M is For Mistakes

Mistakes? I never make one. My old man and old woman may THINK I have made a mistake but they are wrong.

They 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!

I apparently swallowed a bee by accident. Silly, silly you. Haven't you heard that bee venom cures arthritis? I know my face has blown up like a balloon but that's a small price to pay for not having this debilitating illness. I am aware I don't actually have arthritis  but this is merely proof that my preventative measure is working.

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, for example, 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 I am a totally mistake-free zone.

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Singing The Song Of My People

After a busy day the old man and the old woman opted for an early night. I crept in about half an hour later and they were both fast asleep. I thought I’d give them sweet dreams so I settled down between them and started to sing a lullaby. Were they grateful? No, they were not.

They awoke. ‘For goodness sake, Toffee,’ the old man said sleepily. ‘Why all the racket?’

The old woman sat bolt upright and switched on the light. ‘Whassup?’ she shouted, like some bad-tempered teenager teleported from the 1980s.

‘It’s only Toffee,’ said the old man. ‘She’s having a funny five minutes.’ He began to stroke me and said, ‘Settle down, girl. Time to sleep.’

The old woman switched out the light and sighed deeply.

‘That cat is absolutely nuts,’ she said.

Charming.

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J is for Jail

I may occasionally sound slightly grumpy but I do appreciate my staff.

The Help (a.k.a. the old man and the old woman) do their very best for me despite their limitations. I expect good service and on the whole I get it. In return, they are well paid with guard duties (I always let them know vociferously when there is an interloper in the garden) and entertainment. They are always laughing at me and will often say: "Here comes Toffee's funny five minutes," demonstrating how much they appreciate my comedy routine.

However, yesterday they let me down but, even worse, they let themselves down.

As you may have noticed, Spring is springing so the old man and the old woman have been out in the garden. They have started tilling so many vegetable seeds that you might suspect there is a famine just around the corner and they want to be prepared. I haven't seen the catnip going in yet but no doubt it's just an oversight which will be remedied shortly.

I curled up on a bag of compost, peering out of the shed door to keep an eye on them. They always need me to supervise. It was a sunny day and as I was catching a few rays I thought I would "rest my eyes" for a while. The next thing I knew, that shed door was banged shut and I was TRAPPED.

I must have been there for HOURS AND HOURS, although I later heard the old woman say: "I don't know why she's making so much fuss, she was only in there  20 minutes." I think it was a slip of the tongue and she meant "hours", or possibly days.

Anyway, I yowled and scratched and then jumped up on the bench and pressed my face to the window to see if I could attract anyone's attention.

When they FINALLY let me out, I stalked off in a right old strop. This made them laugh. They're so stupid they can't even tell the difference between a justifiable sulk and one of my comedy routines.

I took myself off to the guest bedroom where I stayed for the rest of the day, punishing them by not allowing them my company. I saw later that they had tried to drown their sorrows by drinking lots of red wine and beer.

They are obviously contrite so I have forgiven them but they should know they are ON A WARNING and should anything similar happen again I might not be so forgiving.

My blog That's Purrfect is also in the A to Z Challenge. Read it here www.thatspurrfect.co.uk

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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. Left is the paperback, right is the Kindle version.

            

I is for Injection

Picture is not me, it's some other poor cat at the vet

I had to have an injection at the vet for a personal problem that need not concern you. Suffice to say, all is fine.

Now the old man and old woman are spoiling me. Grateful though I am for their concern at my indignity at the hands of Mad Needle Man, I thought I could still make capital out of the situation.

I’m actually feeling pretty well but I have finally perfected the ‘I’m feeling really poorly’ look and I thought today was a good time to try it out.

I dragged myself up onto the sofa and then lay there with my eyes open.

The old man picked me up and I flopped in his arms.

‘Do you think she’s all right?’ he asked.

The old woman looked worried.

‘I hope she’s not allergic to the jabs,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if she’ll eat.’

She brought in a handful of fresh prawns. I ate them in 10 seconds flat and meowed for more. She eyed me suspiciously.

‘Mmm, she seems to be bearing up remarkably well,’ she said.

'Yes, a remarkable appetite for a cat lying at death's door,' said the old man.

Has anyone ever told them sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?

