...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...

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 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.


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….

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Leaves of Glass



On the floor…


‘Tis sad,

You are no more.

When Mummy sees

What I have done,

I’ll have no option

But to...


She’s coming – yikes!!!

Saturday, May 25, 2013

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.

Monday, May 13, 2013

The Potato Eaters


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).


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).

Tuesday, May 7, 2013


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...

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

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.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

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!

Sunday, April 7, 2013

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?...

Saturday, March 23, 2013

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.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

The Case Of The Disappearing Cheese Roll

Fresh from the store with her arms full of the intriguing and delicious, Mummy piled the contents of the bags onto the counter tiles. Being Man Of The House, a duty taken quite seriously, I supervised the unloading of the foodstuffs with an intent stare. Delicate aromas curled ‘round my nose and drew me ever closer to the goods, one in particular captivating the old senses. What was that distinctive smell? It was like herbs and…let’s see, yogurt? No. Um, milk? Never!

I’ve got it – cheese!

Bread, herbs and cheese – Nectar of the Gods, I believe is the phrase. Or is that Necklace? Nectar, I think. At any rate, immediately I found myself nose to nose with a clear bag of freshly baked cheese rolls (I learned the name because Mummy observed what she referred to as my “greedy stare at her cheese rolls”,  snatching the lovely things away in the process. Only my greedy stare followed her move and noted their final resting place next to the glass canister on the northwest corner of the counter. Note the use of the word “final”….

It is now the midnight hour, and the house is quiet. Or at least as quiet as a house can be with eight kits snoring simultaneously. I am thinking about those delightful rolls and wondering how they are faring, all alone on the northwest corner of the counter, so I am taking a stroll to the kitchen in hopes of catching a glimpse of the golden brown, fragrant delights.

Did I mention I love bread and cheese?

Mummy left for a meeting this morning and merely breezed through the kitchen, swiping her keys from the southeast corner of the counter on her way out the door. Her voice rang out briefly about the package of rolls looking funny but apparently had no time to investigate. After holding my breath for what seemed an eternity then sighing with relief as the lock turned, I fell back into a dream-filled state, resting contentedly on my down pillow and feeling all was right with the world. A few minutes later, I was refreshed and ready to prowl, though there seemed only one place to be at this moment.

Did I mention I love bread and cheese?

Snoozing again (mid-morning nap), I was jarred from sleep by the Mumster returning. Clank went the keys on the marble, plop went the briefcase, sigh went the Mummy. Then “Wait a minute…” went she, and “I thought so!” as well. Who has been eating the cheese rolls, said Mummy, who also followed up with “you little rats” and “I might have known – I can’t have anything nice.”

Enter Mummy via the bedroom door, producing compelling evidence that a Bread Burglar was on the loose – viz: one package of freshly baked cheese rolls with a whacking great hole where a [whole] roll used to be.  The remaining bread was merely a shell of its former self. Even I had to admit it looked pretty bad. Still, that was as far as admissions need go. There is such a thing as discretion, particularly when Mummy is looming overhead wielding a plastic bag that did indeed look as if a rat had been at it. And though I resented being compared to a rat, I found that sobriquet not half so unappealing as the idea that at any moment Mummy may spot the crumbs in my teeth which I had been deeply savoring.

I put forth the notion that perhaps it was rats, or at least mice, as the place is teeming with them (the green one can be especially sneaky, I pointed out). Friedrich and Hortense are lounging in The Pool as we speak, said I, and suggested that Mummy give them a thorough questioning before closing the case. She merely gave me a knowing glance then biffed off to work at her desk, leaving me nonplussed – exactly what did she know? One can never tell with mothers; they are simply vague at times. Still, I find it completely unnecessary to rock the boat, as the old saying goes. Whose boat I cannot say but this is not a time for research.

It is, however, the perfect time for a nap.

So off to sleep I went, having moved a couple of inches toward the sunny southwest corner of the bed. 

Tomorrow is another day!


