You won't find Keogh at Catnipaholics!

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.