My blog That's Purrfect is also in the A to Z Challenge. Read it here www.thatspurrfect.co.uk

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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. Left is the paperback, right is the Kindle version.

            

➨You can follow me on Facebook,  talk to me on Twitter, and idolise me on Instagram.

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G is for Grounded

It is more in sadness than in anger that I have to report that I sometimes have to GROUND the old man and old woman. The last time was a few weeks ago when I was forced to ground them for a month after their disgraceful behaviour at a party.

They completely ignored the curfew I set them and rolled in past midnight. They also ignored my rules about no laughing and no loud voices after dark.

They TOTALLY ignored my VERY STRICT rule about extra prawn rations if they are up late. I also blame the two hoomans who threw the party so I grounded them too. Oh, and EVERYONE who went to that party were GROUNDED.

My blog That's Purrfect is also in the A to Z Challenge. Read it here www.thatspurrfect.co.uk

*     *     *     *     *     *    *

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. Left is the paperback, right is the Kindle version.

            

➨You can follow me on Facebook,  talk to me on Twitter, and idolise me on Instagram.

Food Glorious Food

I expect my high standards from my hoomans especially when it comes to food. They provide me with a decent enough diet - there's no supermarket own brand gloop, they share morsels from their own plates and I get the occasional treat.

It's true I aspire to those little tin foil trays that you see the posh boy cats eating from on the tellybox - I mean, the other day I saw an advert for cat food terrine. Terrine! I'm not sure what terrine is but even so TERRINE! I get tin foil trays occasionally as a special treat or on my birthday. But my favourite food is prawns, although I only get a few at a time.

Here follows a prawn lesson. Pay attention, I will be asking questions later.

My American friends call prawns shrimp, unless they're very big and then they're called prawns. We British call shrimp prawns and prawns prawns although we do sometimes call those small brownish prawns (that's the American shrimp) shrimps and the big prawns (prawns in USA) king prawns or jumbo prawns. Sooo, prawns can be shrimps and shrimps can be prawns or they could be both at the same time.

Australia, New Zealand and some Commonwealth countries tend to use the British definition. When Australian comedian Paul Hogan used the phrase, “I'll slip an extra shrimp on the barbie for you” in an American television advertisement, it was intended to make what he was saying easier for his American audience to understand, but was not what an Australian would typically say, they would say prawn.

I'm glad I've been able to clear that up for you... 🤣 🍤 🤣 🍤 🤣 🍤

            

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D is for DIY

The old woman is away until tomorrow helping her niece with a baby-related problem. Don’t know why they don’t trade Little Person in for a cat. It’s very ugly and very grabby, not nearly as attractive as a certain charming ginger girl I could mention. Just saying.

While she’s away the old man is attempting some DIY, putting up new shelves in the utility room. He has a big box of tools and is wearing a tool belt. I sit and watch him from the laundry basket. ‘Here’s some good advice for you, Toffee,’ he says. ‘Measure twice and cut once.’

Or, as it turned out, measure twice, cut several times, swear a lot.

He’s usually good at this kind of thing but the six-pack of beer he consumed may have clouded his judgement a smidgeon.

He spent the evening watching the tellybox, eating a takeaway, belching, farting and scratching himself.

In the meantime, the fridge has been declared an official biohazard.

I’ll be glad when the old woman gets home and civilisation returns.

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C is for Climbing

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.

My blog That's Purrfect is also in the A to Z Challenge. Read it here www.thatspurrfect.co.uk

*     *     *     *     *     *    *

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.

            

➨You can follow me on Facebook,  talk to me on Twitter, and idolise me on Instagram.

B is for Beyoncé

AFTER a busy day the old man and old woman opted for an early night. I crept in about half an hour later and they were both fast asleep. I thought I’d help give them sweet dreams so I settled down between them and started to sing a lullaby with my angelic voice. Were they grateful? No, they were not. They awoke.

‘For goodness sake, Toffee,’ the old man said sleepily. ‘Why all the racket?’

The old woman sat up in alarm and switched on the light. ‘Whassup?’ she shouted, like some bad-tempered teenager transported from the 1980s.

I don't know why they are trying to silence me. I am the Beyoncé of cats.

