Did he watch?

As you lay before me,
wrapped in blankets, still warm,
did you watch me approach,
your lifeless young form.

Did you watch me reach out,
to tickle your chin;
hope you lifted your head,
but you kept it tucked in.

Did you watch me attempt,
a last belly rub,
with no response;
a silent snub.

Did you watch me try,
the tips of your ears,
for a flick of annoyance,
to show you're still here.

Did you watch me accept,
with a long, lonely sigh,
that you were long gone,
and I must say goodbye.

Did you watch as I sadly,
stroked your side,
Kissed the top of your head,
and could not decide:
At what point was it?
Where was I at?
When I got so attached,
to a tiny, black cat?

Things I'm Missing

A friend asked me if I'd consider getting another cat soon. I've thought about it, but don't know if I'd want to replace Bruce so quickly (sounds like the end of a relationship!). The other thing is, Bruce was so odd that I'm not so sure I'd want another cat: it wouldn't be the same.

Here are some things I'm missing without having my little mate around:

-Having his jump through the window at 3am, hop onto my bed, and walk all over me (including my head!), purring and demanding attention.

-Having him wandering around the house, chatting away to no-one in particular.

-Being woken to the sound of crunching at 4am, when he came in for a late night snack.

-His exaggerated stretches after a sleep: both front paws first, then right hind leg (quick shake), left hind leg (quick shake).

-His little 'happy dance', when he felt content, on cushions:

-Pouncing on my feet when they were under the duvet, apparently believing them to be  mice. He'd be shown that they were, in fact, feet and he'd look like he understood.
As soon as they were covered by the duvet again, he'd go back to thinking they were mice.

-Finding him lying in the most awkward places i.e across doorways, without any concern that someone might trip over him.

-Walking back and forth across my legs, while I was on the way to feed him, nearly causing me to fall over several times.

-When he was really happy, after getting lots of attention, he used to sit on me, close his eyes, and dribble to show his approval.

-The fact that he was so docile, and just accepted all situations: if you found him sleeping somewhere he shouldn't be, and moved him, he'd dangle in your arms, looking a bit forlorn.
He'd never struggle or squirm, he'd just be happy with wherever he was plonked!

-No matter how deep a sleep he was in, you could always wake him with a swish of ipod headphones, and he'd start attacking them straight away.

-The warm patches he'd leave wherever he'd been sleeping ('free' electric blanket!)

-Always cleaning his paws straight after eating: maybe he just wanted them to smell of food later?

-Watching him eat wasps. He never looked like he was enjoying it (who would?), but still ate them anyway.

-Watching him get stuck at the top of things, and trying to figure out how to get back down.

-His 'please let me in' miaow.

-Having him fall asleep on me when it wasn't convenient i.e when I was working, or had to go out, then not being able to move as I felt guilty, because he was comfortable! (I'm sure he knew this, the little sod...)

-Having a cold nose stuck in my ear at some silly hour of the night.

-When you opened a door, to let him out, he would reach up with his front paws, as if trying to grab the handle to do it himself.

-The fact that he often left his tongue poking out after he miaowed.

-Always trying to clean me, as if I didn't smell catty enough for him.

-Not minding being used as a pillow sometimes!

-Rolling over to show his belly - paws tucked in - when I walked in to where he was sleeping: 'yes, you may give me attention now'.



That's quite a list for something that only weighed four kilos.

Catty Heaven

I can't claim to be particularly religious, and bound by the idea of heaven and hell, but it would be nice to think that Bruce - and any other cats that have 'moved on' - has gone somewhere like this:

Catty Heaven

In catty-heaven

There are no roads;

Just lots of frogs,

And fattened toads.

There’s bees and flies,

With which to play;

On endless warm,

And sunny days.

There’s window sills

That go for miles,

To bask in rays;

Stretch out, in style.

There’s Magpies a-plenty

And if they tease,

We have the power,

To make them freeze!

There’s hoards of mice,
that scamper and scurry;

Huge supplies,
No need to worry.

There’s endless rows

Of trees to climb;
we float back down

In our own time.

There’s lots of happy

Catty friends,
And no-one has

Space to defend.

There’s scratching posts,

That never wear down,
And your favourite spot,

Can always be found.

There’s soft, warm beds,

On which to sleep,
and fresh laundry,
in comfy heaps.

And while you nap,

Hands come from on high,

To tickle your belly
As you purr in reply.

