Friday, 24 May 2019

Toffee Comes Clean


An actual picture of the old woman. True.

The old man and the old woman have a new vacuum cleaner.  It’s a state-of-the-art bagless upright with a quiet motor. The last one made enough noise to wake the dead and invariably sent me running out into the garden as if pursued by the hounds of hell.

It was a monstrous machine so, obviously, I treated it as a monster. And attacked it. It fell open and I leapt on its internal organs. Did you know that monsters’ stomachs are full of dust and fluff? It went everywhere, all over the sitting-room floor, covering the furniture, books, ornaments and me. I sneezed so much I threw up.

While trying to escape the monster’s clutches I pulled the lead and the monster flew across the room and ended up wedged under the sofa.


Not all cats hate vacuum cleaners

The old man and woman took one look at the chaos, laughed at me covered in fluff (they often laugh inappropriately at my predicaments) and decided Monstrous Machine had had its day.

The old woman tried out the new machine. It glided effortlessly across the room, picking up everything in its path. Until… Stop! Stop! That’s my toy! Give it back, you monster!

The old woman switched off the machine, pulled Fluffy Bum from its jaws and threw it my direction.

‘You’re going to have to be careful about where you leave your toys from now on,’ she says.

Really...? I fear new vacuum cleaner’s days are numbered.

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Tuesday, 14 May 2019

Toffee's Tips For Emotional Blackmail


Emotional blackmail is a vital skill in my feline armoury. Thanks to my ability to look cute, sad, angry or disappointed on demand, I can pretty much get my own way about everything. Here is a little lesson for other cats who haven't yet quite mastered the art.

Some vital tips:

One: You may fancy a brief tickling of the tummy but the hooman is very busy, dashing about doing what hoomans do (lots of dashing, not much achieved). You must throw yourselves in front of their feet - not too close, you don't want them to step on you - and roll quickly onto your back. Above we have a picture of the supine position. Cats who adopt this pose look vulnerable and appealing. What the human reads from the pose is, "Look at me, I trust you so much that I am baring my stomach to you. Is it too much to ask for a rub in exchange for my undying love?" Of course, rub me for a nano second too long and I will sink my teeth into your hand and my claws into your arm.



Two: Then there is the big-eyed "I'm so sad you're not paying me any attention" look. The hoomans may be very busy. They could be running about trying to remedy that "house hit by an earthquake" appearance before the in-laws visit or they may be hard at work trying to complete some report as a deadline rushes to meet them. Whatever is going on in their lives, all you have to do is reach out a paw to give them a stroke, tilt head slightly sideways and look at them with a pair of giant pleading eyes, and they will immediately stop what they're doing and give you whatever you want.



Three: You may have eaten a bowl of food a short while ago, but after an exhausting hour of bird-watching, chasing some idiot interloper cat from the garden and batting a ball of paper across the floor, you are now STARVING. You go and sit by the bowl as they sit at the kitchen table. One of them may say: "She can't be hungry; she had two sachets of meaty chunks and a handful of crispy crunchies at 10 o'clock," and the other may say, "And I gave her a handful of Dreamies and some prawns at 10.30." So you have to employ some emotional blackmail. Jump up on the chair, rest your chin on the table and start to drool. Works every time. You may have noticed that picture is not of me. I didn't have one with my chin on the table as the old man and old woman are always too busy getting my food to take a photograph.


Four: Finally, sometimes despite all your best efforts your hooman will behave badly. They may have had a bad day at work and will pay you very little attention or, conversely, they may be in a very jolly mood, laughing at your antics rather than responding to them. Now is the time to be strict. I advise getting onto their level and fixing them with your most accusing stare to show how disappointed you are with their behaviour. I call it the "this hurts me more than it hurts you" look.

So, my feline friends, that's how it's done. You're welcome.

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Tuesday, 7 May 2019

Toffee Tests The Tea




The old man brought a nice cup of tea into the sitting-room and settled down to watch something ‘exciting’ on the tellybox. 

His idea of ‘exciting’ means programmes about building ‘megastructures’, watching men drive trucks on ice or people selling things they found in a lock-up storage facility.

Yawn.

He was so engrossed in the tellybox he neglected his cup of tea. As you know, British hoomans are very fussy about their tea. And, you know me, I always strive to be as helpful as possible so I put my paw into it to test the temperature.


