Prisoners!

Well, She did it again.

Mummy absolutely wreaked havoc at the old homestead this week, incarcerating innocent kits without their consent yet ultimately denying she was to blame!

You see, Dear Reader, there is a room at the top of the stairs (not Dad’s study which has full and ready access via the balcony – Dad and Mummy’s feeble attempt at preventing kit entrances by installing a door is, at best, laughable).

But I digress…

This alluring space, known as The Spare Room, is full of nooks and crannies and fun-looking boxes and general “thingies” - the kind of stuff that simply begs to be explored! Unfortunately, Mummy has an official (albeit UNposted) rule about this room: to wit, that no cats are allowed to venture within a 12 mile radius on penalty of death, citing some mindless chatter about cats destroying Dad’s study and not getting a chance at this one. I am sure I do not know what she is talking about. I would point out, however, that the house is, er, not far enough away to meet the 12-mile-radius rule but with the Mumster it would hardly be any good. All must obey or face her wrath!

The point of this monologue is to stress how calculating Mummy can be, as in the case of our unlawful imprisonment just a few nights ago. What happened was this: Mummy is allowed to enter The Spare Room, no doubt a ruling of her own device. So in she went those few nights ago, closing the door firmly behind her to ensure we fuzzikins were left out on the dark landing, only able to listen to the fantastical sounds of digging and shifting and opening things up (as opposed to being the makers of such joyful noises). We are confident she enjoys tormenting us in this fashion.

After much combing through things and unstacking then restacking boxes, Mummy emerged with an armful of goodies, some of which I was secretly hoping would be left out for my later perusal. In the meantime, her arms were a bit overloaded which I, being the astute observer of motherkind that I am, quickly realized meant that she could not see goings-on beneath her feet. Furthermore, as she exited the SR, she gently pulled the door toward her then be-bopped down the stairs, confident she had once more teased us and left us hanging.

Only some of us were a bit too clever for her this time. I don’t like to boast but old Gussie can move pretty stealthily as the situation requires, and this situation DID require! You see, Mummy, I also noticed, had failed to close the door completely. And it was with me the work of a moment to dash in and begin exploring before Mummy could say, “Where are you?” I mean to say, you can’t expect a cat to ignore the potential of such an environment - it isn’t human nature!

What is more, Poppet was apparently of the same mindset. So in we went, with one quick backward glance to ensure we had eluded notice, then settled in for an hour or so, we thought, of fun.

After a while, the two of us grew a bit tired from all our exploring [we managed to unwrap two new down pillows, shred a roll of paper towels, and topple a stack of boxes, spilling the contents across the carpet], so we settled in for a quick nap before Mummy came back to get us. Poppet chose one of the down pillows for his snooze while I opted for one of the [now-empty] boxes (it always pays to be safe, even in the Storage Room). I melted into sleep, dreamily thinking of having a nice crunchy snack in a few minutes….

I woke to the sound of someone’s tummy growling, probably Poppet’s, then realized it was really dark. Who turned out the lights, I asked myself. My Self responded with a sense of panic and chattering teeth. It appeared we had been hoodwinked – no doubt the old Mumster had discovered our fell deed, came all the way back upstairs, opened the door softly so as not to disturb our rest, switched off the light, then slithered back down the stairs to enjoy her evening without us. A bit odd, I thought, as she normally would have unceremoniously tossed us out on our ears under the circs. Still, I gave her the benefit of the doubt and decided she was trying to teach us a lesson.

After a while of waiting and listening, I grew a bit apprehensive that this lesson was being carried a bit too far. After all, I am a quick learner – it had already sunk in that I was missing out on my midnight snack. This time it was my tummy growling!

The predicament, of course, is that I was unable to say anything on the off chance Mummy actually did not know we were harbored in The Forbidden Place. So it was for me to settle in and wait.

Mummy had to come back in this room eventually.

Didn’t she?

I am pretty sure she does so at least once a week.