There’s mountains of biscuits,

And fresh lamb in gravy;
by your side, when you wake,

So you can be lazy.

The water is fresh,
and wonderfully cold,
full to the top,

With your name on the bowl.

You can dribble and purr,

To your heart's content,
and there’s chair legs galore,

To rub with your scent.

No sheds or out-buildings
in which to get trapped,
and every nose-nudge,
elicits one back.

Nothing eludes us,

New power to paws,

We can stretch and reach up,

To open closed doors.

We can clean, we can preen,

Once sated, well fed,
Our tongues now stretch out,
to the top of our heads.

When we’ve finished our grooming,

And all work is done,
we can trot off outside,

And chase wasps in the sun….

Lovable Clutz

Before I got Bruce I thought that all cats were graceful, elegant, made things look effortless.
Bruce was anything but. In fact, bless him, he was positively graceless!

To look at him, you would've thought otherwise: he was slim, streamlined - with a tiny angular face - and had incredibly long legs. His back legs were particularly long... but also bandy; he always looked awkward when standing.

The first time I became aware he was clumsy was when he fell asleep on top of a radiator cover, with one back leg hanging down slightly. Slowly but surely, that leg hung down more, followed by his other back leg, then his bum, then the rest of him; with an inelegant 'flump'.
He didn't learn from this and did it on many other occasions.

Above this radiator cover was a big window. Bruce would spend hours trying to catch individual raindrops, and flying insects, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were on the other side of the glass.
One time, he saw a bee at the window and ran at it, headfirst, bouncing off and wondering where it had gone!

One of his favourite tricks was to run, vertically, up the lounge door (about seven feet off the floor), get to the top - which was barely wide enough to contain all his paws - then miaow, with distress, to get down. However, if you went to help him he'd paw your hand away (never with his claws out, just gently). He'd stay on top of the door for up to 20 minutes, looking confused and wobbling, then leap, with uncertainty, onto the sofa.

He made quite a habit of getting stuck on high things. The first time he went into my parents' garden, when I had to move home, he jumped onto the fence... then fell straight over into next door's garden.
My parents have a big wooden arbour, also in the garden: he'd regularly run straight up it, get to the top, and miaow for ages to be let down, lost in the plants up there:

Between my bedroom wall and next door's fence is a little alleyway, full of brambles and odds and sods. Somehow, Bruce got stuck on the fence down that alleyway, right outside my window. I could hear his little 'let me down please' miaow. I opened the window outwards to help him, and the idiot stood on top of it! If I kept it open he'd be stuck on it, if I pulled it down he'd slide off into the brambles.

In the end I had to grab him near his back legs and haul him backwards, upside down, then under the window, just to get him into my room.
He miaowed, licked his front paw, then wandered off!

Not only could he not balance on high things, he was rubbish at jumping onto things and judging distances. Many a time he would jump up towards something and fall back down again! I used to feed him in my bathroom (as it was nearest the window where he came in).
I spooned his food into his bowl, in the sink so that he couldn't get to it before I was finished.
He would jump onto the toilet lid to see what was going on. He would then try to make the leap between the toilet and the sink. Not once did he manage it!
On one occasion he made the leap, missed the sink and fell into my bin: the silly sod!

To get into the house he'd have to jump through a window, but it was too high up for him to get to in one go. Instead, I set up a couple of steps for him to reach it: an upturned plant pot, then an old wheelie bin. The window opened out at about a 45 degree angle, pointing downwards. It had to be open to its furthest extent. I found this out when I was in my bathroom, heard him jump, heard a 'bonk', followed by a frustrated miaow. The plonker had jumped up, misjudged the angle of the window, hit the underside, and bounced back down to the floor. He was uninjured - only wounded pride - and he made it at the second attempt.

Finally, a nod to the first time he was ever let outdoors. Sal and I (at my old flat), worriedly let him out, and watched as he nosed around the garden; fascinated by everything. We stayed in the garden to reassure him, so he knew where we were and where to come back to.
We had some friends round for a Sunday lunch and drinks. After Bruce had been out four hours we were a bit concerned. When that became five hours we were really worried: it had now started raining too. The four of us had to go out, calling Bruce in the surrounding roads, with my friend Chris and I jangling a fluffy pink cat toy: how manly we looked...
We looked under cars, in gardens, I think we knocked on a few doors. After a couple of hours we heard a faint miaow, in the alleyway directly behind our garden.
Across that alleyway (so all of one yard from our garden) was another garden. We peered over into it. The owners of the attached house, saw us doing this from their kitchen. The husband came out and asked if we were okay, and we explained that we'd lost our cat.
We all heard the miaow again. He looked around until he heard another miaow, then headed to the fence next to which we stood.

