Keogh the cat : Wolves, Blues and Villa - it's a cat-alogue of confusion

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.