Keogh the cat : beware of bath time

First visit home for three days. That's because there's just so much to kill out there.

Arrived through the French windows in something of a dishevelled state, admittedly: you can't be dapper and root through undergrowth for mice at the same time.

Got less than a warm welcome, probably because I had a live rodent in my mouth at the time. There were shrieks and pleas to rescue thing.

It ended in an undignified melee in the downstairs toilet, with the mouse wedged one side of the pipes and me the other.

After striking his head against the wall three times and treading on my tail, for which he paid a heavy price, Mike finally trapped the terrified animal in one of his trainers.

Sadly, my intended prey was dead when they shook him out of the shoe and onto the rockery.

My way is a lot more humane. Death by a smelly trainer has got to be slow and agonising.

After that drama, the human lodgers discussed something that chilled me to the bone.

They said I smelled, which I do. So would anybody who washed themselves with their own tongue and answered the call of nature in the garden.

They want to bath me, which is terrifying.

Last time it took two days to remove me from the taps - and you wouldn't believe the mess I made of those plugs.

Once they mentioned 'plug' I got into a real hissy-fit: water and electricity are a lethal combination.

If God had intended cats to bath, he wouldn't have given us a tongue that reaches everywhere.

What I hate about baths is those awful rings you get round the tub.

I've got a great way of stopping that happening - make square tubs.