Dame Sasha

My last post of 2007 sees me honoured in the Queen's New Year list. It's true that cats rarely make it to the news headlines on such occasions, but I am assured my title awaits me and the letter's in the post.

Why should I be made a Dame, I hear you ask? Because I am a hero! It was but a week ago on Christmas Eve that Scarletta-the-not-so-agile almost fell to her death. Now some might accuse me of pushing her, and at times I have felt like it, but on this occasion the daft teenage mother simply slipped from the window sill, her enormous girth propelling her at huge speed onto the concrete below - a mere 30ft. The Two returned and began a cat hunt throughout our home and the many gardens we have at our disposal. Dusk had fallen and as the weather was mild, I decided to lend a paw. I trotted and then galloped across the grass, Aslan joining me in a balletic half circle, and I led the Polish One to where the poor Scarlet lay, battered and bruised, almost catatonic (ahem..) with hideous facial injuries. I can safely say that Aslan will not be looking at that missy in that adoring way again.

She remained hospitalised for much of Christmas, and I, not knowing whether she lived or died, found myself treated to beef, chicken, smoked salmon, the bed, tummy tickles, kisses and much affection. I lapped it up as any good hero should

Friday last, she returned. She smelt of the Basket of Death and the V.E.T's. My life of luxe was snatched from my paws, my snacks dried up, my rabbit dropping biscuits offered as some kind of consolation. However, she tells me she has broken both jaws and needs lots of rest. Frankly, I pray for jaw wiring, I hear it's an option, and then my sweetest Scarlet will finally leave the eating to me and keep her mews to herself.

Happy 2008 to one and all. I must attend to the kitchen now. I can open the fridge myself...

Little and Largesse

Life is going very well just now. I have a bountiful personality, and so I am allowing young Scarleta to recline on my chair. It's true that I am currently enjoying my new leopard-skin-print-under-the-radiator basket, but I think she needs to have some comfort in her life.

It hasn't escaped my notice that I am now THINNER than Scarlet. She has grown massively, is rotund, a dinosaur of a cat with a small head and an impossible huge body. I wonder how I can help her? Less exercise is probably best...ahem... Fewer treats, no ham, cheese, cheesecake, biscuits, sausage, milk, cream, nibbly bits from the floor...ah the list is endless of what she cannot have. How my chair will help her at this trying time! And Christmas coming as well.

Ghost in My Machine

It has come to my notice that several of my many fans have been asking the same question: do you write your own blog or is there someone else behind it?

I think it's time to set the record straight. It is true that I have a ghost writer - more of a typist actually - but all thoughts and prose are entirely the creation of the author, over which I can assert moral integrity and my foot prints. I dear reader, am the author of myself and my blog.

And I am also delighted to reveal the authenticity of me as the author, with a picture of me, on what is now my famous table. If you don't know my table, read some of my summer musings.

No Pay, No Gain

There's been talk round here lately of pay rises. And I feel I am due one. Perhaps they'd like to give me an appraisal - review my objectives for the year, see how I've progressed in my personal development - and I think no-one would refuse me a pay rise. However, I note the ham rations are depleted, heaven only knows how they could reward me..? I shall construct a list, my personal remuneration, shall we call it a 'kitty bonus'?

I want to be alone

Ok, so I ran a little faster down the stairs just now when the bombs starting going off nextdoor. I was just giving my svelte legs a quick work out. Afraid, me? No, no, NO! It's nice down here, by the radiator, in the dark, alone...

Fly Me To The Moon

No cat on earth can have missed what's going on lately - explosions, bangs, colourful lights in the sky. Unlike some creatures, like Prince that old poodle who passes by, or the lately lamented Olivio, I am not afraid!

It's true that I have been sitting inside a little more often lately - still recovering from my cosmetic dental surgery - but I have taken to looking out of the window at some of these exploding lights. I may find one of my own, strap myself and Aslan onto it, fly high into the sky, the rockets propelling us into the stars, our tails entwined in a windy plait, our paws lightly encircled by a warming glove, and...to the moon we would fly. Cue music: Walking In The Air, doo-doo-doo-doo-doo dah, la la la la la laaaah... (I am secretly very musical.)

And we'd be leaving that cheeky, single mother minx safely back on terra firma. See how she'd like that, her and her new boyfriend Birt, and his shocking, chavvy bell on his collar.

Must dash, have found a slither of ham. Save for the journey? Eat it now? Save for the journey? Eat it now...?

I speak Science Plan

Do you? If so, maybe you can tell me how to eat it. It's barely better than a passing lady bird.