Sunday, March 10, 2013

The Terrace

Bleary-eyed from a long nights’ sleep, I stumbled into the kitchen at the usual breakfast hour, snacked on a few of the fresh crunchies Mummy had laid out then sat and brooded on the whole thing. The wee hours while it is still dark, and the world has yet to catch up with Mummy, are the ideal time for introspection. This particular morning my thoughts, such as they are, were focused (too unrealistic a word for this time of day, perhaps?) on the bevy of cats milling about the breakfast bar, noting the beginning-of-the-day courtesies extended to one and all (Poppet, for instance, did not even growl at Baby Morgan for entering the room, and Nutmeg allowed Princess to eat out of the dish exactly next to hers - remarkable). 

Following these observations, I adjusted my mental processes to the next logical thing, viz: what to do for the rest of the day. Now that my favorite chair has been replaced by the Window Seat, and the old W.S. was being overrun with young Mosby’s, the day seemed to call for a change of venue. So I determined (after my morning nap, of course) to take a view out of the window above the kitchen sink.

Now this requires some careful maneuvering since I am…er…not actually allowed on the kitchen counter but there are ways to manage such difficulties, particularly when a stalwart individual such as myself is on the task. Thus arising a few hours later (one has to wait until the sun comes up – otherwise, what is the point? Of course, Mummy happened to be outside, too, but that is purely coincidental), I stretched the front legs and arched the old back to get the blood circulating then sauntered into the kitchen. Perusing the remains of breakfast, I spotted a bouncy ball someone had left carelessly lying about the place. This I swatted across the room, scoring with a neat shot straight under the desk. Pleased with my success, I sat and gloated for a bit.

But this was not my ultimate goal - I was on a mission to get a different view of the world so after glancing about to be sure someone would see me (and disappointed to see that everyone else was still in bed, the slackards), I leaped agilely onto the sink…well, admittedly I am not at all agile so it took a couple of squat-and-leap attempts to get there but I did arrive at my destination.

And glancing out of the window onto the wide open plains, I spied something that made all my careful planning worthwhile.

Suddenly, where before there were weeds and wild roses and strange fellows mucking about the place as noted in an earlier chronicle, there stands a terrace. Neat and tidy with white lines all around the stones in a randomly tidy pattern that positively boggles the mind, this split-level terrace is still and clean and full of possibility. There are huge beds in which Mummy says she will plant flowers (presumably for me since she knows I adore fragrant blooms), and there are curving steps and walls that look like fun cat highways. Indeed, as I admired the lovely new outdoor space, a couple of Deck Cats raced along one edge in a sprightly game of chase. My eyes lit up in excitement – Mummy was right [this time]! All the noise and ripping up plants and overturning the earth, along with those nifty piles of sand I secretly longed to burrow my toes in, had resulted in this serene space. 

It seemed a miracle!

Mummy came in to find me admiring the new view; she stroked my neck while explaining that there would be furniture and pretty plants everywhere so it would be like an outdoor living space. I am not 100% certain I understand why she wants to live outdoors when there is a perfectly good indoor space but I concurred that it was indeed going to be a great spot to admire.

Mummy said she was glad I like it, and of course threw in a “told you so” comment.

Then she unceremoniously booted me off the counter with a squalid reminder of the HouseRules.

So much for taking in the new view (at least while she is at home)….

P.S. I will paste photos in my diary when the Terrace  is complete, just so you know it was not my imagination!

Friday, March 1, 2013


Caught on, er, in tape!

We kits did a bad thing.

Well, when I say “we” I actually mean Mosby and Morgan. Of course the others joined in the fray(ing), and I was swept along in the excitement of it all. Just sayin’….

It is nothing, really – perhaps I should not mention it - but there is [*scratch, scratch, scratch*] was this collection of tapes in a bag. And not just any tapes – OLD tapes, recordings dear ol’ Dad had borrowed from his dear ol’ dad of dear ol’ Dad’s dear ol’ dad’s family from yesteryear.

All clear so far?


I mean to say, this shiny, slinky thing was peeking out of the bag, and Mosby began pulling at it, then it grew. And grew. Morgan grabbed a bit and tugged some more, then out shot a whole reel! It rolled across the floor and (did I mention we were upstairs in Dad’s study?) bounced down the stairs, kits of all shapes and sizes traveling in its wake. Someone (I can’t clearly recall – probably doesn’t matter) nabbed the end between his handsome teeth and darted round the corner, across the dining room, between, then around, the table legs, over one chair and into the window seat.

