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...