January 2009 Archives
Kightly the kitten is far too trusting of humans.
He should take a leaf out of my book: never trust an animal that can't lick its own backside.
When it comes to humans, ALWAYS make straight for the ones that don't like you.
Repeatedly rub yourself against their legs and, if they're wearing white, jump on their laps.
Keep them on their toes by miaowing and scratching repeatedly at a closed door, then walk away when they get up to open it.
If they're working on a computer, make for the keyboard.
To really get them going, fake a furball coughing fit in the middle of the room, preferably when guests are present.
I've told Kightly these golden rules - many of which are the reasons ancient Egyptians worshipped us - but she's taken none on board.
Instead, she simply simpers to be picked up and spends the night asleep on the humans' bed.
I couldn't curl up next to a human - I'm allergic to them.
Last time I slept on Mike and Julie's bed, I started to itch.
So did they. Turned out I'd got a few little visitors sleeping on me.
My owners bought me a flea-collar. For near-microscopic insects, they've got surprisingly large necks.
Kightly will certainly never get fleas because she never ventures outside.
I told her straight: "If you continue to spend all day on your backside you'll get haemorrhoids."
She reckons if I continue to spend all day sitting on the icy patio, I'll get Polaroids.
The only exercise she got yesterday was chasing a ballpoint pen across the living room floor. Kightly reckons she's honing her hunting skills, but who wants to stalk a Biro?
Her owners, however, think such immature behaviour is clever.
That's nothing - I've taught the pampered puss a spot of metalwork.
Every time I go to bite her, she makes a bolt for the door.
Did you hear about the cat who drank five bowls of water? He set a new lap record.
What do you get when you cross an elephant with a cat? A big furry creature that purrs while it sits on your lap and squashes you.
There's a new cat on the block that's been made to be a vegetarian by its owners.
That's bang out of order. How would they feel if we made them eat mice - and they had to catch them first?
Listen, if God didn't want us moggies to eat rodents he wouldn't have made them of meat.
I've asked the new cat if she's tempted to go outdoors and chase something. She's said no - there's little fun in stalking a carrot.
Even worse, her mate's a vegan. It's the same as a veggie, apparently, but the cat's not allowed to wear shoes, which is a blessing, really.
"My owners think tinned cat food is cruel," moaned the newcomer.
I agree. The delay while I wait for my owners to open the can is torture. Once I rubbed so hard against Julie's legs the static made my fur stand on end.
The cat reckons she doesn't get cravings for meat anymore - not even fish, which is strange. OK, meat is murder, but I think killing a few of next door's koi carp is justifiable homicide.
She has to take supplements to ensure she gets all the vitamins missing in her diet. I used a supplement last week - a supplement from a Sunday paper. We were out of cat litter.
I always have my five a day. Problem is, there are only five fish left in the pond. Heavens knows what I'll do on Monday: catching five mice is a bit too much like hard work.
That's the one thing about our house - the food's good.
They give me that 'gourmet' cat food. I want to know which 'gourmet cat' they tried it on - and why they thought he or she liked white wine sauce. The slogan on the tin baffles me. It states the offerings are 'new and improved'. How the hell do the makers know? Do they eat the stuff, too.
You can get 'healthy options' cuisine for cats, apparently, which would be wasted on me.
I prefer food that keeps me fit: for example, I had to chase yesterday's dinner 12 foot up a tree before I ate it.
Come on, Keogh fans - send me your pix and vids. If you're good-looking enough, we want to see your picture on my page.
Know why I like coughing up fur balls? I love a good gag.
Already broke all my New Year resolutions.
On January 1 I pledged to stop chasing my tail. Two hours later this long, hairy thing sneaked-up behind me...and I'd blown it again.
I also intend to cut down on the old catnip after over-indulging during the festivities. I don't want to end up like Ginger who had such a problem he attended Catnipaholics
Anonymous. He would've been more anonymous if he hadn't worn that big collar with his name on it to the first meeting. Thanks to that piece of bling, fellow addicts didn't just know his name, they knew where he lived and who to ring if they found him plastered.
Mind you, standing infront of an audience and telling them, 'I've got a problem' is a very big step. You've got to learn to talk and stand on two feet first.
