Monday, 18 March 2019

Toffee Finds Her Own Breakfast


Morning, Peeps. I'm feeling pretty good at the moment,having just grossed out the the Mr and Mrs. 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 Mr'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 Mr and Mrs 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 Mr and Mrs have many young relatives who visit the house and lots of them have a tattoo somewhere. The Mr and Mrs admire them politely but I can tell they don’t really approve.
Today, though, the Mr’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 Mrs.



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 Mrs’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 Mr 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 Mrs neglects to fill my bowl to the very top, is it seven-eights 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 Mrs 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 Mrs 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 Mr and Mrs. In  fact, sometimes when I am in the kitchen with the Mrs discussing the merits of  meaty chunks in gravy versus fish pate, the Mr 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 Mr'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 Mr and Mrs 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 Mrs 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 Mr will bundle it back together again while swearing. Quite loudly. Secondary effect: The Mr 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 Mrs will be upset because it was a gift from Aunt Maud. Secondary effect: Mr 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 Mr and Mrs 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.

Humans 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 Mr 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 Mrs went ballistic.

"That's disgusting!" she screamed. "What about all those germs! You'll make yourself ill!" On and on she ranted while the Mr 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 Mr 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 Mrs 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 Mr, a comment which only made the Mrs go redder and start scrubbing the floor as if she were expecting a visit from half a dozen crawling fragile babies.

The Mr booted up the computer and found the flow chart at the top. He showed it to the Mrs. 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 Mr and Mrs 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 Mr 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 Mrs made a big fuss of me and I could see she was trying not to laugh at the Mr. 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 Mr has forgiven me now.



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