Poppet was not so easily sated. He determined to remove us from this dreadful situation at all costs. And his determination paid off! After poking around a bit, he discovered that the door was not even closed all the way, just sort of pushed to (I had to admit not recalling either of us shutting it…).

This was the best news ever!

I was truly excited to realize my worst fears were highly exaggerated and we would be eating tuna in no short order….

To my mind, it was merely a matter of reaching a paw under the door (I have done this a bazillion times when investigating the pantry) and sliding the door open while making our way to freedom. Only Poppet thought trying to reach for the knob made more sense - never mind that he does not possess an opposable thumb. So as I slipped my oversized clod hopper beneath the door, he simultaneously raised up and reached for the knob….

Do you know what happens when an overly rotund cat leans heavily on an open door?

No?

I will tell you!

The door closes.

As in shut.

The house was all quiet. My head hung low as I slinked back to my box; it was going to be a long night.

Next morning, Poppet was bright eyed and ready to go with another clever plan: annoy the bajeezies out of Mummy with his infamous “door scratching” (it is successful downstairs, rousting her out of bed at any unfashionable hour to quell the incessant scraping). Here is how it works: Poppet stands against the door and moves his paws in rapid succession up and down the door panels until that “claws on a chalkboard” sound can no longer be tolerated. Then appears Mummy with that reproving tone and Poppet sails to the other end of the house, well out of arms’ reach.

He waited until he heard the delicious sounds of tuna being dished out in heaping spoonfuls to the other cats, then he let loose with a raucous scratching that could no doubt be heard in China.

Nothing at first. He paused, then resumed the beloved annoying action. Then it came – the first sign that Mummy was actually paying attention: she yelled at Poppet (for she knew it was he) to “Stop that infernal racket!” He paused again to refresh then once more went at it, picking up the pace. By this time it had become apparent that Mummy was now exploring to rout out the offense, and ultimately made her way up the stairs after smartly tracking the sound down.

The door burst open, flinging Poppet backward into a niche behind, where he stayed, crouching in abject fear as he was certain Mummy was on a death mission (he only has a couple of lives left, I think). I, on the other paw, oddly had just lowered my head below the edge of the box at the moment she entered the room (Mummy was sure I was hiding but actually I had just noticed a small movement in the box and wanted to ensure it wasn’t a creepy spider or some such creature).

To make a long story short, we were falsely accused of breaking and entering, then predictably unceremoniously tossed out on our ears. I tried to explain about the [potential] spider but she wasn’t having any of it. I glanced at Poppet, fellow prisoner, and realized he hadn’t an ounce of care.

 He appears to be feeling quite smug about the whole thing.

And Mummy just noticed the collateral damage in the SR so I think it best to drop the matter and slither back down the stairs to where dinner awaits!

Dental Seizure

Dad behaved badly this morning - I can't think why. 

I was on the bathroom counter minding my own business, listlessly chewing on his toothbrush (it tasted deliciously like peppermint, which I love!), while waiting for my morning drink from the faucet, when Dad quite rudely snatched the dental accoutrement from my grasp and THREW IT IN THE TRASH CAN! 

Then he said I ought not to be doing that. 

I was astonished at his bizarre behavior - out of the blue, snatching things from people and throwing perfectly good toothbrushes away.

 I am thinking I should tell Mummy about it 'cause that doesn't seem right. 

Next thing you know, he'll be throwing away that glass I drank out of!

Interrogations

Mummy has a bizarre habit of asking the silliest questions. I am of the opinion that most situations are self-explanatory but nevertheless she persists in her inquisitions.

Here are some examples of what we kitties must tolerate each and every day of our 9 lives, along with the obvious [I think] answers:

What ARE you doing? [I am thinking, Mummy, that it should be apparent. If you are done, I will get back to shredding this plant now. ]

Why do you persist in ignoring me? [When you have something important to discuss, I will definitely listen. For example, tell me all about what we are having for dinner – that will get my attention. Better still, show me!]