Cat Racing

This evening I galloped across the roof. The wind was blowing in my ears, my whiskers were nicely ruffled and I let loose the odd trapped wind. I needed someone to race with me but that young minx was out, in MY garden with MY friend Aslan. And I've spent all this time trying to poison her with my antibiotics to NO effect. I think I'll suggest we have a race and I'll put up some signs - 'This way for the winner.' She has no sense of direction.

Gums up

Due to a recent visit to vets for TWO injections, I have now lost THREE teeth but the rest are gleaming pearlies.

Vet spotted my teeth were causing me problems - genetic condition NOT my fault - tried to explain it didn't stop me eating, demonstrated. In fact laterally, have gained weight, as had lost an lb or two due to Scarlett's constant mewing and hussling for anything she can stuff in her teeny, little chops.

Was woken yesterday morning, offered no breakfast, bundled into Basket of Death, presented at vets AGAIN only to discover I wasn't going home with her. The vet carried me off under her arm and I tried in vain to reach out a paw for Her to grab me back, take me home... Placed in wire cage, arm shaved, blood taken, suddenly passed out. Awoke dribbling, with a thick lip and rather pleasant floaty feeling.

Eventually She collected me and have to confess was rather pleased to see her. Ensured I had extra rations/chin strokes/poll position on bed/bowl of milk/Scarlett ejected. Haven't checked my smile in mirror - yet.

Have to sleep it all off now, post operative stress needs serious attention.

Family Tree

Yes! She got stuck up the tree, twice! Myself and Aslan watched quietly as they attempted to get her down. I sprinted up the other tree to give a show of my athletic prowess and was quite out of breath. Or was it the sight of Aslan, Aslan my dream kit, my hero. I rolled around on the grass abit - showed him my desirable fuller figure - and then strolled casually up my stairs. Question: how to seduce Aslan onto the stairs for a wee bit of small talk? Perhaps I could share my new catnip cushion and we could rest our heads and look at the stairs. I mean stars. Honestly, that Imposter is playing havoc with my writing skills.

Life - how busy it can get and interfere with my eating

Here's what's happenned to me lately:

1. Got stuck on the neighbour' windowsill after a terrifying incident when I couldn't quite get my balance. Was saved.
2. She, The Imposter (Sheep in Lamb's Clothing) has taken to sitting on my armchair and MY cushion.
3. I was bundled into the Basket of Death and taken to vets. Had hideous injection AND have some tooth problem - they threaten extraction. I may run away before that happens.
4. Food rations going well - fresh chicken, Whiskas, those round biscuits which pass as an excuse for food, sausage and ham. I am practising holding my breath to look thinner and therby extract further food.
5. Have clipped that minx round the ears a few times and have regained my bed position. She gets shut out. I try not to laugh between having a long, luxurious clean, my head stroked, the warmth of a friendly pair of feet, the joy of my own space, the smell of fresh laundry....

I am in the dark

Great. No power. Soon my laptop will run out of juice and I will be left, alone, hungry and with THAT CAT. And it's cold.

Time is not flying

I have been introduced to the new lodger. I say introduced, but it was hardly the kind of greeting I am used to. For the last week I have been subjected to being stared at, my chair assaulted from all sides and its fabric scratched by her nasty claws, her juvenile, thin face peering at me, lips being licked when I attempted to stretch my legs and move onto the floor, MY litter tray being used as her pissoir, my food being eaten (if you can call the new diet she's put me on 'food',) and my bed position totally out of bounds.

I am considering applying for an ASBO for 'Scarlett', for that's what they call her. Scarlett, scarlett..what a rough old harlot! And she's had kittens I reckon. Probably a teenage mother, she looks so young.

Come back Olive, all is forgiven!

So you can see, my time is NOT flying and I am under seige. I may as well be in a war zone. I may as well be on my table all the time for all they'd notice.

I did manage a small tortilla chip.

Have I eaten something and now I'm seeing things?

I've noticed lately that the door to the hall is occasionally closed. And on one of these occasions, I peered under the door. And I saw four black feet, some black whiskers and possibly but I can't be sure, two green eyes staring back at me. I had to lie down to recover.

Could it be Olive? Is she back: thinner, younger, full of life, a feline Lazarus? The very thought makes me sweat a little. Eventually, when the door was open again, I made sure everyone knew 'I am here and rule this joint'. I galloped very quickly and very loudly from the bathroom to the living room, jumping like a gazelle over the backdoor step and onto my table. I am pretty sure even Aslan would have heard me and recognised my majestic and powerful mighty-ness. (It gave me wind, but I am certain it was worth it.)

They smell of...THE SHELTER!

