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.

*     *     *     *     *     *    *
Well, I've finally done it. I have written my no-holds-barred exposé of my life. Prepare to be AMAZED, prepare to be SHOCKED, prepare to be ENTHRALLED blah, blah, blah. Left is the paperback, right is the Kindle version.


            


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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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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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