The secret double life of Keogh the Cat!

By Keogh The Cat on Oct 3, 08 10:03 AM

Felt a pang of guilt last night: something I haven't been touched by since I fanged hold of Mrs Cooper's budgie.

There I was, curled-up on the plush leather sofa of the posh couple who take me in every night because they think I'm a stray, and what should I hear through the leaded windows? Only Mike calling frantically for me from the paddock outside.

He and Julie are blissfully unaware that I divide my time between Chateau Lockley and the retired couple's mock-Tudor detached, 'Dun Accounting'.

By day, I'm Keogh the Chav cat. By night, I'm Mittens: a naff name, but they can call me anything as long as they don't call me late for dinner.

As long as the rich folk don't carry out their threat and buy me a collar with a silver name-tag, life should be pretty cushty for some time to come. I've even put up with the course of worming tablets I didn't need.

One hour Mike spent searching that field for me in the driving rain. Part of me wanted to venture outdoors and put the poor bloke out of his misery, but there was a salmon poaching with my name on it.

Anyway, if he was that desperate, he should've done what I did - knock on the rich couple's door, scream and rub their legs. He'd either get a free dinner or arrested.

It's hard pretending to be a waif - mainly because I've put on half-a-stone. Hardly surprising - I'm getting through four meals a day.

Property wise, I've done pretty well for myself. I started in a cardboard box, moved to the Lockleys' mid-terrace and am currently residing in a very desirable residence with it's own pool teaming with fish. I just have to sit on the banks and help myself - kind of free carp parking.

The Lockleys' pad is OK as a starter home, but it's cramped. The bathroom's so small the humans can't brush their teeth sideways. And the place is so damp, I found a golfish in the mousetrap.

They weren't that tidy either. Mike thought housework was pointless: "You do the dishes, you make the beds and three months later you have to start all over again."

'Dun Accounting' is a property much more befitting a moggie on the up. And the owners are so posh - they even sit round the table for dinner. Only time the Lockleys sit round the table for dinner is at McDonalds.

The lady of the house really fusses over me, too. "You look down in the mouth, Keogh," she tutted.
Not surprising - I'd just maimed one of the ducks on her pond.