seeing red....

I don't think I can forgive the old woman for using the red spot laser thingy as much as she has.  Even Auntie Ming has been thundering up and down the kitchen after it.  The old woman says Auntie M needs more exercise but it's distressing seeing the old trout, puffing and panting and trying to squeeze herself underneath the cooker in pursuit of the red spot.  As for my ma, Beryl le Feral, she is absolutely hooked on the thing and has perfected something approaching a handbrake turn as she charges around the kitchen.  Apparently the tiled floor is perfect for pirouettes.  Who knew?

The old woman uses the red spot thingy to trick my mother and Auntie Flash into going outside when they don't really want to leave the warmth and security of the fireside.  And they like to watch television, of course, although there is generally nothing specific for a well educated feline like moi.  The old woman adores Bedknobs and Broomsticks, and it  was probably the best thing to watch, although the cat hero was disastrously groomed.  Looked as if he had had an electric shock which is probably an occupational hazard if you consort with witches, however amateurish they are.  Fortunately I have managed to train the old woman to wield the little cat brush when the females of my family are proving recalcitrant about grooming me.

Why am I called Boris?  The old woman says I am like Boris Johnson, big, bold, blonde and completely bonkers.  So El Bobo, not Bojo.  The real mystery is why my sister is called Twinkle...who knows.

Hapy New Year?

New Year's Day and already my mother and I have suffered the indignity of being banished to the wild, windy and wet outdoors on a minor technicality.  Okay, we might have been ripping the sofa to shreds - but it was underneath where no-one would see the damage and all those claw marks add such a lot to the décor of the room.  The old woman didn't agree.  Not only did she banish us both, she took photos of us trying to force our way back in.  Yes, I am lashing my tail in royal rage; my coiffure is utterly disarranged and I shall need some ferocious grooming by my sister who was not subjected to the outdoor banishment.

 

me in downpour and bad temper

 

my mother, Beryl le Feral, also in a towering rage.  The old woman is lucky she hasn't been turned into a toad.  Beryl has not yet forgiven her for rescuing me and my siblings from the cardboard box in the shed where Beryl had absentmindedly hidden us during our fourth week of life.  She accepts the indoor life these days as long as she has a warm comfy bed and lots of food.

 

Beryl fulminating against the hard-heartedness of the old woman; she is also giving the evil eye to Twinkle le Feral, my sister, who was lolling about in idle luxury while my mother and I suffered.

I am too ruffled to tell you more today.

 

Twinkle, rolling around the chair laughing at our predicament.  She will pay, I tell you.