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...?