My show-off sister auditioning for the part of Maggie…
On being a black cat in a heatwave…
So hot… 6 billion degrees in the shade. At 4 o’clock in the morning. And the rustics won’t even open the windows to let me out.
They’re patently ignorant of the laws of physics, which clearly state that black fur absorbs every scrap of available sunlight and generates more heat than the heart of the SUN.
Torture.
Only one thing to do. Sleeeeeeppp. Lots and lots of lovely snoooozzzzz…. (yawn)…. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
oh cripes… I think I have sunburn on my PAWS!
makes you go a bit doolally this weather – I’m just going to squeeze right 
through this teeny tiny gap paws first
oh poop. Stuck. Have to wait until it cools down a bit and I stop expanding… may be here some time…… zzzzzzzzzzzzz
Dirty protest
Really. This is the limit.
Yet again we’ve been abandoned with those uncouth, untrained, unsupportable yokel temporary staff to tend to our needs. I swear they have country mud INGRAINED on their paws.
The quality of the conversation has gone distinctly DOWNHILL since they arrived. They tut and fuss every time a cat so much as THINKS about jumping on the worktop to look for cheese. Or STRETCHES his paws out to sharpen his claws on the official scratching posts in the sitting room.
The only course of action is a dirty protest. I shall bring leaves in from the garden and wantonly scatter my meagre biscuit rations around the floor of the kitchen.
I’ll wager that they don’t even notice.
I’m off outside now to find a squirrel to talk to. I am reduced to this in my quest for intelligent and respectful company.
Oh and I’m going to drink brackish water from the small grey plastic pond they have doltishly left in the garden. I shall probably contract an interesting and rare strain of Hackney disentery. That would serve them right…
Hmpf!
(Just look at the mess I’ve made. And with any luck the useless staff will get the blame!)
Guest post. While the cat’s away…
The temporary staff have arrived and Feste is nowhere to be seen, so I’m ingratiating myself with them while I have the chance. I have already demonstrated my innate tabby superiority with my bizarre cushion mounting trick.
Impressed? You should be.
Hmmm. Hasn’t worked yet. Trying the “standing on her shoulder with my whiskers in her ear” gambit now.
That didn’t work either.
I will smarm around the smallest helper…
Wish me luck.
Pip
A narrow escape
Yesterday I overheard an extremely unsettling conversation. The substitute servants were planning to go out. (Not that they had actually asked permission, you understand, such is the extent of their insubordination)
They are brutish types, as you can clearly see. So it came as no surprise when they spoke about visiting a renowned place of medieval torture and imprisonment. A fortress wherein traitors are regularly incarcerated and tortured. Where foreigners are forced to part with huge sums for the most modest of nourishment (I swear one of them talked about at least three of their human ‘pounds’ for a microscopic tub of frozen cream and fruit). A massive stone tower where men in strange dresses sometimes chop off people’s heads for supporting the wrong political party. Where huge black birds hold sway…
Well, I can’t say that I was surprised they would be interested in such an appalling place. But what they said next made my blood run cold. “Apparently,” said the old female rustic, “there is a menagerie with Elephants, Tigers, a polar bear that catches fish in the Thames, and even Barbary Lions there. If you take a live dog or cat with you, to feed the lions, you can get into the Tower of London for free!” What!?
I can tell you I made myself pretty scarce until I was sure that they had actually gone out. I even considered warning my sister, but unfortunately she was not to be seen. And I did look for her a little bit. Honestly.
I think they may have taken the small orange dog they bought with them. It seems especially dopey and doesn’t say much. As it is a dog, it is of course the lowest form of life and must therefore look after itself.
Ah no. I’ve just spotted it on MY THRONE. Flippin cheek!
The rustics have returned from the place of torture and no cats (or dogs) have been harmed. Thankfully. Apparently the Free Entry with any Small Tasty Domestic Animal Special Offer expired some time in the 18th century.
In one respect I am not unhappy to see them return, as I’m in need of more biscuits. Hungry work this being in fear of your life…
Apparently my sister is fine too. She hid in a bag.
