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

Chick, Chick, Chick, Chick, Chicken!!!

You'll no doubt be alarmed, gentle reader, to learn that I have of late been a little poorly. Relieved also to know that I am now feeling much better, thank you. I'm not sure what the problem was, I've been listless, liverish and off my food. And fair play to the humans, they have tried plenty of different comestibles for me to attempt but I just wasn't eating and I actually lost a little bit of weight. Not that I needed to of course, as you can tell from my photo, but I suppose it all helps to keep me svelte. They tried tuna, salmon (fillet), ham (finest Wiltshire naturally), topside of beef and a wide and extensive variety of sachet cat food. And I turned my nose up at pretty much all of it. That's how poorly I felt. Of course, being a stoic individual I refused to visit that vet chappie though.

Then one night, the lummox decided he was going to make one of those curry things with which he stinks the whole house down with (and I'm talking about after he's eaten it) for him and Ange. Well, it turned out that he bought one too many chicken breasts and between them they managed to reach the conclusion that perhaps they should bake it for me. Well duh! Obviously! And so baked it was and once allowed to cool Ange cut it into bite sized pieces and presented it to me.

My word! I wolfed it down. Every single mouthful and licked my lips for a long while after. They both seemed very pleased with themselves and I was also a little grateful and showed this by waking Ange up at four in the morning for a stroking session. Anyway, the next day the lummox was dispatched to the local butcher shop to procure me another chicken breast which was likewise baked and presented. I gathered from their conversation though that this one was in fact what's known as free-range and corn fed. I'm not sure what all that meant but it tasted absolutely delicious and you can probably guess where I'm going with this. That's right, I now insist on all my chicken dinners to be free-range and corn fed. Apparently it's more expensive than the other sort but it tastes better, I deserve it and that's the end of the matter as far as I'm concerned.

PPP x

The Importance Of Being Pixie

Buggered off they have! Gone off for a jolly along the canal in that little toy boat of theirs and left me behind. But do you know what? Sod the pair of them. Do I care? Not one jot! They can stay out for as long as they want for all I bloody well mind. You see, I am Pixie! A determined, capable and self-caring cat. I don't need them to fuss and fret over me constantly. I'm aloof when I want to be and sociable when I want to be. It's all on my terms. And any cat worth his or her salt knows that. And it's an important thing for cats to learn, at an early age.

Besides which they've left a servant for me to cater for my mealtimes That Steve fellow who was here last October when they cleared off to Ireland. Nice enough chap although he's forever got a camera in my face (understandable) but he knows his place in the pecking order and that's what it's all about at the end of the day. He knows that I am Pixie Poo Poo - internet sensation, with a horde of devoted followers and he respects that. Plus, he is in the habit of buying me ham so that gets the old seal of approval from me.

As for those other two, well I just hope Ange can survive a week in a 9' by 6' space with Captain Flatulence constantly letting off minute-by-minute. My God, the mere thought of it is making me feel dirty to the point where I might actually have a wash. So no, I'm not bothered. I am Pixie and I'll do my own thing. And that gentle reader is important to me.

PPP x

Le Chatiere

Just a quick one.

Do you know what that means gentle reader? Chatiere? Well I'll tell you. It's French for Catflap. And yes, I've finally got one!!! Not only that, but I'm afraid this is another one of those rare occasions when the lummox has actually done something right. I know, crazy isn't it? For not only has he got off his fat arse and bought one but he's gone and bought me a Staywell Pet Safe Deluxe Catflap in a wood grain finish. The kind of catflap that I truly deserve. He also paid a craftsman to install it properly rather than him doing it himself and making a bodge job like every other attempt at DIY he's ever done. So kudos to you this time lummox. Just don't get complacent, that's all!

PPP x

No Resemblance Whatsoever (Part 2)

Hi gentle reader,

I've had quite a wide and varied response to my recent post regarding the lummox and his lineage. And it seems that a lot of you have a very similar issue. Here's a quick cross section from the old electronic mail bag.

