...Er, um, Hello!

My name is Augustus. I have parents. Sometimes life can be difficult. I possess the great skill of being able to charm the socks off of anyone who chances to spot me, a rare occurrence indeed. [The spotting, that is; not the charming!]
However, for you, Dear Reader, I am prepared to divulge my deepest thoughts and perspective of the world, mostly because if I don't tell somebody what is going on around here, I am going to pop!
But be warned, proceed with caution: Living with Mummy and Dad can be rather harrowing at times...

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Poor, Dear Mummy

Mummy is hurt!

It’s like this…

I am Man Of The House, and as such Mummy leaves me in charge when she is gone, even if it is just outside for a few minutes.

As Man Of The House, it is my solemn duty, once I have made my rounds and ensure all kits are behaving themselves adequately, to inspect all cabinets in the house.

It is a tedious job but someone has to do it.

Anyways, it was getting dark when I finished the last kitchen cabinet.  There were a few trays stacked neatly in this one as well as an interesting sack full of what nots that I was sure Mummy had forgotten about – she needed to be reminded of their existence, in case there was something she no longer wants or needs that kits may find enjoyable to play with. *cough*

As I was perusing the scattered contents of the now tipped over sack, Mummy came blasting in from her evening Outdoor Chores (mysterious doings we kits are hard pressed to explain, particularly in 105 degree weather), and as she was headed straight for the darkening kitchen, and - as previously mentioned – I was just about done with my job for the night, I biffed off to inspect something – anything – else….

A bang.

A shout.

A “Who the blazes...?”…

It occurred to me that I may have, in my haste to disappear, er, finish up in other areas of the house, failed to close the doors in the kitchen and that Mummy, poor thing, unable to see so vividly in the dark as we kits (not everyone can be endowed with such unique skill) ran smack into it. I peeked around the corner to find Mummy hobbling about and muttering to herself. I admit to finding it a smitch humorous that she is so clumsy.....

Funny, I would swear I heard my name mentioned but can’t think why.

Seeing as Mummy is not feeling too grand, and further seeing that she is beginning to make a sinister connection between her bump in the dark and my daily duties, I feel it best to allow her time to settle down. Later on I will, perhaps, check in on her. For now, I will endeavor to continue my duties upstairs.

Did I mention I hadn’t even gotten to the cabinets in Dad’s study yet? 

Thursday, June 26, 2014

The Belly Of The Beast

So sorry for leaving you all in suspense while poor Fletcher's life hung in the balance!

My friends will be pleased to note that after much begging and pleading (also with a little help from Mummy who wrestled The Monster to the floor and ripped off his entire tummy to retrieve Fletcher from his lint-covered prison), Fletcher is safe! 

He was in relatively good spirits after his ordeal, bouncing around and saying he would know what to do about it if that Great Oaf Monster ever tried any funny business like that again. Fletcher, er, did need a bit of a bath, and Mummy thought it judicious to simply wash him with the towels - he came out sparkling white and smelling like flowers! 

Now, to keep him from tearing into The Monster, I keep Fletcher as far away as possible when Mummy is walking the fell beast. 

Thanks ever so for all the support and encouragement - it is an ordeal Fletcher will not soon forget!             

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Monster Alert!

Everyone come quickly - poor Fletcher Mouse has been eaten by The Monster From Beneath The Stairs

The worst part is that you can still see him in The Monster's tummy, all wrapped up in dust bunnies (it is pretty gruesome so be prepared...). Mummy was taking The Monster for a walk through the kitchen when suddenly things got out of hand (Mummy's), and Fletcher, who was minding his own business inspecting the underside of the cabinet, was sucked up with the various floor fauna. (I suspect Mummy was trying to hold the creature with only one hand, a major no-no with Monsters, but I don't like to say it is her fault). 

What on earth am I going to do? 
Who will save Fletcher?? 

And, half a second...Hey! The Monster ate my silver twisty-tie thing, too! 

Saturday, December 21, 2013

In The Hot Seat

Oh, Christmastime – such a wonderful time!

