Toffee Is Cool Calm And Collected

You know me, I have the sunniest disposition. What? I do!

But the old woman made me angry this morning when she picked me off her laptop and dumped me on the floor. What is her problem? 

This got me thinking about some of the other things that ruffle my fur so I have kindly compiled a list for you so you can avoid getting "the look".

Things That Make Me Angry

• Sub-standard food: Don't try to fob me off with food from a can or sachet you opened ten minutes ago. It is stale. Don't buy any cheap food. It may be my usual brand but I will know from the first sniff that it was on offer. Don't Buy One Get One Free - you can just BOGOF yourself. Even worse, do not think for one instant that I will deign to take one nibble of a cheap, supermarket own brand.
• Not sharing food: Whatever you have on your plate is of interest to me. Let me have a taste or I will keep annoying you until you do. I may not normally eat cheese, sauces, eggs or pancakes,  but they suddenly taste delicious if I can swipe them off your plate.
• Belly rubs: Belly rubs per se do not make me angry. I will roll on my back to signal that I would not be displeased by a gentle scratch of this region. However, be aware that if you rub my belly for one nano second too long, I will ATTACK. You have been warned.
• Restriction of sleeping places: I get angry when bedroom doors and laptop lids are banged shut as I approach.  Make sure there is always a newspaper laid out on the sofa - so much the better if you are in the middle of reading it and you've just put it down to answer the phone. I get angry when you will not allow me to sleep on your head, right up under your chin so you are immobilised and cannot watch TV, or on your feet or legs so you cannot move. If you stretch your legs out on the sofa, you must expect me to make use of them.
• Any little moving thing: Flies, spiders, mice, birds and those stupid little toys on sticks you shake in front of me are all annoying. To humour you I might play with that toy you seem so ridiculously proud to have bought but be aware that I will shred it when you're not looking. Which leads me to…
• Expensive cat-related objects: It's plain stupid to spend money on objects when you could be buying me premium steak or things that will make my life so much more comfortable. I have a rule: the more expensive the toy, the less interest I will show in it. Hence my preoccupation with cardboard boxes.
• Being ignored: There is no excuse for pushing me away, no matter how gently. Excuses I will not accept: urgent deadlines, need to get the housework done, sudden medical emergency, a bathroom  crisis or meteor falling on the house.
• Loud noises: It may sound like a faint rustle to you but to a sensitive being like me, it is worse than standing next to a pneumatic drill without ear defenders.  I will run off  like a gazelle being chased by a lion and hide in the smallest space I can find until tempted out by plump fresh prawns.

Other things that make me angry include: being outdoors when it's raining, being indoors when it's sunny, too much affection, too little affection, Christmas baubles, ornaments on shelves, tassels, other cats, dogs, strangers, the postman, string, people knocking on the door, being woken up, being stroked (sometimes), not being stroked (sometimes), ribbons, bells and whistles.

So you see, I am a very cool, calm and collected cat. NOT ANGRY AT ALL.

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Toffee And The Green Vase

I'm in trouble again. It was one small leap on to the mantelpiece for me but one giant drop to the floor for a green vase – a hideous thing the old woman was given for Christmas.

She had her sucked lemon face on and talked to me in that ‘this hurts me as much as it hurts you’ voice.

‘Toffee, Toffee, what are we to do with you? Naughty pussycat. Naughty.’

I stalked off, tail held high, arse swaying from side to side, nose in the air - just to show her I didn’t give a damn. The old man met me at the door and bent down to stroke me. He smiled slyly and whispered: ‘I hated that bloody thing.’ Then loudly said to the old woman: ‘Oh no, not that lovely vase!’

By now she was sweeping up the pieces with a dustpan and brush.

‘Yes, darling, I’m afraid it was. I don’t want to ban Toffee from the sitting-room but she’s such a menace on that mantelpiece.’

The old man rubbed my ears.

‘No, we can’t do that. Let’s just make sure there’s nothing breakable on the mantelpiece.’

Why is the male of the species so much more practical than the female?

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Toffee Has A Language Problem

I AM persona non grata yet again, just because humans are not clever enough to learn cat language.

Unfortunately, evolution has not arranged it so we 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, throwing up and pressing our heads into faces.

Today I employed the tactic of weaving in and out of human legs to draw attention to the fact that my food bowl was empty. The old man now has a bruise the size of China on his rear end after falling on his arse and I have been banished to the utility room.

Unfair. It’s not my fault you humans have only two legs and are not as stable as we quadrupeds.

The television in the utility room is really boring

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Toffee's In A Spot Of Bother

Got told off by the old woman for scratching a door.