'Is your cat black and white?' he asked.
'Yes' I replied.
'...he's here, sheltering under a bush'

With that he bent down, picked Bruce up and handed him, awakwardly, to us. Before we could grab him properly, he panicked, jumped over Chris' shoulder, up and over the fence to our garden... and into Sal's arms, as she was waiting there for him.
The daft creature had been stuck all of a yard away from his home, without realising it!

He was such a lovable idiot :)

Bruce Vs Tree

You know you love a pet when you'll let it destroy the one thing you've wanted for ages....and instantly forgive them.

Growing up in a Jewish household, I'd never had a Christmas tree ... but had always wanted one. They're bright, they signal a happy time of year, and they have presents underneath: what's not to like?
Moving in with my partner-at-time changed all that. She's from a Christian background and, although not overly religious, absolutely loves Christmas.
So, it was with great joy that - at the start of our first December in the flat - we bought a B & Q fake christmas tree: sparkly white, plus we covered it in blue flashing lights and about 50 baubles. We didn't want a real tree as the needles would drop everywhere, and I couldn't be bothered to spend December hoovering.
The fake tree was a bit of a pain to put up as it came in (seemingly) hundreds of different sections, but it looked great when it was complete.

It was only a week later when, having made up our minds at the cat rescue centre, we brought Bruce home. He was very confused, coming into a new home, and spent most of the first 48 hours hiding behind a sofa. I'd formed the opinion that maybe he was just timid.
How very wrong I was.

About four days after arriving in the flat, Bruce discovered the Christmas tree. He'd sit in front of it, tail swishing, marvelling at what he saw as a giant cat toy.
He'd finally single out one of the 50 baubles and start swatting it with his paw: at first, tentatively, then with more gusto, when it didn't respond. He would do this until it fell off, then bat it round the room. After a while, I'd get up, take the bauble off him, and say 'no Brucey', before hanging it back on the tree. He'd look at me, wide eyed, as if he might understand... then pick another bauble.
This was all mildly amusing, while watching the TV. It was less amusing between the hours of 1am - 3am. The pattern was: I'd hear a faint tinkling, in the lounge, then a bouncing sound as a bauble dropped. Then 'clonk', at 20 second intervals, as Bruce played his own version of football. I'd get out of bed, find him running after the bauble, and pick it up. He'd look at me expectantly, thinking I was ready to play, with no concept of 'I have to get up for work in a few hours'. When I took the bauble away, he'd look disappointed. Within 10 minutes he'd be playing with another one.

I soon put a stop to this, and the lounge door was keep shut at night, so that Bruce couldn't access the tree, and Sal and I could sleep. Unfortunately, this left Bruce with less space, increased his boredom, and meant that he started finding pens, around the flat, and chasing them up and down the hallway.

As a happy medium, it was decided that Bruce could have access to the lounge  - and therefore the tree - during the day (he was still an 'indoor cat' at this point), and play with the baubles to his heart's content. It seemed like a great idea.
The first day that he was allowed to do this I came home, full of Christmas spirit, walked through the front door, into the lounge, to be faced with... utter carnage!
The tree was scattered, in bits, across the whole room. When I say 'the whole room' I mean in every single corner. So total was the destruction, that it looked like there were now more parts to the tree than when it was put up. There had been a complete bauble massacre too. I think five were left attached to the tree. The rest were under the sofa, behind the TV, in the hall etc.
In the middle of this mess, looking a bit bored, sat Bruce. I looked at him. He weighed about 2 kilos at this point. How had he destoyed a whole Christmas tree?
I put my hand to my forehead, sighed, and said 'oh Bruce'. He responded with his 'hi' miaow, then started rubbing against my legs for some attention. Only a cat would try this...
I smiled, shook my head, and stroked his head. This is what I mean: instantly forgiven.

I decided, with Sal, to put the tree back up again. For some reason, I don't think we thought he could do the same thing twice.

He did do the same thing twice.... the very next day.

I have a picture of the Christmas tree, just after Bruce destroyed it, somewhere. Can't find it at the moment so, for now.....