I have always enjoyed this rich and full season because it is so, well, rich and full. That is, until Dad went away to heaven and Mummy became The Holiday Grinch, not wishing to decorate or make special treats and such. In fairness, she did give us our Christmas stocking last year, though admittedly it was not so fun without Dad. He always played with us, letting us chase ribbons and shred paper and scuffle with cheeky little mice that popped out at us from the toe of the stocking. Still, Mummy is lots of fun and tries to fill in but a kit needs his Dad, too. *sniffle*

Where was I?

Oh yes.

The exception to Mummy’s Grinchitis is when Relatives come over (which thankfully is happening this Christmas day) so that I have actually started to look at these occasions [of Relatives coming over] as happy ones because, you guessed it, Mummy goes all out! Since we are having a crowd on the old 25th of December, and since the Mumster has been remiss in her holiday duties of late, she is making up for lost time and pumping out treats and d├ęcor by the bucket load.

Everyone knows about my decorating skills but they may not know that I am also a Connoisseur of Holiday Foodstuffs. As Man of the House (and self-appointed Chief Inspector of Treats), I am following Mummy around, casually observing, sniffing and otherwise eyeing closely some delectable-looking goodies. On my third round of the kitchen counter today (conveniently timed for when Mummy has abandoned the room so as not to make her feel self-conscious, nothing to do with The Rules or anything like…), I discovered an especially wonderful treat – a warm seat for my derriere! (I am not absolutely certain but I think it might have been Sandy Claws who placed it there, perhaps in honor of my tiresome duties carried out in such a tireless way.

Or perhaps not.)

Regardless, I wasted no time in settling into place, feeling the ingratiating toastiness radiate toward my rear. I would also mention that it was appropriately decorated in a Christmas theme, drizzled in snow-colored, waxy-looking stuff and sprinkled with crushed peppermint candies. This warm seat exuded delicious aroma of the same – in a word, divinely inspired!

Only, Mummy seemed to have different ideas about the application of this seat as she rounded the bend and spied my fuzzy buns sunk in their little nest. She began flailing her arms and shouting something about peppermint barking (which I never knew it did) and that the whole thing was ruined.

What was ruined, I asked.


I started at the thought of my Holiday Hopes dashed upon the rocks below, then high-tailed it to the bedroom, bits of peppermint trailing my wake, with not a few attached to my tail feathers here and there.

Perhaps Mummy was right – if peppermint was this aggressive, it might indeed begin to bark. I had much to ponder, such as the true source of peppermint and the sinister forces behind its perpetuation.
 . The great news, I plan to tell Mummy, is that I do not require a warm seat to continue my duties so all is not lost. Carry on, I will say.

But not just now.

Later, when she loses the freshly replanted Grinch face….

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

By Sbeller is Back!

Bubby says I bust be odd the bend sids I “raided” (her word, dot mide) the kidgen coudter last dight.

Agtually, I was cudzerd thad Boseby bight ged idd to a certid box cudtaideeg a whoppeeg great pile of badada bread, add I wadded to idspegd the seal. You doe, bake sure it wuzzid too easy to oben.

Id fagt, it took odely a slight dudge to push it over the edge of the coudter, add daturally wed it hit the floor, the lid bobbed oben. To by surbrise add delight, I caught a slight whiff of that lubbly arobatic treat.

I cad sbell!

To be sure, add by way of testeeg the old siduses, I creebed a bit closer add breathed deeply.


Those tedder crubs of velvety bread, the sball but doticeable chugs of walduts….

 I baddaged to eat a slice add a half before the old Bubster arrived odd the scede.

Explaiding by doble idtedt while lickeeg crubs frub by whiskers was dot so easy. Bubby’s assessbedt that I ab odd the bend seebed a bit hasty, as I felt suddedly code add sball. Clearly I ab dot by dorbal self.

I sdeezed thed tottered off to bed for buch deeded rest. Perhaps wed I cad speak bore clearly she will udderstad add doe that Augustus was just dooeeg his civic duty.


Saturday, November 23, 2013

Code Season

I hab a code!
 I ab ruddeed aroud with the sduffles, sdeezing all ober the place. Bubby says I bay have to go to Vet but I say that is a lot of dodseds.
I ab perfectly fide!
Odely, I think baybe I bite deed to lay dowd for a bit, just close by eyes for a few bidduts…
Does iddybody hab sub Dyquil??