At this juncture the tape snapped, leaving another free end. Naturally a kit grabbed the baton, as it were, and made off with it. This feline had the clever ingenuity (and agility, further evidence it was not I) to jump onto and across the kitchen island, over to the sink and somehow twist the crinkly film about the faucet, where it seemed pleased to remain.
Eventually that reel ran out of steam so another bright idea began flowering – why not go for another?

So we, er, they did.

In short, by the time Mummy walked in the door, the house was redone in Early Tape Recording which I thought added a certain whatsit.

Mummy, on the other paw, was not pleased. As we cringed waiting for our punishment, a few of us with the telltale evidence dangling from our lips, Mummy pulled a raw one on us. Instead of berating us for our fell deed, she simply said Dad would be most disappointed in us. That was shameful enough but there was more to come: viz. the revelation that Grandma reads my diary!

So now I, er, we are in deep trouble ‘cause Grandma thought very highly of those tapes, says Mummy. And she is coming over for dinner tomorrow night!

Did I mention the bathtub escape route has been cut off?


Saturday, February 23, 2013

Radical Change


One simply will not believe what has recently occurred in the old household.

Mummy has removed – yes, absolutely done away with – my favorite chair by the window! 
This is the chair in which Augustus has sat for years, staring unabashedly at birds, butterflies, cats, and last but not least, the ivy bed from whence many a pleasurable moment of meditation has arisen. From this very spot I have diligently kept a vigil for the occasional burglar, should one arrive.  And now, for some reason inexplicable, Mummy has seen fit to rid the home of said wooden chair and replace it with - get this - a soft, tufted linen storage trunk job topped with fluffy down pillows.

She calls it a Window Seat.

A seat is a seat, say I!

What on earth was she thinking? There aren’t even any arms over which to drape when one snoozes (even we stalwart types must take the occasional refreshing break from vigils). I suppose one is expected to simply settle comfortably onto this cushioned thingamajig and lounge about. What happened to diligence? I guess that is out the window, along with the birds and things.

Besides all the other amenities now vacant (raised back for resting one’s chin, for instance, or a ribbed seat for massaging one’s toes, etc), if one examines closely the photo below, one may observe something else distinctly missing, viz. one Augustus. That is correct: since installation of said overgrown box, poor li’l Gussie has not had opportunity to enjoy…er…use the new post because it is now overridden with cats!

I ask, does one see my handsome face anywhere? In case anyone is wondering, the answer is no. That impertinent squirt seen in the image is Young Mosby, AKA The Snoot, looking as if he owns the joint.

Perhaps I will make an attempt at some later date to reestablish my lookout point, begrudgingly using the overgrown Seat until I can speak to the management about these unnecessary changes.
Those fluffy pillows are bound to become a distraction.


Sunday, February 17, 2013


You will hardly believe this but Mummy has barred my entrance to beneath the bathub!

Everyone knows it is my retreat, my safety zone, me hiding-place-for-when-Mummy-is-shouting-my-name. 

Yet today she placed a piece of wood over the opening under the window seat and nailed it into place. 
I am aghast! 
I am astounded!

Where will I go when somebody has broken a glass, and I mysteriously get blamed?

What will I do when relatives come? 

What was she thinking?

She claims it is because she is afraid that in the event of an emergency she would not be able to get me out of there.

You’re darn right! 

That is the whole point, Mumster!

But Gussie, says she, what if the house caught on fire?

It would be your fault! Said I, and gave her a pouty look.

It is for your own good, she simpered.

Ha! Said I, and I meant it to sting.

Saturday, February 9, 2013

The Tunnel and The Broken Glass

It is the midnight hour, when one awakens from a refreshing sleep to find the rest of the world still snoozing. All is quiet. Stretching, therefore, and rising from my cozy niche in the bed, I bounce to the floor and prepare to saunter about the dimly lit surroundings, checking the place out for burglars or the occasional dust bunny out of place.