Brucey's discerning palate

I think most people pander to their pets' every whim. This is certainly true with cats (the old adage about cats having servants is fair), and Bruce was no different. He started on Felix cat food, which is pretty bog standard, and was tried on lots of different things, including Asda's own brand. Somewhere down the line, he was presented with Perle 'Gourmet' cat food, in gravy: this is the posh stuff.
Unfortunately, once we'd given him that he didn't want anything else. People say 'it's a cat, it'll eat what it's given' or 'if you make it hungry enough, it won't be fussy'. It doesn't quite work like that. A cat can sniff at what you put out, then walk away from it, for several days. In this time you waste money on a weeks' worth of cat food. Cats are also cheeky sods. If you can't provide the food they want, they'll find it elsewhere i.e they'll pop into one of your neighbours, rub up against their legs, and get fed bits of chicken.

However, despite his posh tastes, Bruce also had a penchant for several things that - like him - were a bit odd:

Marmite: One Saturday morning I made myself some toast slathered in Marmite (Bloody love the stuff!). I popped my plate onto the bed as I quickly went to the toilet. By the time I came back into the bedroom, Bruce had jumped onto the bed, licked one slice of toast clean of Marmite, and had started on the other. He was in catty-ecstacy, closing his eyes as he ruined my breakfast! From that moment on, I often gave him a treat; a little bit of marmite on a teaspoon.

Chocolate cake: My ex and I had some friends round, and had all (luckily) just eaten some chocolate cake, which we then left in the kitchen with some foil over it. About five minutes later, I popped into the kitchen to find that Bruce had nudged the foil off the cake, and was busily licking all the chocolate icing.

Salt & vinegar crisps: I was doing some work on my laptop and was eating some crisps to stave off hunger/boredom. Bruce was, apparently, asleep next to me. I was holding a crisp in my hand, while I typed with my other hand, when I felt that crisp being nudged. I looked over to see Bruce licking all of the coating off it. Out of curiosity I opened out the bag and put it next to him. He proceeded to lick the coating off every single crisp. Nice!

Pesto: Told you he was a posh cat! I'd had a bowl of pasta, with some pesto on. I left the bowl on the coffee table, and sat back to watch the TV. The bowl still had some pesto round the edges. In struts Bruce, who I thought was coming to me for some attention. But no: he waltzed past me, jumped onto the coffee table, and started lapping up the remaining pesto.

Wasps: I can only assume that he never got stung, or he wouldn't have continued with this habit, but Bruce loved nothing more than catching wasps, then eating them... weirdo!

Puddle Water: I guess it's not that unusual for cats to drink puddle water, but it is very frustrating! You could put the freshest of fresh water out for Bruce (I even poured him out some Evian once, just as a test), but he'd still rather go out and drink from a puddle in a plant pot.

The blinds in the lounge, in my old flat: For reasons known only to himself, Bruce took a fancy to the wooden blinds. I can't imagine that they tasted that good, but he would happily gnaw at the ends of them. It didn't matter how many times he was taken away from them, he'd just go straight back there. In the end we had to replace the blinds with new ones, made of cloth. Thankfully he didn't find these tasty.

My right arm: If I was patting or stroking any part of Bruce, other than the top of his head, he would reciprocate by licking my right arm clean (in the cat sense), from my fingers to my elbow. I have no idea why, but he didn't seem to like the taste of my left arm. He seemed to really enjoy doing this, so I let him; didn't want to ruin his fun :)

Climbing the walls (literally)

As I said, given that he can no longer write himself, I'll now be putting up stories of the ridiculous things Bruce did / the situations he got himself into: a kind of homage to him.

Some of you might find this boring, even irritating, but I think 'cat people' and animal lovers in general might like it. Worst case, it's free therapy for me - remembering him - and for my ex-partner, who I shared him with for quite some time.

Nearly all pet owners will say that their pet is 'unique', a one-off. With Bruce I would say the same, but I can back this up. I can honestly say, certainly in relation to the story that follows, I know no other cat that got himself into the pickles that Bruce did!

Before I start, I should tell you that Bruce was originally bought to be an 'indoor cat' (he was bought from a rescue centre. His previous owners had lived in a 2nd floor flat, so he'd never known the outside world). This story is what convinced us that he just wasn't destined to stay inside:

It was a Saturday morning, after a hard working week, and my ex (Sal) and I were in that weekend lie-in haze (I think it was around 10.30).
We were just deciding if we could be arsed to get up yet, and what to have for breakfast, when we heard a faint 'miaow'.