Speak to the paw, lady, speak to the paw.

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Toffee The Wise One

I am so wise.

What?

You wanna make something of it?

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Toffee Does The Housework

I was was in trouble yesterday after an "incident" involving some salmon fillets and my mouth. So, in order to make amends, I have been helping with the housework today.

I started in the sitting-room. I had a quick swish round with my paws, cleaning dust off the shelves - plus books, two ornaments and a stack of DVDs (I know, who still has stacks of DVDs? The old man and old woman think they live in the Middle Ages when it's just that they are middle-aged).

Then there was a tidy round in the kitchen. I cleared off the counters. That was easy although I must admit the pile of broken crockery on the floor looks a tad untidy. Still, there's plenty of worktop space now.

Into the bedroom and I thought I'd iron out the duvet by using the heat of my body. Yes, I lay on it and it was soft, so so soft....zzzzz.

I was awoken a few hours later by the old woman going mad and shouting, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, TOFFEE!"

I thought she'd be pleased.

Nope.

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Toffee Adopts Older Pets

A few years ago I adopted two pets. I am sad to report that it is getting more obvious every day that they are both are getting past it. They are galloping full pelt towards senility, which is worrying. For me.

The first thing I noticed was that the hearing was going. They both ignored me as I meowed, and meowed, and meowed, and meowed, and meowed, and meowed while they were eating their prawn salad. Would it have killed them to have thrown one or two in my direction? Not only deaf - but, I hate to say it - tending on the cruel side.

Now the eyesight is becoming a problem. Yesterday the old man picked me up - as I allow him to from time to time - UPSIDE DOWN. The indignity. My ass was in his face and my head was on that huge round thing he calls a stomach. Then he dropped me. Good job I have the reflexes of a well-honed athlete or there could have been a nasty accident.

I am now afraid to sleep on their faces when they are in bed as they might stop breathing altogether. It's a worry. 

Even so, older pets have their advantages. For those of you who are unsure about adopting an older person, here is some information from Cats Protection. They seem to have mistakenly used the word "cat" instead of "person" and included other little typos like saying "litter box" instead of toilet so I have corrected these for you too. You're welcome.

The Adult Advantage

• An adult person's personality has already developed, so you'll know if he or she is a good fit for your family.
• An adult person  may very well already know basic household etiquette (like not attacking your feet at night). In particular, senior people are often already house trained and are less likely to "forget" where the toilet is.
• An adult person won't grow any larger - well, as long as it doesn't eat too much! - so you'll know exactly how much person you're getting.
• Adult people are often content to just relax in your company, unlike younger people, who may get into mischief because they're bored. Adult people also make great napping partners!
• Adult people have often already been taught that scratching posts (not furniture) are for scratching and toys (not hands or feet) are for biting.
• Adult people are harder to find homes for, and generally the older the person, the harder it is to rehome. When you adopt a senior person, you're truly saving a life.

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Toffee And The Green-Eyed Monster

Jealous? Me? Don't be silly. I am The Special One. Why would I be jealous? It's a ridiculous notion.

I have never been jealous in my life. I am Toffee, Queen Of All I Survey.

I don't care if you pet other cats. Why would I? I know you would never replace me. I am Number One in your affections. Toffee Numero Uno. 

What time is it? What time are you coming home? Why are you late? Where have you been? I want a cuddle...

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Toffee Says It's Not True

I am cross. It's not like me, I know, but I have been provoked. The old woman has been posting the below all over social media. IT'S NOT TRUE. It's a foul calumny. I have no idea what's she talking about. Not a clue.

The Life Of A Cat Owner

1. Lovingly rubbing your cat’s belly until it suddenly thanks you by clawing your arm into mince.
2. Wondering how you can ever thank your cat for its precious gift of a freshly decapitated pigeon delivered straight to your pillow.
3. Coming home to find someone has coughed up what appears to be Donald Trump’s hair on your carpet.
4. Never being quite sure if your cat likes you, or it’s trying to work out the best way to conquer then eat you.
5. Attempting to read a newspaper while your cat sets about trying to destroy it using only the top of its head.
6. Remembering the days when you woke up to an alarm clock rather than being repeatedly punched in the face.
7. Injuring your spine by sleeping in an S shape because your cat has commandeered the middle of the duvet.
8. Knowing that if you collapsed your cat would spring into action and use your body as a bed.
9. Spending mega bucks on new toys only for them to be snubbed in favour of a screwed up ball of paper and the thrill of an old box.
10. Returning home from holiday and being unsure whether your unforgiving cat will ever acknowledge your existence again.  