I swished my paw about a bit, licked it off (I can report tea is vile) and put it back in to make sure the beverage was still pleasantly warm. The old man spotted what I was doing. Was he grateful? He was not.

‘For goodness sake, Toffee. That is DISGUSTING!’ he yelled and marched out to the kitchen to throw it away.

There's no pleasing some people.


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Saturday, 4 May 2019

Toffee Has Instincts




READING my posts you may have thought I don't much care for the old man and the old woman. You couldn't be further from the truth. They are my family so I have to tease and torment them; it's compulsory. Deep down, I would throw myself at a rabid Rottweiler to save them. It's instinct.

Instinct explains a lot of  feline behaviour. The whole cat/human thing began thousands of years ago. Humans looked after us in return for us killing the rats and mice that attacked their stores of grain. Gradually, we cats managed to domesticate the human. Domestication of humans was largely a success but because of the cat's instinct for hunting and killing, our points of view sometimes differ.

Cats need to be on high alert at all times in case some prey comes scuttling into view. We need to be ready for the fray. We need to keep our claws honed. They must be as sharp as a fishmonger's filleting knife, so we sharpen where we can - the furniture, the stairs, doors and on the human head. Not all of these - in fact none of them - seem to be acceptable for some reason. Humans provide us with objects called "scratching posts". These are handy if they are right beside you when you get the urge to hone, but cats are not going to walk any distance to find one, "any distance" being further than six inches.

We also have the instinct to communicate. Humans are not clever enough to learn cat language. Unfortunately, evolution has not arranged it so cats have moveable mouth parts and a suitable larynx to talk to humans so we have found other ways to let humans know what we want. Some of these ways, I concede, humans can find annoying but what's a cat to do? The methods include persistent meowing, weaving in and out of human legs (look, it's not our fault you only have two and are not as stable as we quadrupeds), throwing up and pressing our heads into your faces.

Then there is the language of the eyes.  In our repertoire we have big pleading eyes, narrowed slits of anger, sleepy eyes and "eye" want something and I want it NOW!

It pains me to touch on this next instinct - but it is the instinct to reproduce. Why does this pain me? BECAUSE I HAVE HAD THE OPERATION. Humans firmly believe it is necessary not to have millions of cats reproducing with the all the attendant problems of over-population.  I can see their point, I suppose. On the face of it lots more little Toffees with their inevitable devastating charm and beauty sounds appealing but too many cats can lead to serious problems. Anyway, I don't think I can stand the competition.

All this writing has made me exhausted so I am now off to indulge my instinct to sleep.

Night night.



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Tuesday, 30 April 2019

Toffee Not Falling But Flying





I never make a mistake. Ever.

You may see me climb to the top of the bookcase and then, apparently, miss my footing and plummet to the floor. I have, however, done this completely on purpose. I am in training for the Purrlympics. Never heard of them? Well, we cats don't like to brag about our athletic expertise so we hold our events in secret. I am the world champion in the Three Metre Drop and aim to keep my title this year.

My head is apparently stuck in a cardboard box. No, it is not. I can remove the box whenever I like. I am just in here checking there are no insects stuck in the corners. It might take me some time. Yes, I'm still looking. I know it's been ten minutes but I am nothing if not thorough. If you want to, you can take the box off me. I will humour you and allow you to do that. Like, now? NOW!



My friend here did not fall into a swimming pool, she went for a swim.

You laugh when I apparently chase my own tail in the mistaken belief it belongs to someone else. But what I am actually doing is testing Dizziness Resistance. I must make sure that after four or five head-spinning turns I can still stand up. I am doing this for YOU, old man and old woman. What if I spotted a mouse inside a-a-a spinning thing, how could I rescue you from the little monster if I were  having a dizzy spell? 

So you see, everything I do is done for a purrpose (purrpose, see what I did there?).

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Wednesday, 24 April 2019

Toffee Isn't Snoring



The old woman reckons she has caught me snoring in this video. She is wrong. I AM NOT SNORING.

What I am doing, as she would know if she had half a brain, is emitting periodic low growls to keep zombies away. So... that's all the thanks I get for preventing her from having her brains sucked out. If I wasn't vigilant she would literally have only half a brain ... or none at all.

Here are some of the zombies I have scared away.