So there I was, minding my own business, lying about and then they came home. I sniffed the rucksack, not the usual one, I'd already given that a good kicking with my special rolling/kicking fierce-a-cise, and I could smell it. It all came flooding back to me, the ground floor quarters I had to live in, the clanging of the gates, the smell of disenfectant, the constant visitors, the meewing, the staring from my fellow misfortunates and the firm but fair waitresses. It could only mean one thing: The Cats Protection League!

What does this mean? Surely I am not to return there, am I??

I might be depressed

It's been very strange here lately. Olivka or El Scrawnio, ok ok, so her name is Olive, has disappeared. I last saw her on Sunday morning when they bundled her into the Basket of Death and whisked her off down the stairs. I sat about for a while, cleaned my paws, ate a biscuit and stretched, the usual Sunday morning routine. (Actually that's my any day routine.)

Some hours later, they returned. The Basket of Death was empty. I expected her to jump out, hiss at me, sulk, give me one of her meanest stares, but nothing. I sniffed round the basket, I looked inside it and behind it, in case she was hiding and in a moment of irrationality thought I'd fancy a game. (Note: I call it the Basket of Death because Olive told me a cat who lived here before, often went out in it and then one day never came back. And it smells of The V-E-T.)

Then I noticed it. They were crying. That other one came to visit and she was making similar sounds. They all kept trying to cuddle me and surely they know I only like one, or at most two, therapeutic cuddles a day.

Since then, still no sign of Olive my old friend (ahem..) and a strange atmosphere has descended. For example, I am allowed to sleep on the bed ALL NIGHT. I am encouraged to walk up the top end of the bed and maybe even sit down. I don't sit down of course, she might be hiding somewhere and that's her bed area. There is alot of food and treats and only I am here to eat it.

Looking back on it, she made some odd noises on Saturday and she was lying about on the floor. I sat on my armchair and tried to look serine. In fact, she left some small 'presents' on the carpet and who did they blame? ME! For once, I was innocent. Oh happy days.

This is most odd. It has its high points such as the food and the bed, but I actually quite liked the old kit. Who is here for me to offer my friendly, horizontal paw pat to? (Not to be confused with an aggressive whack from the front paws.) Who can I chase down the stairs? Who will sit with me when I go outside? And who am I going to ignore?

Multilingual

I was reflecting on my abilities this morning - there are many- and in particular, I can speak Whiskas, GoCat, Whiskas Kibble, Purina, Ucanuba and tuna fish.

Chariot of Fire

She was fiddling about yesterday eve on my balcony, planting something into pots, AND removing my rather convenient convenience - gave the feeling of soil, slightly raised from the ground, gives a garden like sensation...and I was leaning out across the gutter and saw... YES, it was HIM!

He was dashing elegantly through the garden, his tail floating behind him, his galloping paws occasionally propelling him across obstacles, his fur a glistening vision, a gazelle of a creature, nay a lion in his native tundra...

I nearly fell off my balcony. The gutter creaked but luckily I managed to step backwards onto terra firmer. My table was covered with compost and plants, and so unavailable. I had to sit indoors in my armchair to catch my breath and I nibbled a small piece of Polish Kabanos that someone had let stray...

My Job Title

I have a new job title - Controller of The Armchair. Has a certain ring to it, no?

Fluff on the carpet

Is it mine or hers?

We're all going on a summer holiday..

..except me.

They went away for two weeks, leaving me to go on holiday downstairs to the neighbour. Baggy puss came too and they seem to really love her for some reason.

Diet picked up: new Whiskas biscuits, some cream, two tortilla crisps, usual meat stuff, a prawn tail, passing beetle, ham, small chicken piece, tuna flake and more cream.

And Aslan has returned! Joy of joys!

Tight squeeze

Someone has shrunk the gap between the railings on my balcony. I can barely squeeze through them.

Things are looking down(stairs)

They think I am stupid but I am not. I know that when the big green bag comes out, they're leaving home for a while. And that is exactly what's going on. The visitors are due this evening - how to cope? - and it seems Olivka and I are to be offered hospitality with the neighbours. I have been to see them once or twice and it's quite pleasant. On one occasion I played a little hard to get.. scared? No, no! And they tempted me to go in with a bowl of cream. My whiskers are twitching at the ready.

Whilst I am very independent, almost totally self taught, it does occur to me that they might be gone for a few feed times.

I hope they'll come back... I enjoy the odd chin scratch and tummy ruffle with her... still, back to my chair. The cushion's been plumped up. Is that a nibble of something I can spy on the carpet?