I am the Beyoncé of cats

‘It’s Toffee,’ said the old man. ‘She’s having a funny five minutes.’ He began to stroke me and said, ‘Settle down, girl. Time to sleep.’

The old woman switched out the light and sighed deeply. ‘That cat is absolutely nuts,’ she said.

Charming.

My blog That's Purrfect is also in the A to Z Challenge. Read it here www.thatspurrfect.co.uk

*     *     *     *     *     *    *

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. Left is the paperback, right is the Kindle version.

            

➨You can follow me on Facebook,  talk to me on Twitter, and idolise me on Instagram.

A is for Autobiography

As this is the first day of the 2020 A to Z Blogging Challenge, I thought A for Autobiography was a good place to start. So let me introduce myself.

Version One: My name is Toffee and I was born a queen among cats in a palace made of kippers and ham. As heir to the kingdom, I was given the title Scourge Of The Rodents and spent my days learning to stalk, pounce and kill, like the warrior Ninja I am. 

I dined on salmon, prawns and fillet steak and slept in a four-poster bed on a velvet cushion. All other cats bowed before me, crying out, "Oh Mighty One," as I passed by.

I had three servants, one to comb my whiskers, one to sharpen my nails and one to warm the litter tray before I used it.

But one day, a cloud fell over Toffee's kingdom. The evil Rajah, the twit part-Siamese ("ooo, I'm so grand I am part pedigree") cat who now lives next door, put a spell on the palace by breathing over it with his disgustingly evil cat breath. The miasmic clouds floated through the rooms rendering all who breathed it in unconscious.

Only one cat remained awake and that was the Lady of the Whiskers. She spirited me away to a far off land to live in safety in the home of the old man and the old woman from whence one day I will RISE AGAIN to reclaim my kingdom.

Version Two: The old woman's mother lived on a farm and when the old woman admired the little ginger kitten, she gave her to her.

Ya pays yer money and takes ya choice.

My blog That's Purrfect is also in the A to Z Challenge. Read it here www.thatspurrfect.co.uk

*     *     *     *     *     *    *

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. Left is the paperback, right is the Kindle version.

            

➨You can follow me on Facebook,  talk to me on Twitter, and idolise me on Instagram.

Toffee Doesn't Get The Joke

THIS evening the old man said to me: ‘Did you hear about the cat who swallowed a ball of wool, Toffee?’

I was worried. I hoped that poor cat was OK. Swallowing a small piece of wool could be dangerous, but a whole ball? I feared for her. The old man didn’t looked worried at all. In fact he was laughing.

‘She had mittens!’ he said.

‘Your jokes are pathetic,’ said the old woman.

Joke? No joke to the poor cat who swallowed the wool. I’m glad there was a positive outcome, what with the wool turning into mittens and all. But it could all have ended tragically.

So, old man, I think that laughter was completely inappropriate, don’t you?

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Toffee Is Kidnapped

SEND HELP. I HAVE BEEN KIDNAPPED.

This is not a joke. I was sleeping peacefully on the sofa when someone grabbed me and put me into a carrier thingy.  They were clever - very, very clever. I could see out of the carrier a little bit and whoever had taken me was wearing trousers just like the old woman's. 

The woman with him had disguised her voice to sound like the old woman's. The kidnappers were obviously trying to lull me into a false sense of security but they don't fool me, the old man and old woman would never subject me to this treatment.

The next thing I knew I was in a car and being driven away. I could hear bits of a conversation over the sound of the car engine. I heard: "She's not gonna to like it," and "Do you think she will ever forgive us?" and "It's for her own good." Being kidnapped is for my own good? I don't think so.

Then I was in a place that smelled strongly medicinal. I could hear people talking about dreadful subjects like cat flu and calicivirus and, worst of all - gulp - INJECTIONS. I was taken from the carrier and plonked unceremoniously on a metal table. Someone had me covered with a towel - someone wearing very thick gloves.

Now, here I am and  - I hardly know how to tell you this - a man in a white coat is STICKING NEEDLES INTO MY REAR END. What torture is this?

As my head emerges from under the towel I see the old man and the old woman. They have come to rescue me! The old woman picks me up and strokes me. The old man tickles me under the chin. Stop faffing about, you two. 

