Toffee Gets A Nail Trim - Nearly

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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