Tortilla chip

They were eating tortilla chips yesterday evening and I wanted to eat something - I like to take part in their rituals. So, I managed to stand up on my hind legs, placed my front paw on my table (they were using it for their purposes...) and although I couldn't see what I was doing, I tried to pat the bowl onto the floor.

It didn't work.

But it did alert to them my wish to try aforementioned chip. In fact, they gave me several, and one even had some garlicky humus on it. Mmmm...

Scrawny Legs got nothing.

Visitors

They seem to be talking about visitors. And I think I heard that one of them is a CHILD. I don't like small children, visitors, loud noises, the vet, fish skin, marmite or travel. This may well turn out to be a difficult week. Perhaps Oliveka will create a diversion and small child will focus on her. Yes, I will disguise myself, I will try to be a cushion or part of the roof...I must prepare!

Big Brother is too loud

Last night they were watching Big Brother - again. I sat through the first ten minutes, watching with moderate interest from my chair, which is usefully situated within viewing distance of the TV. In fact, it's positioned helpfully so that I can see anything or anyone from any angle. Providing I can shift my rotund tum a little to the left or right. And I can.

Because of the noise and shouting generated by this programme, I thought for a moment that perhaps Aslan was being attacked in the garden, or The Evil One had returned with an army of Evil Ones and they were all attacking Aslan. I would have stepped down from my chair to check, but this Bigger Brother had reached fever pitch and I simply had to retire to the bedroom and lie down on my (ahem, their) bed. What an evening!

There is a FLY in my bowl.

I am horrified to discover there is a fly persistently landing in my bowl. I must turn away, I cannot look. I'll send Oleevka to deal with it.

I'll just have to eat some biscuits for a while.

Morning briefing

I strolled out this morning to monitor the garden activity from my table, and found everything to be in order. My dream cat/new neighbour hasn't visited me at all lately. Perhaps if I left a small snack in the garden... I know someone's been visiting, the abandoned mini BBQ has been sniffed by someone.

I was ready to return, only to discover that the door had closed behind me. With a sigh, I employed my rather clever tactic to gain re-entry - scratching very hard at the door. And low and behold, she let me in. A good job too since her movement to the door had disturbed The Scrawny One and she was pushed to the floor and off the lap.

Last night, I sampled a blob of Polish mayonnaise. Mmm, quite nice, quite nice...and a small scratchin' of peperoni...

I am a social network

My weekend was hectic, a complete social whirl. I broke into a trot on the stairs to draw their attention to my need to go outside, made a little easier by gravity. Indeed, I had to slow up a little before I collided with our front door. OK, so she wants a pug, but a facial collision would hardly facilitate such change.

And I was delighted, charmed and a little out of breath to discover my new neighbour awaited me at the bottom of my outdoor steps. A leonine vision, in possession of a foxy and bushy tail, a dark stripe down the back and a sort of permanent smile around the whiskers, this new neighbour is a dream kit. We sat together for some time, (I tried to draw in my girth a tad,) we ate a little grass together, s/he peed on the soil and I looked the other way, I let s/he go up my stairs and inspect the backdoor, I am smitten!

But you know how it is, a very, very large bird flew scarily low overhead, and I felt it best to sit quietly and safely under the bike cover. Ah yes, just the place on a hot summer's day. Meanwhile, 'Aslan' as I shall call her/him disappeared alluringly through the hole in our fence.

It's stopped flashing.

I've had some trouble with my internet connection lately and somehow couldn't get it working. I offered the magic box some catnip, my biscuits, a ball AND..AND The Scrawny One. I rolled over and poked it with my paw, I ran away from it, I licked it, I scratched it and nothing. This is being posted by a neigbour. Cue Sasha rolling around on carpet, quick flash of teeth as cheek rubs carpet.

The heat is on

No sooner do I write about the wet weather than it turns hot. During this hot phase I can lie on my balcony (1 minute duration,)I can sit on my table (longer, not so hot during evening, blessed with warm wind - table not me,) or I can lounge kittylike on my chair. Whatever my choice, it's pretty damned hot in this black coat leading to a little less observation than usual.

***Breaking news*** The black and white cat has been removed, clutched by her human, probably never to be seen again in these parts. Here's hoping. Aah, I'm sure she'll be sorely missed, but hey, time heals, right?

El Scrawny One flapping about, making everything seem hotter.

Cheesecake? For moi? Now? BE RIGHT BACK!

Is it worth going outside when it's raining?