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Wednesday, 17 April 2019

Toffee Goes Birdwatching



The old man and the old woman were up before me and slid my chicken chunks into my bowl as soon as I meowed expectantly at them. I'll train them yet.

It was then a quick trip out through the catflap for my morning constitutional before taking up position at the base of the bird table.

Three dopey bluetits came a-visiting. I launched myself up the bird table pole more in hope than expectation and they flapped away in dishevelled terror. Ha, ha, ha.

I then got on top of the bird table and, like magic, all the birds disappeared. I have NO IDEA why they flew off. They probably couldn't cope with my level of beauty. Yes, that must be it.

I hopped down and strolled around spraying on the bushes to reiterate that this garden in MINE. But, do you know, that twat from next door still came strolling around the garden shed. It's some kind of Persian-cross thing that thinks that its drop of pedigree blood makes it superior. Idiot. It's called Rajah. I rest my case.

I launched myself at him and he hot-footed it pretty damn quick. And as he was aiming for the gap in the hedge, a starling did a huge poop on his head. He looked up to see who was dive-bombing him and fell over a branch. I laughed until I was dizzy

I can't really remember much about the rest of the day. I had a nap on clean clothes piled neatly on the spare bed, turned round and round on it, messing it up nicely, before going outside to sit in the sun.

A couple of snacks and several naps later, the old man and old woman were home from work. They do have their uses and scratching my stomach and rubbing my back are two of them.

Night, night Peeps.

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Thursday, 11 April 2019

Toffee Tidies The Office


This is not me - but this how exhausted I felt after tidying up.


Today I helped the old man with his paperwork. He had left the door to the office open with piles of papers on his desk. I went to investigate. It was obvious to someone with my analytical mind that the papers needed rearranging into some kind of logical order.

I sniffed the first pile. They smelled papery. I sniffed a second pile. They smelled papery too. As did the third, fourth and fifth pile.



They obviously needed filing together under Smells Papery. So I knocked them all to the floor, where they lay in one big heap.

You’re welcome.


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Wednesday, 3 April 2019

Toffee's On TV



The old man was stomping around the loft yesterday, looking for some woodworking tool he'd carefully stowed away (i.e. slung up there and immediately lost). He stumbled across one of those old-style TV sets which he brought down to take off to the rubbish dump.

STOP, old man!

You must make this with it. NOW. After all, I am a STAR and deserve to be on the tellybox daily.


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Monday, 25 March 2019

Toffee Says Goodnight

Image and video hosting by HilariousGIFs.com



Bedtime

The old man and old owman have this strange idea that the bed belongs to them. Wrong. The bed belongs to me. I allow them to sleep there because I am a magnanimous moggie, full of the milk of feline kindness. But I do like to have plenty of R00000000M. Some mornings as I stretch across the bed to my full length I can hear them muttering as they perch precariously on the edge.

"How does she do it?"

"How can something so little take up so much room?"

"Can we swap her for a gerbil?"

I can hear you asking why they don't just shut me out of the bedroom. They have tried but the scratches on the door do not sit well with their idea of interior design...apparently. And I have perfected this "poor pussycat being strangled" meow which is enough to wake the dead, let alone two moderately light sleepers.

So I stake my claim every night. I don't always take up all the bed, sometimes I save space by sitting on the old man's head or the old woman's chest. Below,  a friend demonstrates the sleeping on the head manoeuvre. Often, I don't even sleep on the bed at all. I run about the room instead, playing with anything I can and jumping up and down off the furniture. That doesn't make them happy either, for some reason. There's no pleasing some people.

A friend demonstrates the sleeping on
the head manoeuvre

Anyway, it's now 8am and I have had a strenuous half hour eating breakfast and performing my morning ablutions. It's all very tiring work so please excuse me while I find a convenient place for a kip. It's clean bedding day so I think I'll settle down on the bed right in the middle of the duvet.







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Monday, 18 March 2019

Toffee Finds Her Own Breakfast


Morning, Peeps. I'm feeling pretty good at the moment,having just grossed out the old man and the old woman. Ha, ha! It was their own fault. I was up bright and early and where were they? Under the duvet, snoring, the pair of them.

I wandered over to my bowl and, guess what, the darned thing was empty. Not a sniff of chicken, rabbit or whatever to be found. I stalked around a bit, thinking they'll be up any minute but, no, they stayed in bed, even after I ran all over them and meowed piteously.