After inspecting a pink mouse then grazing for a few minutes in the crunchy bowl, my thoughts turn to adventure. Wouldn’t it be swell, say I, to discover something fun to do while no one else is around to interrupt? And finding myself in the dining room, I spy The Tunnel.

This tunnel is a longish, open-ended job with a nifty center window just right for espying the enemy on the trail. The premise is to start at one end, wiggle your way through, then come out the other fully prepared for whatever you might encounter, be it a ball, mouse, or even another cat. The downside, as one will later note, is that this tunnel makes the most horrific crackling sound; in short, you cannot sneak up on anyone in The Tunnel.

At this moment, however, I am prepared to endure the noisy bit for the sake of sheer entertainment so in I dive, squiggling and turning, discovering a leftover bouncy ball and an errant feather along the path. Scrabbling at the feather, I roll the tunnel over on its side, causing my head to loll out the center opening and find itself confronted by an obstacle. Strange, I say to myself, that wall was not there when I started. Self ignores me so I pop back into the tunnel to continue the journey. 

Rolling and twisting, attacking the ball with claws and teeth, I see that somehow I have managed to turn around in the tunnel so must right the circumstance. Backing up rapidly in a vain attempt to exit head first, the tunnel slides and skips over the stone tiles, all the while making the most deafening crackling row so that I immediately grow conscious the Mumster (whom I left sleeping soundly only a few minutes before) might hear. 

And within the space of about a millisecond there occurred 3 unmistakable sounds: to wit, the thud of my rear end against a solid surface, the tinkling crash of glass, and a sleepy but assertive question (something about, “What the blazes is going on in there?”). 

That is all I need to hear. 

I am off like a streak upstairs where I am content to confine myself to a dank corner until Mummy leaves for work, the new sound of agitated sweeping a firm reminder that it might have been better to stay in the toasty bed.

Yet a cat has to have an adventure once in while, say I. 

So off I drift into fitful slumber, drowning out the mutterings and rantings with pleasant thoughts of my latest adventure. 

What, I wonder, will I get into next? 

Just you wait and see!

Saturday, February 2, 2013

My New ‘Do

I have been styled!

This morning I was in the Grande Bathing Room (the one that houses the infamous bathtub beneath which I have been known to find respite from pursuing Mummy’s bent on vengeance for the odd broken something or other), watching Mummy work on her maniacal hair. I say maniacal for her hair is something to behold, not unlike mine - a bit wild with a mind of its own (one may recall the Mat Incident last year when, as a result of much trimming on the part of Mummy, Dad bestowed upon me the telling sobriquet “Buzz”). Mummy’s hair, therefore, must be tamed! And to do so apparently requires the combined effort of a couple of hot irons and a vast array of creams, gels, lotions and sprays, not to mention several minutes of beneath-the-breath grumbling, some words of which may not be suitable for mixed audiences (I merely mention it).

It is the last item on the list of potions which worked its magic on me this lovely morning as I gazed upward through the flailing arms and blowing tresses. Content to stare listlessly while Mummy worked, I was caught unawares by a hissing noise immediately followed by a fall out of some cold, sticky substance. It landed on my nose and made me sneeze. Mummy said she was sorry then tried to fluff my fur but it stuck out and remained. I adjusted my position, not fully realizing the extent of the damage, then caught a glimpse of my coat in the mirror. What a mess! And the more Mummy tried to relieve me of the veil of niffiness, the more my fur stood out. The worst of it was Mummy had to leave so was unable to do anything by way of rectifying her fell deed for the nonce.

So now I am mucking about the place looking like a lion whose mane has come unhinged. I did make a feeble attempt at cleaning my fur but it did not taste very nice; the realization that it could wait until Mummy gets home settled over me like a contented fog. Glancing one last time in the mirror, I see that it isn’t so bad after all. Indeed, it does not hurt to change up one’s look every now and then – it keeps others guessing what you are up to! One simply must remember to return things to store after the novelty wears off. 

Or, as in this case, the hairspray.

Friday, January 25, 2013

Yard Work[over]

It is that time of year again, says Mummy, when one must turn one’s thoughts to the Great Outdoors and things that must be done to get the yard ready for spring viewing. Of course, we kits are the only ones who view it (via the Great Indoors) but that is neither here nor there, as They say.