You might also like Toffee's Scientific Experiments.

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Toffee Frightens The Children

The sun was shining so I was out in the garden today. It was lovely to feel the sun on my fur and I was soon fast asleep. But it wasn't so nice at around 8.30am when I was awoken by parents dragging their squalling brats to school.

The children spotted me and started calling to me, "Puss, puss, puss," as if I'm going to get up to greet a total stranger who hasn't even got some kind of catty foodstuff in its little hand.

Then I hit on a clever wheeze. I stretched out and twisted my body. Then, eyes wide open, fixed my stare on the garden fence. I held my breath.

"Mummy, mummy, there's a dead cat in that garden!" shouted a little girl. Then I suddenly leapt in the air and she screamed blue murder.

I was enjoying this and thought I could keep it up for ages. But then the old woman swooped down on me.

"I see what you're doing, Toffee," she said, "And you can stop it right now!"

She scooped me up and carried me into the house but at least I got a few treats in my bowl.

Same time, same place tomorrow?


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Toffee Avoids The Barbecue

The weather is getting better. I know because the old man and the old woman have been dusting off the barbecue and casting wistful looks at the sausages and burgers in the deep freeze.

They are simple souls and like nothing better than cremating what was a perfectly fine piece of meat and then serving it up on a plate. Still, it's often raw in the middle so I guess that evens things out.

I don't mind a barbecue because the next morning I can help with the housework by hoovering up the collateral damage of discarded meat products. Yum. I keep as far away as possible from the actual event, not least because their daft friends insist on eating to what they call "music" and what I call "an assault on the ears".

The preparations drive me batty. They always have a garden makeover before inviting people to share in their culinary catastrophes. The lawnmower, buzzing like several swarms of angry bees, strips away the long grass in which I like to hide while stalking little creatures. Then there's the ear-splitting strimmer. How can I sleep with all that kerfuffle going on?

Usually these friends bring along smaller versions of themselves - "children", I think they're called. This selection of ankle-biters, horror of horrors, want to play with me. Another reason for boycotting the event and scuttling off to my  favourite hidey-hole. These "children" scream and fight over the minuscule paddling pool Mr and Mrs bought for a pittance in a car boot sale and then had to mend with a bicycle tyre repair kit. Hardly a brain cell between them.

When all the gardening has been done and the children at last subdued, there is that crazy summer ceremony - the lighting of said barbecue. The old man spends about half an hour holding matches to firelighters and charcoal. It smoulders for a short while, sending up clouds of smoke before he gets a fire going hot enough to just about warm through a pork chop rind.  That stage lasts for half an hour before the next phase when it suddenly flares into life and become hot enough to strip the paint off the garage at 20 paces.

I'll be glad when it rains again so I can pop outdoors, get soaking wet and then jump on either the old man or old woman to get myself dry. They usually put up with me and I end up warm and cosy between them on the sofa. They do have their uses.

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Toffee Gets Offended

 I HAVE never been so insulted in my life. And I have been insulted plenty, I can tell you.

The old woman was reading some darned book about cats and came up with this little snippet: ‘The vast majority of cats are mongrels.’

She ruffled my ears. ‘Just like you, Toffee.’

W-H-A-A-A-T? ME, A MONGREL?

How dare she say such a thing. I might not be a pedigree cat or even a part-pedigree cat, But I am a…, a…, a…,  am a Superior Being.

She went on reading. She doesn’t know when to stop, that woman.

‘Cats have been especially bred for a variety of reasons; to produce softer or longer coats, for example, or to enhance their markings or refine a colour. In the eyes of the breeders, the refinements have enhanced their beauty.’

That did it for me. Was she implying that I was not as handsome as some pedigree cat? How very, very dare she. I leapt to my feet scrabbled across her hand, digging my claws in as I went. She yowled and sucked on her hand.

‘Pity you weren’t bred to be a NICE CAT and not a monster,’ she yelled after my retreating, ginger behind.

We aren’t speaking to each other at the moment but I might deign to be a ‘NICE CAT’ when it’s time for tea.


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Toffee Leaves Paw Prints

The old woman showed the old man this wall-hanging. I thought it was rather cute but, guess what, the old man just LAUGHED.

"Yeah," he said, "And on floors you've just washed, all over the furniture, on windowsills, on clean bedding, on your new white shirt (while you're wearing it), in wet cement, on clean cars, on neatly folded piles of fresh laundry..." and on and on he went.

The man's a Grade One Idiot.

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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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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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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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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.


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

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