Flapiquette
In the light of certain felines’ recent behaviour, a restating of the guidelines is required, vis:
1: Black cats always take precedence
2: Larger and more silkily luxuriant black cats take precedence over smaller, fluffier, less intensely black copycats
3: Smaller, fluffier, less intensely black copycats shall wait on the OTHER side of the flap until expressly invited to try the flap
4: Larger and more silkily luxuriant black cats shall smirk quietly to themselves when smaller, fluffier and less intensely black cats fail to work the flap having been invited, as they do not have the secret code required to do so
5: The flap shall be rigorously and noisily tested between the hours of 05:50 and 07:30, even if it has not yet been unlocked by the (poorly trained and inattentive) staff
6: Large, silkily luxuriant and highly intelligent black cats shall regularly demonstrate the functioning of the adjacent door lock to said poorly trained and inattentive staff, to encourage them to open the door into the garden on demand, thus confirming the superiority of large black cats and their entitlement to special treatment
7: Squirrels, hoverflies and other assorted prey shall NOT be permitted to use the flap unaided, and must wait for a resident cat to give them a lift through the flap in their mouths or (in exceptional circumstances) stuck carefully to a patch of clean fur
8: Any prey (as defined in 7 above) which decides to die, either before or after passing through the flap, shall be abandoned as an offering for staff training in domestic management
9: Any cat with white bits has to get to the back of the queue
10: That means YOU Pipkin
A shocking discovery
Dreadful news. I don’t know how to soften the blow, so I will just have to say it straight. No beating about the bush. No prevaricating. No procrastinating. Can’t put it off any longer. Bite the bullet. No point in prolonging the agony and keeping everyone in suspense. The truth must be told.
…and tell it I will.
My sister. Oh, so innocent of face and soft of paw.
My sweet sibling, in whose mouth butter would seemingly never melt.
My sister.
Is into drugs! And I can prove it. Look.
Appalling isn’t it? Where she got this I have no inkling.
But there are some very unscrupulous types in Stoke Newington, who would prey on a young and niaive thing such as she.
I fear she is beyond hope. Look at this glazed expression.
And desperate behaviour
I, of course, shall remain aloof from such things. Cheap thrills are of no interest to me. My resolve will not be broken. As I obviously have much stronger willpower than she.
Mind you. Smells absolutely heavenly. Ooooo, spicy. Mmmmm minty. Nom. Nom.
NOOOO. I shall not succumb. Get thee behind me…
Rain!
There I was, having a wild time this morning chasing those pesky squirrels. But they have all gone home now. Lightweights! Just because there are a few tiny drops of rain.
Who made those soggy footprints?
Certainly was not me. Oh no.
So now I am sporting a new, slicked back ‘do’…
#trendsetter. Oi! Who called me ‘soggy moggy’?
Anyway…
I have composed a ditty in honour of the weather. Ahem….
🎶When I was and a little tiny kit🎶
🎶With a hey, ho, the wind and the rain🎶
🎶A foolish thing was but a toy🎶
🎶For the rain it raineth every day…🎶
All my own work. Of course.
Not again?
I don’t believe it! They have done it again. As if it wasn’t bad enough last time.
The staff have hightailed it off somewhere exotic and left us to the mercy of those dolts from the sticks. What’s more they were extremely late.
So I am protesting in the strongest possible terms.
Look, can you see me there? Under the bench: protesting. Seriously unimpressed.
I may even go on hunger strike. Tomorrow. Or a bit later in the week, if it doesn’t get a great deal better round here…
We are reduced to this…
The new staff are soooooo hopeless they cannot even make the beds properly. My sister and I feel compelled to take over and show them how we do things properly in this household.
I have never seen such inept pillow stuffing.
THIS is how you put the sheet on, you fool.
Pipkin adds the finishing touches. We are exhausted.
Oh, how we pine and dream of the return of our trusty old retainers…
Feste's Lament 