You want obedience? Buy a dog....

Each night, the humans step outside and frantically call my name.

I hear them, but don't budge. That's because I'm a cat. If they wanted a pet that obeys commands, they should have bought a dog.

Egyptians used to worship us. Heaven knows how they got a cat to sit through an entire church service.

I usually wait until the male with the big belly curses and slams the patio door, clock the bedroom light going on, then scratch frantically to be let in.

This is almost as much fun as rubbing your legs against someone who's allergic to you.

It may sound a bit kittenish, but boredom is a real killer for cats. And for middle-aged moggies like me, there's very little to do.

Last time my owners flung a tennis ball in my direction, I just looked, thought 'I don't remember coughing-up that strange fur-ball' and skulked outside.

When you're young, little things like a tie or even your own reflection in the mirror can keep you fascinated for hours.

Half-way through your nine lives it gets a bit boring. Even the fluffy toy mice lose their appeal. For a while I thought they were real, but, then, for a while I thought I'd actually catch my own tail.

I find myself asking: "Is this it? Eighteen hours sleep a day, the occasional brush with rodents and an endless cycle of washing?"

There are those who like nothing better than curling up on the sofa with an episode of EastEnders. Our forefathers didn't hunt game in Africa so we could be stupified by soaps - that's the way I look at it.

My mate, a really hard individual called Mittens, reckons the best way to beat boredom is to hunt really dangerous prey. Something a bit bigger than the usual fodder of mice and sparrows.

I took his advice. "So why so down in the mouth?" he asked.

Because this week I've mostly been dining on duck.