The people I live with are kind enough and have just bought me a new scratching post. But why oh why do they insist on having a dog as well is anybodies guess. He's an arsehole! There's no logical explanation. Just like your lummox.
Mimi, Swansea

I'm catered for by a rather well to do lady who insists on buying me Kit-E-Kat. WTF!!! She can afford better than that. Damn and blast her! At least the lummox buys you good stuff.
Jerry, Kent

Hi Pixie, I'm a big fan. It seems to me that your lummox is what they call a throwback. If the human theory of evolution is to be believed then there were these folk called neanderthals that lived years ago. Maybe he's a throwback to that. Just a thought.
Moxy, John O' Groats

Well it seems to me that those good people perhaps found the lummox under a bush or something.
Daisy, Ipswich

Have you considered checking at the local zoo to see if anything is missing?
Smokey, Daventry

You're lucky, my servant smells of wee!
Blackie, West Midlands

So there you go folks. Some good suggestions there although I'm not quite sure what Blackie is trying to say here. But hey! No cat is purr-fect (although, I come close). I doubt very much, however, that I shall ever get to the bottom of this particular conundrum. But keep those emails coming.

PPP x

Gym Dandy

Imagine, if you will, a hippopotamus wearing a tight pair of men's leggings, a XXXL t-shirt with some vague motif on the front and a pair of slate grey plimsolls. Please, bear with me on this. Imagine then that same hippo cavorting about the place like some prancing great behemoth attempting to get fit, lose weight and breath normally. What you have just imagined, gentle reader, is the lummox in his gym attire. Funniest thing I've seen in a long, long time. He's actually convinced himself that by investing in some moderately priced gear and enrolling himself into the local gymnasium that he's really going to do it this time. That'll be the bloody day that will. He comes home from the gym more breathless than when he went and in pain the next day to the point where he doesn't actually want to go to the gym again. It's all a pointless exercise (pardon the pun) if you ask me. 53 years of gluttony and ale isn't going to just vanish away by a handful of visits to the treadmill and rowing machine. No! He should instead look to me for inspiration. I have a healthy, varied diet and enjoy plenty of fresh air and sleep in equal measure. And look at me. Just look at me. As svelte and as sleek as I've always been. Hale and hearty as any cat you could mention. I don't need to spend a small fortune lining other peoples pockets do I? But no, he insists on dressing in that ridiculous dandy-prat garb and putting himself through the kind of torturous regime that one could have expected from the Witchfinder General and then sits there counting calories when he comes home as if he's got nothing better to do. The big ponce!

PPP x

A Bit Of A Flap

I demand my basic feline rights!!! The right for every domestic cat to have a cat flap installed for their own personal use. And do I have one? Do I buggery! Three months we've been in this house now, three sodding months, and there's neither sight nor sound of one anywhere. Instead, I have to stand at the back door (the humans have permanently locked the front) and demand to be let out, like a dog with a bladder full of urine, and then have to suffer the indignity of waiting to be let back inside when I'm ready to return to bed. It's shameful, gentle reader, truly shameful. Do you know, they even drove to the East Midlands and back twice within the space of four days last week, and I had to stay in all the while until they got back. Its a sin, a sin I tell you, against all things feline and I'm not prepared to stand for it much longer.

So I've embarked on a campaign of pissing the two of them off. I wait in of a night time until they're yawning and getting tired and then I go and stand at the door and meow as loudly as possible so that they feel ashamed and let me out. I then disappear into the darkness and listen to them pathetically calling my name. 'Pixie, Pixie, come in now!' they call. Huh, they don't know that I'm just around the corner sniggering to myself as they stand there in their dressing gowns and slippers, wringing their hands and sounding all concerned. Balls to the pair of them. If you're that concerned then pull your fingers out and get me a bloody cat flap. Pronto!!!

PPP x