What is glaringly apparent, continues Mummy, is that our yard looks perfectly rotten! Had I known this, of course, I would have taken a stricter line with said Mummy, ensuring we kits were not embarrassed knowing the neighbors might have seen our wayward acreage but still, there it is.

The reality? There is this whacking great patch of lawn full of rolling hills and weeds (the likes of which should win Mummy some sort of award for Most Unwanted Varieties in a Single Piece of Landscape or some such thing). So Mummy has decided, at much risk to our capital investment expenditures on fish, to install a Patio, teeming with flagstones and walls, surrounded by deep beds begging for lush plantings which, says she, will make her yard work simpler. I say it is most distressing to suddenly find the lawn crawling with fellows who, unannounced, could have been burglars of any variety. And to hear the ominous sounds of gargantuan Monsters chewing up the turf is, frankly, a bit thick for this quiet-craving guy.

For my part, I have taken the occasional peek out the window, keeping myself carefully hidden from view – I am, after all, in my skivvies – while maintaining some measure of composure for documenting the facts. So far, these fellows have dumped piles of rocks and dirt everywhere, pulled up plantings and otherwise generally ruined what I always thought was a tidy but of landscape. In other words, it [still] looks perfectly rotten.

I think Mummy’s plan is a bust. 

How to break it to her, that is the burning issue of the hour….

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Um, Er…Help?

I say! Minding my own business just now, sitting on the bathroom counter politely waiting on my morning beverage (the good old tissue restorer known as Water), I suddenly find myself confronted by a strange new occurrence – viz. there is a small but noticeable kitten absolutely dangling from my tail!

What, I ask, did I do wrong as a child to merit such distress?

Let me back up a smidge.

There has been a diminutive grayish, dust-bunnyish looking fuzzball charging about the place the past few weeks (going by the silly sobriquet of Puff) and generally upsetting the delicate balance of nature, as it were. It is obnoxiously fun-loving, seeking adventure at any cost [to others]. What is worse, Mummy actually allows this erratic behavior to continue unchecked, culminating in the afore-described incident.

And what I wish to know is this: how does one relieve one’s self of a limpet?

I appeal to anyone having ever experienced such an ordeal, for gazing downward, I see in Puff’s eyes that look of endeavoring to persevere. She is twisting and turning, attacking my silky gray fur with tiny claws and teeth, and otherwise making a nuisance of herself while having the time of her little life.
In short, it appears she is in it for the long haul.

We could be here a while.

Suggestions are welcome!


Sunday, January 13, 2013


There is nothing quite like resting one’s cold, damp toes on Mummy’s warm back after a splash-about in The Pool (AKA Water Dish)….

There is also nothing quite like the reaction one gets from Mummy on feeling icy wet feet in the small of her back while trying to snooze.

I say! 
Perhaps it would be best to check out that noise I heard in the other room just now….

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Decorating 101

Overcoming Obstacles To Your New-Found Interior Decorating Career, or
Defying Mummy’s Attempts at Limiting Your Creativity By Keeping Things Out Of Reach

Step 1 – When Mummy places the new basket of apples out of reach, say, way up on the counter, leap to your goal! Now is your chance – seize the day! Or in this case, an apple!

Step 2 – Roll forbidden fruit to the edge of the counter and push it off, peering over to watch it fall to the floor…

Step 3 – Gaze horrified as the apple deviates from the plan and swings wide, smashing into Mummy’s stemware on the shelf below the counter (thinking harsh thoughts about the person who left that shelf there to begin with. I am thinking, that is, not the apple), LOUDLY scattering fragments of glass across the room.

Step 4 – Make a beeline for the underside of the bathtub, looking neither to the right nor to the left, just in case Mummy is coming from either direction (how does she manage to sound like she is coming from everywhere at once?).

At this point in the proceedings you should be feeling pretty good about your accomplishments, providing everything has gone according to plan. Since my plan did not quite work out, I don’t feel so good and believe I will stay here under the tub for a while to recuperate.
It is my only chance of survival; Mummy was rather fond of those glasses…