I hit the stuff a tad too hard during our New Year's Eve party - a memorable shindig, if taxing: if you're a cat, it's bloody hard to put your left leg in. 'Knees bend, arm stretch' is almost impossible.
I also pledged to shed a few pounds: I've put on so much weight, the Lockleys let me lose on their new wooden floor just so I can clean it with my belly. And they've had to apply for planning permission to widen my catflap. The council were worried the new structure might attract potholers. At least Mike will have a way of getting into the house when he loses his key.
But the healthy eating lark has gone out of the window. I was on a high-carp diet, but some swine put a net over the garden pond.
Mind you, I've stopped eating fast food - those mice are just too quick round here.
2009's going to be tough. Owners of the posh Persian cat over the road tried to pawn her gold collar. They reckoned it would make a superb bracelet for a teenage girl. It would have to be a teenage girl called 'Fingers', though.
I'm feeling the pinch, too. The Lockleys have stopped putting food out for the birds.
Yesterday Mike poured the remnants of a takeaway and some of our feathered friends were so desperate they tucked into the chicken korma. They're the ones that leave a vapour trail when they fly overhead.
I didn't get what I wanted for Christmas - one of those satellite navigation system that helps cats on heat find a partner. It's called a Tom Tom.
Keogh joke of the week...
A man goes on a two month business trip and leaves his cat with his brother. While abroad, he calls his brother.
Brother 1: So how is my cat doing?
Brother 2: He's Dead.
Brother 1: What do you mean, 'he's dead'? Couldn't you have broken the news a little more gently? You could've told me you'd found the cat on the roof and was having trouble getting him down. Then, when I rang again, you could've told me the fire department was there and scared him off the roof and the cat died when it hit the ground.
Brother 2: I'm sorry ... you're right...that was insensitive. I won't let it happen again.
Brother 1: Anyway, how's Mom?
Brother 2: She's on the roof and we're having trouble getting her down.
New Year's Eve is depressing if you're a cat.
While humans celebrated the end of one year last Wednesday night, we felines were waving a paw to four of them. That's no reason to put your left leg in, I can tell you.
I stayed in, read my favourite celeb magazine, Miaow!, featuring a fascinating interview with Jordan's moggie - 'My owner's new breasts terrify me', and watched my favourite documentary, 'The Life Of Birds'. At one point, the chap was standing in the middle of thousands of seagulls and didn't chase after one. What the hell's that all about? I mean,
I could understand it when he was with those gorillas...
I didn't feel like partying, unlike the humans. Each New Year's Eve, they stand in a circle, link arms and run at each other. As a courtship display, it was far too public. And some of the ones taking part were so old, they'd probably already been sorted out by the vet.
For me, It was a time of reflection. I feel I should be doing more with my nine lives.
To that end, I've drawn up a list of resolutions. In 2009, I'm quitting the stroking habit - I hate it when human's rub my fur - and intend to get fat.
I also plan to get a car - sorry, that was a typing error. I meant a carp. There are four beauties in next door's pond. I fancy doing a bit of DIY: if I can learn to prise open that fridge door, the world's my oyster. My best mate Ginger has advised not to open the freezer. He dislocated his neck dragging a frozen chicken into the garden.
Mind you, he's a strange, strange cat - the only one I know who coughs-up fur cubes.
Most importantly, I aim to get on better with the new kitten, Kightly. We can't spend the rest of our lives chasing each other. That's what tails were made for.
And it's wrong to pick on another cat because of its colour - unless it's a tabby, of course.
This morning, in an attempt to be helpful, I told Kightly to stop eating the tinsel. She took not a blind bit of notice. The result was the first kitten to bring-up a glitter ball.
I've also warned her not to sit on Mike's lap. Keeping on doing that and eventually she's going to see something no cat wants to see. Match Of The Day.
From Keogh and Kightly - have a great 2009.
It's taken thousands of years for cats to domesticate humans.
God knows why Julie loves cats.
We don't answer when she calls. We stop out all night. All we do when we get home is sleep.
The funny thing is, when her husband does those things she goes mental.
Calling all member of the Keogh fan club.
We want your cat pictures during the holiday. Send them to us - and the more tinsel on them, the better.