...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...

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Mummy, Nobbled!

Poor little Mummy is hopping about on one foot today, 
all that is left of her after a vicious attack by a brute of a kitten named Mosby!
There she was in the living room, minding her own business while reading a nice book, her feet dangling over the back of the sofa [which sits conveniently - for a certain kitten - about 6 inches from the wall…], when from nowhere (or rather, from behind the sofa) came terrific sounds of scuffling – irrefutable evidence of the presence of fuzzy little blighters in pursuit of a brawl. 

I happened to be resting along the back of said sofa, thinking of this and that, so got a bird’s eye view of the proceedings. After much tornado-like activity between Morgan and Mosby, the latter decided the sofa needed a lesson in manners as well and began snatching and scratching at the slipcover.
It appeared, from my vantage point, that Mosby mistook Mummy’s foot for an appendage of the sofa (an arm, perhaps, or a pillow?) so gave it a triple-clawed swipe for good measure then went on his merry way.

Mummy yowled not a little, Mosby giving her a questioning glance as he passed from view ‘round the corner. The vile wretch hadn’t a clue about the destruction left in his wake!

So now Mummy is wounded and may not last the night, and we will starve because I am sure Dad does not know how to feed us properly – all because Mosby can’t tell the difference between a sofa arm and Mummy's toes!

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