So what's a girl to do?

I went into the sitting-room and found three spiders. They're ex-spiders now. They didn't taste bad. Then I found some fluff which was a bit bland and chewy. Then, result, under the sofa was a dried up bit of pork crackling left over from Sunday lunch. That went down a treat.

This is now an ex-spider.
I had a sip of water to make sure it was nicely marinated, waited a few minutes, and puked it all up in the old man's shoe.

To say he wasn't best pleased when he put on the shoe to go to work is an under-statement.
I'm now curled up on the settee, purring away, after I FINALLY got my proper breakfast.

Learn the lesson, people. LEARN THE LESSON.



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Friday, 1 March 2019

Toffee's Fishy Verse


I haven't quite got the knack of using chopsticks like this cat, but I'm working on it.
I had a bit of time on my paws today so I decided to become a poet. Here's the result:

Ode To A Salmon

'Twas nice of you to swim about
In seas and up the river
But now you’re sitting in a dish
About to be my dinner.


Brilliant, huh? I expect my work will soon be studied in schools and appearing on those Most Popular Poems lists. I'm going to write another poem soon but I am an ARTISTE so I have to wait until the Muse visits me. I have a few things running around in my head. Does anyone know a word that rhymes with pandemonium? Or vomit? Or nincompoop?

Anyway, writing about salmon has made me hungry. Off now to investigate my food bowl. Then I shall take myself off to a soft duvet where I can contemplate the universe. (UniVERSE - get it!? I frighten myself with my brilliance sometimes.)

It's been a good day so I am looking forward to salmonchanted evening. Salmonchanted evening - do you see what I did there? God, I'm good.


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Tuesday, 5 February 2019

Toffee Talks About Tattoos



The old man and the old woman are getting on a bit so have not succumbed to the fashion for tattoos – thank goodness. It would take a drawing the size of Texas to make any impression on their expanse of skin. If they wanted to get the Complete Works of Shakespeare tattooed on their behinds, there’d be plenty of room.

Personally, I don’t pay much attention. Who needs a tattoo when you are covered in spectacular ginger fur?

But the old man and the old woman have many young relatives who visit the house and lots of them have a tattoo somewhere. The old man and the old woman admire them politely but I can tell they don’t really approve.

Today, though, the old man's niece Clementine came a-calling. She rolled up her sleeve and displayed a tattoo of a ginger cat. She has taste, that girl.

‘It’s Toffee!’ said the old woman.



Clementine frowned. ‘Well, no. It’s supposed to be Garfield.’

Scrub that comment about her having taste.

The girl’s a nincompoop.



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Thursday, 24 January 2019

Toffee Adds To Her Computer Knowledge




Today I discovered that standing on the little blue-light button on the old woman's laptop turns it off.

I walked across it every time she got up from the desk - to get a cup of tea, to get a biscuit, to have a pee, to phone a friend, to answer the phone to a friend, to brush her hair, to switch on the radio… (she has the attention span of a retarded gnat).

She is now convinced it is broken and she and the the old man spent ages trying to ‘mend’ it. But, guess what, it now seems fine. Until tomorrow (evil laugh).

And here's a picture of another clever cat trying to break the password code. It didn't quite work - but it's only a matter of time...


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Saturday, 19 January 2019

Toffee's Existential Question: Is The Bowl Seven-Eighths Full or One-Eighth Empty?



Here's a question for you: if the old woman neglects to fill my bowl to the very top, is it seven-eighths full or one-eighth empty.

This question has  been occupying my brain since this morning when I heard the sound of doors being opened and sachets being ripped open. About time, I thought, breakfast!

I ran into the kitchen and slid to a halt beside my bowl.

Umph. The bowl was only seven-eighths full. The old woman was closing the cupboard door. I meowed loudly and looked at my bowl. My eyes said: ‘I’m eating nothing until you have fulfilled your obligations as a member of my staff.'

The old woman stared back. I stared at her. I looked at my bowl again. She shook her head. I sat on my haunches and looked accusingly up at her. I meowed loudly again. She continued shaking her head. I meowed louder.

Then she said: ‘Oh for goodness sake, Carlton,’ and retrieved another sachet of food.

My original thought was correct. The bowl was one-eighth empty.