RUN, RUN!

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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.

            

➨You can follow me on Facebook,  talk to me on Twitter, and idolise me on Instagram.

Toffee Is A Genipuss

The old man and old woman were sitting at the computer in deep discussion. Occasionally they'd look up and stare at me. I didn't like it one bit so I strolled over to see what was occupying their attention. Turned out they were doing one of those quizzes. 

This one was called  Is Your Cat a Goof or a Genius? I was offended. Surely they already knew they were living with a ginger genius.

If there is a meltdown in society forget about survivalism and stockpiling tins of beans and bear-traps. Instead, tie yourself to a cat - for what animal is better equipped to survive whatever the odds? 

It's very nice of the old man and the old woman to feed me, shelter me and care for me but, if the chips are down, I know I can skip out the front door, find food to eat and, more importantly, soon hook up with the one person in the neighbourhood with an underground shelter, his own well and a couple of thousand cans of meaty chunks. See, genius.

Just look at my computer skills. I can walk across a keyboard and the next day a packet of balloons shaped like animals, four iPads and The Complete Works of Shakespeare will arrive from Amazon. See, genius.

Then there are my shape-shifting abilities. I and the Mrs have written before about my ability to take up a whole bed. I weigh about 11lbs (5kg) and yet I can oust those two monsters I live with to a tiny corner of the bed where they hang on for dear life and mutter about swapping me for a gerbil. That's because overnight I turn into a 150lb (68kg) panther. See, genius.

Modesty precludes me from mentioning all my other genius abilities, plus my paws are getting tired from all this typing (oh yes, I am a genius typist).

Anyway, the results of this test were: "You may just be living with a feline Einstein! Your cat is extremely intelligent and continually amazes you with new tricks. Your cat also knows how to get you to do things his way. You’re going to need to be pretty crafty yourself if you want to outsmart your cat!"

Yes, I am a genipuss.

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Toffee Gets Annoyed. Again.

Annoyed. Again.

There I was minding my own business having a nap in the sitting-room when I heard someone say, ‘What a gorgeous little floof!’

I opened one eye and there looking down at me was a woman who, it transpired, was a work colleague of the old woman's.

I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. I glanced around the room. I saw no floof. Then I realised she was staring at ME. ME. I am NOT a floof. I am not cute or fluffy. In no way could I be described as a floof. Why would anyone call me a floof? Why?

Her hand came towards me, presumably to stroke my floofiness. I unleashed my claws. The old woman saw the claws and the look in my eye and swooped like an eagle who’d spotted a mouse and swept me up.

‘She’s not very good with strangers,’ she said nervously. ‘I’ll put her in the kitchen.’

She walked out with me, holding my two front paws as I wriggled to escape. She got to the kitchen and put me down. Luckily for her I saw her reach into the fridge where she found some left over beef from last night’s tea.

‘Here you are Toffee. Now behave yourself, please.’

I’ll behave myself as long as it takes me to eat this beef. But when I returned to the sitting-room, the door was firmly closed. Obviously my "floofiness" had suddenly lost its appeal.

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Toffee Gets Restless

I WAS feeling restless today. I went out and sat in the garden for two minutes but it was cold so I came back in again.

I sat on the sofa for a few seconds and then decided I needed fresh air and it wasn’t really that cold outside.

Once outside, I thought it was too cold after all and came back in. I then paced around for a bit, trying to decide what to do next. I hovered in front of the cat flap and then eyed up the sofa. I hopped on it and then hopped off again. Or should I go and lie on the bed? Or go out and sleep under the rosebush? I got through the cat flap, changed my mind and came straight back in again.

I finally ended up on the doorstep. The best of both worlds.

The old woman had been reading her magazine and watching my comings and goings.

She peered over the top over glasses.

‘You know what Louis Camuti said, don’t you, Toffee?’

Who’s Louis Camuti when he’s at home? And shouldn't he be called Catuti?

The old woman obviously wasn’t going to shut up in a hurry, as per usual.

She said, “Most cats when they are Out want to be In, and vice versa, and often simultaneously.’ Then she laughed like a drain as if she’d cracked some hilarious joke.

The woman’s an idiot.

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