I have been remiss of late and neglected my blog. The reason? Mostly because the weather has been too wet for my paws to type. Even the balcony and my table have been too wet to step onto, let alone my keyboard. And then I wonder is it worth the few steps I must take to survey my garden and keep an eye on the intruders? The rain was too much for a delicate, sophisticat as myself, and would one of those LA pooches have to tiptoe into the rain? Would Britney's pooch or Paris' doodle doggie have to suffer as I do? I decided not. Instead, I nimbly jumped onto the chest of drawers to peer outside. The truth is that I was a little restricted in my view, their curtains obscuring matters below. I tried the window ledge instead but found myself the subject of laughter as I looked like a bride - swathed in white muslin from the irritatingly 90's curtain affair they have erected. This cat is no-one's bride, although I considered for a moment my wedding list - 20,000 packets of Oh So Fishy, ten dozen chickens - cooked then cooled, some smoked salmon sides, a bowl of crisps, some kitnip ( am trying to give it up as it will soon be banned in public spaces..), and how about some lightly poached eggs? Yes, perhaps I could try marriage. A groom you say? I need a groom? I am so very now as you know, therefore I will resist the heterosexual norms we have thrust upon us even in cathood, and decide for myself on my felinesexuality. Nap/nip time. Au revoir.

I am a so very 'now'.

Have decided to offer some solidarity to our Polish friends in London and the Polish influence in our home. From time to time, I shall be Sashinska - Sash-eens-car, and Olive will be Olivka - Ol-eeve-car. And as it's too hot to do very much, I shall sign out. Just to say it's a been a lean day on the food front but I did get a sip of milk from her cereal bowl. Had to sniff Olivka's tail to get her to move her skinny little frame in order that I could position myself beside the dish.

Yup, she's back and looking old.

Olive my flatmate thing, has returned from the vets. She appears to be in one piece, but frankly at her age I can never tell. She's lying in the sun on the balcony whilst I keep my eye on the action in the garden. Two squirrels were spotted earlier post my little snack of mystery meat. I told them I wanted something nice but why they had to give me some old scrag end of a Polish mystery meat affair, i don't know. Anyway, I ate it. Not sure I'm too partial to garlic, made me burp, but it was so much better than the usual 'Whiskas Oh So Fishy'. And you know I appreciate a little fish, and can tell the 'oh soooo' part of it because they eat it all the time and give me none of it.

The 'other one' is away this evening and I sense perhaps, just maybe, I might be able to lie all night on their bed. Lord knows I spend enough time on the end of it to make it mine.

She told me she went for something called a 'job interview' today. And that whilst in a park sipping coffee, she spoke to an unknown man sitting on a bench. Turned out he worked for the MOD and she told him it must be a safe business, rather like the funeral business - always customers. But I can't work out why she wasn't inspecting the pigeons or snack opportunties whilst in that park. Humans, who's 'ave 'em? but someone has to pay my bills. And I'm not cheap.

She's going to the vet

Good news my readers, the weekend brought dry feet and my chair is now free of alien objects. The tatty old cushion at the back remains, but I quite like leaning against it, particularly useful when cleaning my legs.

Now, a little digest of my diet of late: Saturday good, two bite-sized nibbles of pork fillet; biscuit bowl full; Sunday evening, miniscule piece of cheese; unidentified crumb on carpet; Monday, passing small spider which I spat out.

I overheard a phone call and she is going to the vet. She has this skin problem, hair loss and whatnot, so they're taking her to the vet. Frankly, I'd be worried if I were her. She's of a certain age, she's lost several teeth, and is frankly too thin for my liking.

Well, time to sit on my table now. It affords me a wonderful view of the garden and is perhaps a little safer than leaning over the gutter to keep an eye on things. It's a task I feel falls to me, I doubt she can even see further than the railings. And that evil black and white thing with the cross eyes has been in the garden AGAIN. Last seen yesterday evening. I stared at her but before my evil stare could work, they opened the door and I decided to nip inside.

But wait, hold on, what's that? An invisible creature on the carpet. I must chase it, roll around and wave my frighteningly bushy tail. Be afraid small insect, be very afraid!

My Chair is unavailable

I have had a particularly tiring night and am unable to recline in my usual Conran cushioned armchair. The reason? They've been moving their furniture to allow for some sort of cleaning activity, resulting in my feet getting rather damp as I walk around. The thing covering my chair looks dangerous and heavy, so I won't risk it. Olive or whatever they keep calling her, claims it's all perfectly normal and I should jump onto the chair all the same, but even I can see that'd be risky, my larger and fuller figure does not take well to squeezing into small spaces.

Have decided that the best thing is probably to snack a little - the biscuit bowl appears to have been replenished - and then perhaps a lie down on their bed again. I shall return.