April 2009 Archives

So why not a day for the patron saint of cats, St Gertrude?

I mean, the Welsh, Scottish, Irish and English have got one.

"How would you mark it?" Felix over the road asked.

Same as I mark everything else - just cock my leg up.

Fascinating woman, Gertrude.

She didn't keep cats, but water from her well and the bread she baked repelled rats, making us moggies redundant.

Is that the most cat-friendly person they could find?

They may as well have made a dog - St Bernard - our patron saint.

My grand-dad slayed a dragon...sorry, my mistake, a draylon - a draylon curtain by climbing up it. Not so much slayed it as clawed it, really.

He'd make a good patron saint.

St Cinders...it's got a certain ring to it.

The biggest thing I've tried to slay is a pheasant. Would've succeeded, too, if it wasn't for the gundogs chasing it.

"But how would we celebrate the day?" asked Felix.

I think it should be a day off. Spend the time just sleeping and eating.

"We sleep 18 hours as it is," she pointed out. "Anymore and we'd end up with cat-basket sores."

She's got a point. Cats don't have saints, they don't even have a God, I think. And if there's a heaven, where do dead mice go?

"I dunno," argued Felix, "I used to share my house with a cat called Jesus.

"Every time he came indoors, the humans would shout: 'Jesus - he's brought another mouse in with him'."

Just heard that cats were worshipped in Ancient Egypt because they brought 'fertility to the fields of suppliant farmers'.

I've just brought a little fertility to our rose bush. And the humans better be a little more suppliant than last time.

See you here on Sunday afternoon with my main blog of the week!

I'm often asked, are cats better than humans.

I think we are, for the following reasons:

* Cats never 'miss' the litter tray.

* You can de-claw a cat, but try getting a man to trim his toenails.

* You never have to spend time with your cat's mother.

* You've got a lot more of a chance of taming a cat.

Last night the human lodgers placed a Wolverhampton Wanderers hat on my head, a rosette round my neck and took pictures of me.

One of those pictures is now the first thing that greets anyone using their computer.

This kind of humiliation is too much and clearly a matter for the RSPCA - and not just because I'm a Villa fan.

I only hope a few of my fleas found the scarf they draped round me a suitable habitat.

If so, there could be quite a few unwanted visitors at Molineux - and I'm not talking about the away supporters.

It could have been worse.

Many, many years ago, according to the human lodgers, someone took a live piglet onto the terraces, which proves the pies were just as ropy in those distant times.

The football fever that has gripped my house has become annoying. It's dangerous, too.

After a recent game against Birmingham, Mike said he wanted to kick the cat. As I was the only moggie about, I naturally feared the worst.

It was just bravado, though, and he kicked the fridge, instead. That's a wise move - fridges are harder, but they don't scratch - or cough-up ice cubes.

I don't even understand football. They chase after a ball and when they catch it, they don't bite the thing. You'd think they would at least bury it.

That would really show us how good Ronaldo is: it's one thing kicking a ball, quite another to sniff it out first.

Why Sky haven't pumped millions of pounds into mouse-chasing is beyond me.

Now that's a REAL sport - and rodents can't stray offside, even if there lives depend on it, which they often do.

Round these parts, I'm known as the Wayne Rooney of the mouse-stalking world: skilled, a deadly finisher, but bad tempered, with a tendency to spit.

However, when it comes to stalking rodents, I think I'm more like the former German legend...Rudi Vole-r.

There's a real concern that in ten years 70 per cent of the cat population will be obese.

We've been brainwashed into bad diets by 'unhelpful' role-models, apparently.

I blame that Garfield. You didn't see fat felines in Top Cat's day.

There's nothing wrong with being a fat cat.

Click to the next page to find out why!

Humans mean well, but sometimes need to be disciplined.

The old 'scratching furniture' routine used to be popular, but too often led to humans punishing us.

Therefore I've devised ways of getting back at people:

* Stare impassively at your human during a romantic interlude.

* Stand over an expensive electrical item and feign a furball attack. If you can actually cough-up a furball, all the better.

* Use the litter tray during an important dinner engagement.

* Wait until they've finished watching a horror film, then stroll to the stairwell and start hissing and spitting. Does the trick every time.

It's important to remember that a cat should never try to own its human.

It's best to lease one with options.

I drank five bowls of water yesterday. Apparently, it's a new lap record.

The embarrassment of it...

I've got fleas, which has sent the human lodgers into a state of shock. They're bloodsuckers who sap your energy and the tiny insects in my fur aren't much better.

The Lockleys are disgusted. So am I. I'm sure I got the parasites from them.
If it's not them, I reckon it's the posh Persian up the road. Apparently, the fleas are attracted to clean fur, which is why I'm gobsmacked they've taken residence on me.