Why must we always have mice floating in the water dish?[They were dirty!]

Where are all your toys? [Under the sofa…where you obviously hide them. I merely mention it…]

WHO is plucking on the carpet? [Um, not me! *scamper, scamper, scamper*]

What DO you think you are doing? [What do YOU think I am doing?]

Why do you have to have all the cabinet doors

 open? [I can’t see through them, you know.]

Why can’t you keep your litter in the box where it belongs?[Oh, is that where it goes?]

Who pulled the clothes out of the laundry hamper? [*crickets chirping*]

Who ate the tops off all the muffins? [mmm…Mot me! *swallow* I was just standing here, honest!]

Where did my pen go? [*THWACK* 10 points! Yaaaaayy, yaay, ya…UM..aheh…*gulp*]

WHO DID THAT? [What?]

What are trying to tell me? [Are you deaf?]

Where are you? [Not telling…]

Why did you do that? [You wouldn’t understand. Best to leave it alone.]

Are you ever going to learn? [Learn what, exactly?]

Are you sleepy? [No…*yawn*...ZZzzzz…]

I could go on but the list is endless, and I wouldn’t want to bore anyone. To be sure, Mummy is, I think, a bit out of her mind. I mean to say, who would not know all of the above without resorting to a thousand questions? 

Only a parent, I s'pose.

Merry Christmas To All My Family and Friends!

Merriest of holidays to all!

It has been a long time since Mummy even bothered to update my diary so there is much to catch up on. But I do not wish to bore, only to say that we kits love all our family and friends very much and especially thank Unca David and Aunt Chrystal for looking after us when Mummy abandons us. 

And for making sure their urchins got bigger instead of staying small and bothersome over the years.  

And we would like to thank Cousin Carl (aka Private Small Frye) for keeping his parents in line when they don't do things right. He knows how to run the place! Going to make a fine general some day.

Whisker-y kisses and fuzzy hugs to everyone!

Love, 

Augustus, Man of the House.

Except when he is bad and opens all the kitchen cabinets. 

And nabs the treats Mosby works so very hard to get from the treat tower.

And hangs on Mummy's arm, all claws, while she is trying to type at her computer. (Which he might be doing as we speak...).

And the list goes on. But as I said, it is not my desire to bore.

*AHEM*

Here are pictures of a few of us getting into the ol' Christmas spirit!

Augustus, Enigma

Hello, Everyone!

To while away the long, dreary hours that is our life, Mummy made a digital puzzle of me on jigidi, and I want to share it with you all in case you are looking for something to do while lounging.

If you wish to solve the puzzle that is Augustus (er, that didn't come out right...), please go here:

Augustus' Puzzle

Do let me know if you enjoyed it!

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? 

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!             

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! 

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 25^th 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 décor 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.

Christmas?

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….

By Sbeller is Back!

Bubby says I bust be odd the bedd 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.

Aaahhhh…..

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.

*sdiffle*

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??

*SdUfFlE*

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)….

No?

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?

Never!

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….

Leaves of Glass

Mirror,

Mirror,

On the floor…

Alas!

‘Tis sad,

You are no more.

When Mummy sees

What I have done,

I’ll have no option

But to...

RUUUUUUNNNNNNNNN!

She’s coming – yikes!!!

Relatives Are Coming!

Look out...!

Man the boats...!

Every cat for himself...!

Women and children overboard...!

Run for your liiiiiivesssss.......................!

I just found out Monday is a holiday.

*faint*

The Potato Eaters

So…

Mummy brings home this bag of small red globes, not unlike apples (only less shiny).

She opens said bag and dumps the lumps into a shiny silver bowl with all over holes.

SIDE NOTE: I did not put those holes there, though I fear I may be blamed someday. Apparently it has escaped Mummy’s notice that when she pours water into this bowl, it all falls out those holes. It is only a matter of time before she catches on…

 Where was I?

