Keogh the cat : God help the chickens
There seems to be some confusion over who runs this house - me or the humans.
If you train people correctly - rub against their legs when they please you or sit on their laps occasionally - they won't give you any trouble.
Mine, however, are completely feral.
Leave them together for too long and they fight like me and dogs. They moult all over the place...the sofa is covered with jackets.
And they're dirty: I've yet to see any of them lick their nether regions.
They are so cruel, too.
They don't kill their prey quickly - they chuck them in this ice-cold white box called a fridge.
There's a chicken in there now that must've really annoyed them: her head's gone and they've pulled all her feathers out. If that wasn't enough, they've tied the bird's legs together.
That's just torture.
I dread to think what they did to that poor lamb, but there's only his leg left.
Worst of all, however, they've forgotten who the boss is.
Last night, believe it or not, Julie tried to shift me off the chair
To start with, I gave her an 'Oi! I used to be a God in ancient Egypt' glance, but she continued to gently prod me.
I twitched my tail, but then she actually tried to pick me up.
I feel terrible. I hate smacking my humans - but sometimes hissing isn't enough: you have to use your paw.
She gave a squeal and backed off, clutching her hand and calling me naughty, which is a bit rich...she was the one trying to nick my chair.
That woman takes not the blind bit of notice of yours truly - I had to wait by the door for five minutes before she got up and opened it.
But when a mouse comes in and tells her to jump, she jumps. That really does get up my nose.