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Monday, 14 January 2019

Toffee Is Not Lost In Translation


Did you hear that some IDIOT has invented a collar that can "translate" cat meows into words? Unnecessary. Is there a cat in the world that can't immediately make its views known?

I carry on long conversations with both the old man and the old woman. In  fact, sometimes when I am in the kitchen with the old woman discussing the merits of  meaty chunks in gravy versus fish pate, the old man will shout from the sitting-room, "Who are you talking to?" She replies, "Toffee!" and he doesn't bat an eyelid.

They know when I am cross with them - one glare from my amber eyes and they are suitably chastened. And they know when I chirrup I am exceedingly happy - probably because I've just seen off that twit Rajah (Oo, I'm Half Persian) from next door.

I "tell" them when I've had enough of my tummy being tickled by digging my claws into their hands - they always get the message. I can easily inform them when I want to go into a room by scratching the door - they run to open it for me.

They know when I'm hungry; I sit accusingly in front of my EMPTY bowl. They know when I'm not well - piles of vomit can speak volumes. And they can easily ascertain when I want to play because I'm either sat on top of the bookcase waiting to pounce, chewing the old man's hair from the back of the sofa or chasing a small ball around as fast as a cheetah after an antelope.

So I may not speak actual words but by sign language, gestures and body language, we communicate perfectly well.

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Monday, 10 December 2018

Toffee's Tips On Being Top Cat




The old man and the old woman have been really busy lately, attending to family matters and working full-time, so they have not lavished as much attention on me as they usually do.

When I adopted them I knew I would have to take the rough with the smooth. I could, if wanted, get up from the comfy bed, side-step the tuna chunks and exit through the cat flap to find pastures new. But I have invested so much time in training these two that I don't think I can be bothered starting from scratch with another *pet.

*slave

Anyway, when I was a young cat-about-town I disappeared for a couple of days, I came back to find posters put up all over the area saying, "Have you seen this cat?" I wouldn't have minded but the photo they used of me didn't even feature my best side. And, really, did they have to tell everybody that I had a small bald patch on my tummy? Totally humiliating. Honestly, you can't trust them to do anything right.

At least they didn't put up a poster like the one below.



When the *pets are in the house, I try not to leave them alone for too long as they are prone to  bad behaviour, like drinking too much beer and wine, watching too much TV, reading books and talking on the phone for hours to their friends and family. I have to nip this mischief in the bud by crawling all over them, demanding attention and keeping them busy with things like removing a half-chewed mouse from under the sofa.

*slaves

I also keep them busy by walking over the fresh laundry with muddy feet, hiding vital accessories like car keys and shedding hair over their furniture, clothes and pillows.

Despite all these measures, the pets still sometimes misbehave so you have to discipline them. Firm but fair, is my motto. One method is lie enticingly on the sofa with your stomach exposed, begging for a rub. Let them tickle you for a short while and then GRAB! While they are screaming, say YOU. WILL. NEVER. GIVE. ME. CHEAP. OFFAL. CHUNKS. IN. JELLY. AGAIN. Sadly, humans are not the most intelligent species on the planet and this tactic may or may not work. Frankly, I don't care, I just like doing it.

A word to my fellow felines, these are tried and trusted methods to get you back on top spot as numero uno in their life.



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Saturday, 1 December 2018

Toffee's Scientific Experiments


My friend is caught in the act - note contrite expression.

In order to increase the sum of human knowledge, I have been investigating the effects of gravity on random objects.

The results of my experiments:

Coffee mug. Will break. Effect: Liquid content will spread and stain pale rug. Secondary effect: The old woman will scream and rush to get the carpet cleaner.

Jar of jam/jelly. Will break. Effect: Floor becomes sticky. Very sticky. Secondary effect: If anyone (*looks innocent) walks through it they will leave jammy footprints all over the house.

Newspaper. Will fall apart. Effect: The old man will bundle it back together again while swearing. Quite loudly. Secondary effect: The old man will start reading an article and become very confused  because he's got the pages in the wrong order.

Glass bowls. Will break. Effect: The old woman will be upset because it was a gift from Aunt Maud. Secondary effect: The old man will do a fist pump because he's always hated it.

Pillow. Will fall and look very inviting. Too inviting. Effect: Zzzzzzzz.Secondary effect: Zzzzzzzz.

I'm thinking of changing my name to Einstein.