Oh yes, Mummy washes off the potatoes and leaves the leaking bowl in the sink (should have been her first clue. About the holes, I mean).

So…

Young Mosby gets the bright idea, and I admit I was a pippin, that he wants to inspect these tubers more closely with a view to ascertaining their value as a source of nutrition. We kits are always starving so must plan ahead in event of a catastrophe, such as Mummy letting the tuna run out or a burglar making off with the crunchies.

Mosby sniffed and found them not so aromatic as hoped but there is always more to a potato than meets the eye, I always say. He glances round to be sure no one (AKA Mummy) is watching, then deftly nabs a potato and lobs it onto the floor. We all move in to see what this stuff is made of. Concurring that the smell isn’t anything to tell the grandchildren about, we bat it around a bit to see how well it rolls. Pretty smoothly, I am happy to report!

It is at this juncture that Mosby hops down from his aerie and takes charge of the spud, whacking it beneath the cabinet then immediately retrieving it. After volleying back and forth in this manner for several minutes, the potato found itself split in two pieces.

Now, I prefer my potatoes with loads of butter, softly whipped into a mound of fluffy lightness but as a midday snack, cold, raw spuds are not too bad. We finished off most of that potato then began gnawing on another one Mosby very kindly poached for us….

Sage advice: I would give a word of caution to anyone attempting this at home – one would be wise to hide the remains before Mummy reenters the room (as in, don’t leave half in the middle of the room for her to trip on and the other half wedged beneath the frame of the entryway door. It makes a dreadful splintering sound when the door has to be forced open. And I am pretty sure it wasn’t the potato that cracked).

Danger!

I looked out the kitchen window today (Tippy wasn't around, thank goodness!), and guess what I saw?? Mummy was on the deck playing with some little fuzzy creatures that made funny mewing noises [they were very clumsy, too, not graceful like me]! 

Mummy had said she was just going out to check on something but it turned out she was playing with these 'things'. You should have seen the way she was loving on them and cuddling them and stuff.  I got jealous and made my most pathetic face in hopes she would notice and come back to me.  

She looked my way, and I squinted and pouted; I think it worked because she came back in. Then I told her how I felt (a guy has to stand up for himself, you know). She said she loved me so much more than those things and that she was only making sure they were healthy and that she was going to send them to someone else's home to live. 

But I said she didn't need to make such a great show of checking their vitals. Mummy called me an old silly and kissed me on my head - uggh! I don't trust those 'things'; I've heard tales about stuff like this. Parents play tough but the little creatures make cute faces and are all fuzzy and sweet, so parents fall for them and let them stick around; then they somehow turn into cats. 

We have cats already. 

That's all we need - more cats in the house! 

They will take over Mummy's life and she won't love me anymore. 

That's it; I have to do something to put a stop to this nonsense before it is too late.

 But what? 

I'm thinking...

Sad Reckonings

It is coming on the one year anniversary of Dad’s death, and we are all most heartbroken. As much as we try to keep cheerful, always we are reminded that Dad is no longer with us, that he simply cannot be part of our lives anymore. Mummy says I am doing a fine job as Man Of The House but I sure wouldn’t mind if Dad came back to do the job – it is daunting taking care of all these cats! If only we could get rid of the cats and have it just be me and Mummy…

Where was I?

Oh yes. I wish that Mummy could have her best friend back ‘cause I am not nearly such good company as Dad. He spoiled Mummy (the reason she is so rotten today, no doubt), and she spoiled him so that they were both rotten, really. But I love them anyway.

Still, losing Dad has been nearly unbearable but we have all gotten through it together, an important reminder that there is strength in numbers, however fuzzy.

I forget who said that…Poppet? No. He isn’t so clever.

I’ll think of it.

 In the meantime, I am so glad Mummy is still here or I would be the saddest kit in the world! I am grateful I have Mummy and that she loves me even though [she says] I am incorrigible at times.