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Sherman The Second

Readers of my infamous diary will recall the [now] remorseful, sword-wielding, many-legged rascal dubbed Sherman who pranced about the kitchen one fateful night many moons ago until he met Mummy and her anti-Sherman gun (cleverly disguised as an aerosol can called Raid)….
Well, I wrote about it.
Anyway, back to the res: Sherman’s apparent brother showed up this week in the very same kitchen, looking fit and, I must say, a much better dancer than his former sibling (may Sherman rest in peace). Only he had the audacity to do so in broad daylight (as opposed to Sherman’s midnight routine); further, and more to the point, he was on the kitchen counter!

Everyone knows the House Rules about being on the counter. That is to say, everyone except Sherman II, so named because, well, we couldn’t think of anything more clever.
So there it is.

Where was I?

Oh yes - Sherman II thought nothing of parading in and around the various black and silver gadgets (AKA Appliances) Mummy carefully polishes and stores there. I am confident that at one point the old Second stopped and positively admired his physique in the mirror-like surface of the Slow Cooker!

Still, he wasn’t so confident when Mummy arrived on the scene, freshly returned from her foray to the great hunting ground known as the Grocery Store – when she brought in her armload of crinkly bags and placed them on said counter, SII dashed behind the Coffee Pot and stayed there, apparently intending to camp out all summer if necessary to avoid this imposing Human. Only he didn’t take into account Young Mosby, The Inquirer (AKA The Snoot)…

If readers did indeed follow the earlier chronicle, they will recall that Young Mosby was rather, er, shall we say, unknowledgeable about the hidden dangers of the many-legged, sword-wielding cretins, er, creatures Mummy refers to as Scorpions so did not hesitate to poke his snoot where it shouldn’t be. He was young then, inexperienced in the evil workings of the world’s beasts, unlike Augustus The Wise, seasoned cat-of-the-world, who, in his infinite knowledge of such wild things, knew exactly what to do in that situation and did not fail to act – it was but the work of a moment for me, er, Augustus, to hide behind Mummy while she rid the world of Sherman The Terrible. And not much has changed.

You see, Mosby was also on the counter when Mummy entered the old domain, and naturally, being the Disciplinarian she can’t quite seem to get over, Mummy whisked the young squirt away, reminding him of The Rules in no uncertain terms. Then out she went for another boatload of tuna, and back up on the counter went Mosby [we kits know he was in search of Sherman II but Mummy, oddly assuming Mosby was being belligerent (imagine), deftly removed him once again and scolded him rather sharply for his willful misconduct].

Did that deter the young bean from his mission?

Mosby was determined to rout out SII and reveal his evil presence to the Mumster. He began yowling and scrabbling, bobbing his head this way and that, then looking back at Mummy to let her know he was genuinely onto something this time. A faint glimmer of thought crossed her brow as Mummy strove to understand the obvious. Here was Mosby shouting at the top of his lungs that we had a loose cannon in the kitchen, and all Mummy could think of was Mosby’s [potentially] dirty toes and how they aren’t conducive to proper sanitation. After hurling futile commands to force the young fuzzball off the counter, it occurred to her that he could be seeing something indeed, albeit imaginary, so she markedly moved the slow cooker and coffee pot in a knowing manner, confidently remarking how there was nothing there, when out dashed Sherman II with an apparent desire to die immediately. He raced straight toward Mummy’s arm and attempted a swift jab with his sword before retreating to the presumed safety of the Electric Can Opener.

Unfortunately, Sherman’s brother failed to account for Mummy’s speed and accuracy with (or her ready access beneath the sink to) the old Gun-As-Aerosol-Can-Called-Raid….

It is hard not to feel sorry for a guy who fought a good fight even for so short a time (his stint with Mummy lasted about 2.2 seconds by my reckoning). If he thought a leering 15 pound cat was a bit frightening, he should have known the 105 pound mother of said whiskered bloke was absolutely menacing.

But scorpions will be scorpions. Hopefully he made a quick call on his cell in his final moments to notify his cousins to steer clear of this place or they are for it! Obviously Sherman The First failed to do so.

Still, there it is.

Now I am off to see what toys Mummy brought back from the Store….