Keogh the cat: a cat isn't just for Christmas

Come on, we can't be that cute if we need worming tablets. Cute things don't kill rodents, either.

I was lucky. My owners were too scared to pick me up, bundle me in a car and let me loose miles away.

That armchair wasn't big enough for the both of us, so they got another armchair. If I didn't have four legs I'd wear the trousers round here.

Only two things are just for Christmas - turkeys and figs, which is a good job: turkeys are too big to catch and I don't give a fig about figs.

Yet by the end of January, there'll be a lot of unwanted Christmas gifts sniffing round the bins in our neighbourhood.

Take my mate, Ginger.

He was abandoned in a cardboard box at Christmas: took him ages to untie the bow around the box.

Luckily, a cat rescue took him in and found an owner.

Now he's happy as Larry living on our block, but has a real Yuletide phobia. Just mention Christmas and his bells start to jingle.

Ginger made the mistake of walking into the front room while they were putting up the decorations. He took one look at the tinsel lying about and shrieked: "I don't remember coughing that up. Must've swallowed a goldfish."

I feel sorry for the cows at Christmas - they have to stay out in the bad weather. Mind you, they don't seem to mind - must be Eskimoos.

With the season fast approaching, I've made my own Yuletide verse:

Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house
not a creature was stirring,
not even a mouse
errr, that's because I bit its head off.