Tuesday, 16 July 2019

Toffee Gets A Nail Trim - Nearly



via GIPHY


THERE I was lying on the sofa, minding my own business, when I spotted the old man and the old woman advancing towards me, he carrying a towel and she with her hands behind her back.

Suddenly they were upon me, the old man wrapped me in the towel and the old woman produced…oh no, NAIL TRIMMERS! The old man grasped my paw and held it out to the old woman. She pounced and - clip! - the top of one nail gone. I was so shocked I did nothing. I just lay in the old man's arms and let the old woman clip my nails one by one. They finished one paw.

“Toffee’s being very good,” said the old man.

This comment brought me to my senses. Toffee/Good - these two words do NOT go together. My acquiescence must have lulled them into a false sense of security so I suddenly yowled, wriggled free of the towel and scrabbled out of the old man's arms, catching him and the old woman with what remained of my claws.

My one good paw.

I am now back on the sofa with 9 of my 18 claws vandalised beyond all recognition. I yawned and used one of my untouched claws to scratch behind my ears. I gave a secret smile as I looked at the old man and old woman sitting stony-faced on either end of the sofa with plasters on their hands.

Serves them right.


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Tuesday, 9 July 2019

Toffee For Purrime Minister




TOFFEE FOR PURRIME MINISTER. VOTE FOR TOFFEE. TOFFEE IS PURRFECT. TOFFEE IS THE BESTEST CANDIDATE.

Here in the UK we we are having a leadership contest for the Conservative Party and the winner will become Prime Minister. I've decided to stand for election. 

Apart from me there are only two candidates, someone called Boris who looks like a demented tom cat who really ought to be neutered and someone called Jeremy who looks like the cat who got the cream.

I'm not sure cats are allowed to become Prime Minister but we felines could do no worse than the current crop of politicians who populate our parliament. Most of them don't know their arse from their elbow - or so I gather from the way the old man has been shouting at the tellybox.

I have formulated a manifesto and here's a brief resume:
  • An unlimited supply of cardboard boxes.
  • All furniture to be designated as scratching posts.
  • Free run of the house for sleeping spots - including on people's heads, on their laptops, in the middle of the bed while people are in it, on the top of the expensive ornaments on the top shelf or on clean clothes in the laundry basket. 
  • Feeding on demand of fresh meat, fish and/or prawns with several treats thrown in at regular intervals.
  • Compulsory stroking by humans for at least two hours a day.
  • All dogs to be banished to a black hole in the universe from whence they will never return.
  • The official reinstatement of the god-like status we enjoyed in ancient Egypt
I was considering adding 'Home Rule for cats' - but we already have that.

So, don't forget, peeps. TOFFEE FOR PURRIME MINISTER.



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Wednesday, 3 July 2019

Toffee The Logical Cat



I AM offended. There I was ignoring my new cat toy and sitting in the cardboard box it came in and the old man said: "That cat is just not logical!" and laughed. The old woman replied: "You can say that again!" But he didn't say anything again - but neither of them cared. And they call me illogical.

That's the trouble with you humans, you just don't understand feline logic so I have found a few pictures for you that demonstrate our point of view.















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Friday, 28 June 2019

Toffee Executes Plan B



This picture is not me - I'm far more beautiful - but you get the message.

Hello, Peeps.

You catch me in an unusually good mood. It's only 7.30am and I have already grossed out the old man and the old woman. Cue evil laugh.

It was their own fault. I was up bright and early and where were they? Under the duvet, snoring, the pair of them. Not even my cold wet nose pressed against their faces managed to wake them. My plaintive meow had no effect, neither did walking all over them. Then when I found my food bowl was empty I had no choice but to put Plan B into action.

I went into the sitting-room and found three spiders. They're ex-spiders now. In fact, so ex are they that they ended up in my stomach. I found some fluff and swallowed that as well. Then, result, under the sofa was that dried up bit of pork I had been saving for a rainy day and forgotten about. That rainy day had arrived - it went down a treat.

I had a couple of gulps of water to make sure all the ingredients were nicely marinated, waited a few minutes, and puked half of it up in the old man's shoe and half in old woman's.

They overslept and were later running about like blue-arsed flies trying to get to work on time.

To say they weren't best pleased when they thrust their feet into their shoes was an under-statement. I didn't know they knew such language. The air turned blue and my ears turned red.

At least they weren't too rushed to forget to feed me. I'm now curled up on the settee, purring away, after I finally got my breakfast. Have a good day, Peeps.

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This is currently my favourite toy, a cat nip spider. Love it! Get it here:

 

Tuesday, 18 June 2019

Toffee The Stress Buster


The old woman was complaining to the old man that she was worn out.

"I've been working full time in addition to all my freelance obligations. And I've had housework and gardening to do. I'm tired out and stressed. I'm an old woman now. Blah, blah, blah."

I made up the quote about her being an old woman but she does moan a lot about going into rooms and forgetting what she went in there for. Mercifully, she hasn't yet forgotten my name or to feed me and stroke me. When she does... well, I shall have to take the appropriate action. Not sure what, but I'll think of something.

In any case, I hadn't noticed the garden progressing beyond the stage of slightly tamed jungle and the other day  my cat nip toy was not in its box but with all the dust bunnies under the sofa, so I'm not sure how much housework is being done.

Anyway, the old man made suitably sympathetic noises and promised to help her all he could.

So what kind of a week have you had? Mine has been uneventful - the usual round of sleeping, eating, sleeping, eating, brief burst of energy chasing things, sleeping, eating, sleeping, eating.

There was one thing that made me sit up and take notice, though. The old man and the old woman were discussing this:




I was briefly worried. Surely they wouldn't consider trading me in for a younger model, would they? But then they both cuddled me and said: "You're our little stress-buster, aren't you, Toffee?" so I think I've dodged a bullet there. In any case, the old woman would walk into a room with the intention of petting a kitten but then forget what she'd gone in there for. So I think I'm safe. For now.


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Tuesday, 4 June 2019

Toffee Shares Her Wisdom About Doors




GOOD morning, kittens. Today I am going to teach you how to behave around doors.

You are young and at your stage of life probably think you have to wait patiently until your hooman opens a door. So one of the first skills you need to learn is how to get your pet hooman to open the door on command.

After all, you don't want to lose your dignity like the young chap below, do you?

 

Often all that is required is sitting in front of the door and meowing in your most annoying tone of voice. The times I've heard the words, "For goodness sake, Toffee, go outside if you're going to make that racket," before the door is flung open. 

Sometimes your pet hooman is on the opposite side of the door in a room you want to enter. The "annoying meow" tactic may work here too. Sometimes, though, they pretend they can't hear you. In which case you have to proceed to Stage Two. Start scratching the door. For some reason pet hoomans hate this and will rush to open the door before you have done more than make a few marks on it.


Other useful tactics include jumping up at the door handle, rubbing your hind feet on the floor as if you need a "comfort break" and sitting an inch from the door and glaring at it.

If the worst comes to the worst and your pet hoomans are so terminally stupid they don't understand what you want, you can always open the door yourself. This is tricky and will require practice but it's not impossible.


Now pay attention, class. This last module is the most important part of my lesson plan.

If your pet hooman has gone to a lot of trouble to open the door for you - maybe they were in the middle of a phone call, busy doing chores or engrossed in a TV show - it is imperative that as soon as the door is open you turn around and go back into the room.  You can, if you wish, stand or sit in the open doorway and stare out for quite considerable time while they wait (usually impatiently). However, the end result is the same. You end up back where you started from.


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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

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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, Toffee,’ 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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