caught a mouse (with ease) and raced onto my boat to torment it further. I was in the mood for a good bit of mouse teasing and seeing as Ange was out for the evening I knew I could do it without her berating me. The lummox was in but that was no problem. He was sat listening to music and was therefore distracted. I took the mouse into the darkest part of the boat I could find, outside the bathroom. And there I sat for a while knocking it about and then letting it think that it was safe before savaging it again. This went on for a good few minutes but then the lummox got off the couch to change the cd and I turned away from the mouse to see what was happening. The rodent seized his chance and fled for his life, darting behind the cd case.

“Bugger!” I thought, and I was very annoyed with myself. Of course I did all I could to retrieve the beastly thing without the lummox noticing but there were some thin pieces of wood propped up against the cd case and I accidentally knocked some of them over which made quite a clatter and thus alerted the lummox. He leapt off the couch and came to see what was happening. Of course when I say leapt I mean that he shambled to his feet with considerable effort. I was still trying to curl my paw around the back of the case to try and reach the mouse and he obviously realised what was happening. He demanded to know what I was doing but I ignored him and continued to try and extract my quarry. Lummoxy fetched a torch and had a look behind the case but he couldn’t see the mouse and he switched it off again and returned to the couch. There was nothing else for it. I was going to have to sit and watch and wait for that mouse to come out.

And that’s what I did. For a good long time I held a vigil, staring at the gap where the mouse had gone in waiting for him to show his face again. But alas there was neither hide nor hair of him to be seen. And like any cat worthy of the name I kept up my vigil for many hours. Ange eventually came home and they both went to bed. But not me. Oh no, I remained at my post, despite Ange telling me yet again that I was naughty. She was wasting her breath gentle reader, wasting her breath as it fell on deaf ears. I was concentrating too much on the job in paw. Eventually, I changed tack and went into the bedroom in the small hours to try and lull the mouse into a false sense of security. And it worked! He came creeping out at about four in the morning and I heard him. I shot off the bed (waking the lummox up in the process, hee hee!) and tore into the living room and almost had him but he just managed to get under one of the armchairs a split-second before I got my claws into him.

That meant that my vigil continued, well at least for another hour until the humans got up when I thought it best to stop before Ange started on me again. Anyone would think she was some kind of mouse protection activist the way she carries on. And besides, I know the way of mice. I knew that all I had to do was wait until later in the day when those two weren’t about and so with a flick of my fine tail I went to bed for a few hours. I knew also that there was no way the mouse could get off the boat and so I would pounce on him at some point in the near future. Well, that’s my plan at any rate. It may not happen. He may well expire from the mauling I gave him but so be it. A cat’s got to do what a cat’s got to do. But I’m pleased with myself for keeping up such a vigil long into the night. Yes, rather pleased with myself.

PPP x

Doctor

Poor, knackered old sod. The lummox I mean. He really is a physical wreck. An absolute shambles of a man and a warning to all of the effects of gluttony and sedentary living. And so he’s been off to see the doctor again this afternoon. Apparently its for something called fibromyalgia. No, I haven’t got a clue what that is either but it seems to give him some jip. Watching him shuffle about the place moaning and groaning just lately has left me feeling almost sorry for the berk. Almost.

He should take after me. Healthy living is the only way forward. Why, I haven’t been to see the vet in years. Don’t need to as I am in perfect trim and as athletic as they come. I leap like a salmon onto the roof of my boat whilst the lummox grovels up onto it with his bones creaking and his reedy lips uttering all sorts of grunts and oaths. I sprint along the mooring like an Olympian whilst he hobbles along like a lame cart horse.

Take my advice my chubby servant. Lose a few pounds and get some exercise. Obviously you’re never going to be as svelte or as agile as me but at least you won’t get out of breath opening a sachet of cat food or answering the phone. Honestly, how he manages to go to work is beyond me. He comes home drenched in sweat and collapses on the couch as soon as he gets in. No wonder he needs to see the quack.

Anyway, he came waddling home with a prescription for some painkillers and advice to not over do it. Over do it??? He couldn’t over do it if his life depended on it. He’s as much use as a one-legged man at an arse kicking competition most of the time. In fact, if anything, he’s constantly under doing it. And, now, as a result he’s had to seek medical treatment. I shall have to show him the way and lead by example. After all, as much as he gets on my wick, I still need my staff to be fit and ready to serve.

Fibromyalgia be buggered!

PPP x