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Keogh the cat : I've been accused of murder

By Keogh The Cat on Jul 17, 09 02:19 PM

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When the human lodgers used to go on holiday they left the key with an old lady who came round each morning and night and fed me.

This was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

I got two meals a day, she got a companion who wasn't the slightest bit bothered by her facial hair or the fact she'd forget their name every five minutes.

This year the old lady died.

At the inquest, her son tried to link her passing with the fact I bit her leg. I think he was trying it on: probably insured his mom against death by cat bites.

If he's looking for a victim, he should look in my direction - it was my tail the pensioner trod on. If she hadn't been wearing slippers I would've ended up with a rear like a beaver.

Because the old dear has died - and everyone else in the village is too scared to come within hissing distance of me - the human lodgers have been forced to take radical action.

They want to put me in a cattery.

No way! I know how catty a bunch of cats can be in a cattery. Those places are for pussies.

"I ain't going back in the slammer," I miaowed to the humans. It'll bring back all those painful memories of when I was a kitten.

Days spent staring at four bare walls, no furniture, newspapers strewn on the floor. And it was like that until they finished decorating our living room.

The place the humans have selected on the internet looks like a cattery, but has the grand title of a 'cat hotel'.

Know what happens when a cat strolls into the dining area of a hotel? It gets a boot up the backside. Cough a fur-ball up in the foyer and there's hell to pay.

And what do I want with a hotel? I'm not going to ring room service and ask them to send a mouse up

"Could I have a wake-up call?"

"What time, madam?"

"Every five minutes, please."

It's not going to work.

They won't let me stay at home because the neighbour has complained about me using his allotment as a toilet. That chap's got a lot bigger things to worry about.

He should see what a horse has gone and done on his rhubarb.

"Look," said the female human, "Keogh's rubbing against my leg. She's saying: 'Don't go away'."

Got the wrong end of the stick there, lady. I'm saying: "Remember what happened to the old lady? Pack my bags and you're next."


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