...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, 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...