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Monday, 26 November 2018

Toffee's Unwanted Gift





I have found yet another thing that the old man and the old woman do not like. They dislike being awoken at 4am by a mouse running over the duvet. Strange. 

I thought it was a good present that showed my appreciation of the fresh prawns they gave me yesterday.

Seems not. There was initially much shouting and then much running about with a plastic container and a piece of cardboard. They eventually trapped the mouse under the container and slid the cardboard underneath. 

Then - you’ll find this hard to believe - they let the mouse go in the garden. There was zero attempt to play with it or leap on it.

Hoomans are so weird sometimes.

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Friday, 9 November 2018

Toffee And The Case Of The Missing Chicken




DO. NOT. TALK. TO. ME.


RAJAH. STOLE. MY. CHICKEN.


Which I had been saving for a rainy day. Today was raining.


Rajah ("ooo, I'm so grand I am part pedigree") is the stupid cat who lives next door. He looks like the picture above - not an actual picture of him, but you get my drift.


I have my revenge planned. I'm going to lure him into the garden by dressing like this. 



Scary, huh?
Then I will...


ATTACK...


and peck him into submission. That'll teach him to tangle with Toffee. Little twerp.

For those of who who like Siamese cats, here's a mug (just like Rajah - 'cos he's a mug, geddit?!): USA mug HERE. UK mug HERE.



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Friday, 2 November 2018

Toffee And The Five-Second Rule







The old man dropped half a sausage roll on the floor, swooped down, picked it up and ate it. I didn't see anything wrong with that but the old woman went ballistic.

"That's disgusting!" she screamed. "What about all those germs! You'll make yourself ill!" On and on she ranted while the old man calmly carried on eating.

Then she said: "Yuk! Toffee's been walking over that floor."

My ears pricked up. Yuk? What do you mean, 'yuk'? I'll have you know I spent ten minutes this morning cleaning my paws. You could eat off my paws. My paws are cleaner than a sterilised piccalilli pickle jar.

The old man smiled. Wiped his hands down the side of his trousers and said: "Don't worry. I kept to the five second rule."

"Which is….?" she asked.

"If you drop something on the floor and pick it up within five seconds it's safe to eat. No bacteria. None. Zilch."

"That is patently ridiculous," the old woman replied. "If you get botulism and die a horrible death, rolling around in agony, it'll be your own fault." With that she filled a bucket with water and what looked like a gallon of disinfectant and got the mop.

"Horse. Bolted." said the old man, a comment which only made the old woman go redder and start scrubbing the floor as if she were expecting a visit from half a dozen crawling fragile babies.

The old man booted up the computer and found the flow chart at the top. He showed it to the old woman. She was not impressed. My paws, clean as they are, are now over my ears.


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Thursday, 25 October 2018

Toffee Branches Out




What can I say? I like to climb trees.  I have a good vantage point of the surrounding area. I can see the undergrowth shaking if there is a little creature scuttling in it. I can sharpen my claws on the trunk. I can look starlings in the eye and laugh at their frightened screeches as they fly away'

I am a tree-mendous climber. Unfortunately, I am not always a brilliant getting-downer.

So it was that yesterday I was surveying my kingdom from the top of a magnificent oak tree. I had soothed an itch by rubbing my back on the rough bark. I had honed my claws to perfection. I had frightened four starlings, three sparrows, a blackbird and a cluster of bluetits. All in all a good hour's work.


I began to get sleepy and knew I mustn't drop off on the branch or I would, well - drop off.


I stepped onto the branch below - so far so good - and then onto the one below that. That's when the trouble started. I heard a long crack followed by a short sharp one and the whole branch sheared away. Oh Lord. I don't mind admitting I was a tad concerned. The next available stepping place seemed an awfully long way away.


I meowed. Nothing.


What were the old man and the old woman doing? Why weren't they concerned about the whereabouts of their most treasured possession? ME!


Long story short. They EVENTUALLY  realised I was missing. The old man got a ladder out of the shed and just as he gingerly reached the top of it I had the brilliant idea of stepping sideways and then down and I nimbly shimmied swiftly to the ground.


Honestly! What language - tut, tut, tut! The old woman made a big fuss of me and I could see she was trying not to laugh at the old man. He put the ladder away and stalked indoors. Discretion being the better part of valour, I took myself off to the spare bedroom to sleep off the trials of my day.


I think the old man has forgiven me now.



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