I’m sure I don’t know what she means.

Pink Water

Mummy is up to stuff again.

After a day and a bit of carefully laying my new rope-and-pink feather toy in The Pool for a good soak, only to find Mummy continually removing it, then me having to put it back in again, I managed to wait until the old Mumster went to bed then dropped the doodad back in the water for the night.

Imagine my surprise when I went to check on it this morning and found that the entire Pool was a bright shade of pink! I am certain Mummy put pink dye in there just to discourage me from dropping my toys in, only she was very sneaky ‘cause I never heard her get up. The worst part is that pink dye caused the pink feathers on my new gadget to fade. How, I am not certain, but Mummy should be more careful about shenanigans involving our toys.

Still, there it is.

Mummy must have felt guilty about her actions ‘cause when she saw the brightly colored water, not to mention the fading feathers leaving pink streaks on the tile after I removed it from The Pool, she washed both the floor and The Pool, leaving them nice and clean.

I plan to drop my yellow mouse in today – let’s see if Mummy tries to dye the water the same color.

This time, I will be watching!

The Dinosaurs Are Back!

It is a lovely spring morning, and I am languishing in a puddle of sunshine I happened to spot in the window sill. Perusing my options for the day, I determine that rest is first on my agenda. Settling down for a quiet snooze, drifting silently away [some say noisily. Okay, I snore!], the window instantly becomes a whirlwind of activity – Nutmeg has dashed against the glass in a mad fury, apparently under the impression that some phantom burglar has attempted to break in.

Meanwhile, I am crouching in abject fear, lest that rotund physique should land upon my head. What the devil is going on, I ask myself. My Self replies, I haven’t a ruddy clue but there goes any chance of a decent nap!

Daring to peek above the furor as Nutmeg makes another flying leap at the pane, I spot him – The Dinosaur! I remember him from last year – a wild-eyed reptile all over shades of green with nubbly skin and not a stitch of fur. I note with admiration the claw-like feet that keep him clinging the ivy in the Great Outdoors. He moves steadily, if slowly, cautiously feeling his way along the limb. On seeing the Mad Tabby pelting toward him again, his chest swells into a bright red bubble, my eyes growing equally into great orbs of amazement - this fellow is chewing gum! I say, who would have thought that Dinosaurs did that? 

  I wonder which is his favorite? 

 I prefer mint flavor, myself.

My Self replied, You are straying from the subject at hand.

Oh sorry, back to the Reptilian Guy…

Waiting for the bubble to burst, I twist myself into a spiral to circumvent Nutmeg [and my sizeable tummy] in order to make a closer inspection. Expecting at any moment to see fire and smoke, I reach carefully to pat his little noggin but bump the glass instead. He runs a few feet, stops then rotates an eye in my direction in such a marked manner that I sit back, afraid any further movement might offend him. I understand completely - these Dinosaurs need their space! Freezing in my spot, I decide to merely observe this great creature in motion.

Not Nutmeg – any activity on the part of The Dinosaur, whom we all know fondly as Biffy, agitates her to no end. She leaped and scrabbled and fell back to earth – right on top of me!

That was all the encouragement I needed. To remove my fluffy Self from this scene of madness was with me the work of a moment. After such excitement, I felt the need for serious repose, and this time it would be somewhere that Nutmegs and Dinosaurs would not encounter me.

I took up residence in the laundry basket located on top of the Washing Machine and began to snooze. Little did I know there was a hefty moth lounging on the overhead light.

Did I mention that Nutmeg loves to catch moths?...

Catnip Bubbles!

Mummy brought us home a new treat – catnip bubbles!

What fun we have had, watching Mummy hold that little bottle, dig relentlessly for the tiny, stubborn yellow paddle then attempt to blow bubbles for us. 

She makes the most amusing faces, especially when the stuff spatters all over her nose.

She smells very appealing now.