We hadn't had Bruce that long, so were still always aware of where he was, or where he might be, in our flat.

What was odd was that the miaow seemed to come from our bedroom, yet it was incredibly faint. Our bedroom was a decent size, but not that big. At most he could only have been 2 feet away from us, or maybe under the bed. The miaow should've been a lot louder if he was actually in the room.
We did think that he might be trapped in the wardrobe, even though the heavy doors were closed when we went to bed. We checked, but he wasn't in there.

A few more miaows followed; all, still, very faint.

We started to check the rest of the flat; in the hallway, in the lounge, under sofas, behind the TV/DVD stand, in the bathroom , in the kitchen, behind the fridge, in the washing machine (just in case!), we even checked inside the kitchen cupboards!
There was absolutely no sign of him, yet we'd checked everywhere he could possibly be.
Still, we'd hear a faint miaow every so often.

Then we wondered if there was some kind of hole/gap in the flat that we didn't know of, and maybe he'd sneaked outside... cue movement of the washing machine away from the wall, checking the back of cupboards etc.
Nope: there was no way out for him.

By now we were baffled, and a bit worried. We stood, in the bedroom, both rubbing our heads in concern and confusion.
Then we heard another miaow.... and both cast our eyes upwards.
We listened again, to be sure: the miaowing was coming from the ceiling above our bed!
We both couldn't believe it - it wouldn't make sense - so I stood on the bed, craned my neck up to the ceiling, and cupped my hand round my ear, to listen.
Sure enough, the next miaow confirmed that - somehow - Bruce was stuck in the ceiling.
But how?? How on earth does a cat get into the ceiling of a flat??

Having confirmed his bizarre whereabouts, we now had a problem: how on earth were we going to get him out of there?
What followed was probably the most ridiculous row I've ever had with another human:

Sal: we've got to get him out of there!
Me: how?
Sal: I don't know, we've got to get through the ceiling maybe...
Me: we're not breaking down the ceiling.
Sal: well, what do you want to do? Leave him up there?
Me: Can you afford to pay for a new ceiling?! How do we call up Angie and Kris (our landlords) and explain to them that we smashed the ceiling down?!
Sal: Well, what do you want to do? leave him up there to starve?!
Me: oh, I don't know!

Obviously smashing down the ceiling wasn't the best option, if it could be avoided, so we had to think a) how'd he'd got up there b) how we get him down.

the problem was, we couldn't figure it out. We just sat on the sofa for a couple of hours, worried, listening out for miaows, and feeling guilty every time we heard them.

In our little hallway was an understairs cupboard (as in, it was under the stairs that led to the separate top-floor flat). We'd had a look in here, earlier, so knew Bruce wasn't in there.
Around the handles of the double cupboard doors hung a gong, that I'd bought when travelling in Thailand.
All of a sudden - while we were still fretting on the sofa - there was a loud 'clang!', and we looked to see that the gong had fallen to the floor.
The cupboard doors were also pushing outwards slighly, and we could hear miaowing from behind them. We both sprinted and pulled open the doors, to find Bruce - grey with dust, and with cobwebs in his whiskers - standing on a suitcase!
He gave one of his innocent little miaows, as if to say 'what? what've I done?'

Sal grabbed him and gave him a massive hug, and I started pulling the cobwebs off his whiskers. We were both incredibly relieved.
Bruce was completely indifferent and didn't what all the fuss was about.

I went into the cupboard and chucked all of the suitcases (and general sh*t that we stored in there) into the hall. Finally, looking into the back, near the gas meter, I could see a hole in the floorboards where Bruce had come back up into the flat.
This didn't explain how he got into the ceiling in the first place though. Bruce couldn't have opened the cupboard doors, with his paws, as the gong was still around the handles before his return: it was a mystery.

Over the next week or so he still disappeared into the walls and ceiling of the flat, but we weren't so worried now we knew he could get back again.

It was just good timing that allowed me to find out, finally, how he was getting into the 'inside' of the flat. I walked into the kitchen, one evening, and saw - just under the cupboards, that hung above the worktops, in the corner - a pair of furry, black hind legs about to disappear upwards!
Just in time, I managed to grab the lower half of Bruce's body - he was only a skinny little thing - and pull him downwards.
He looked a little miffed, but accepted his fate as I retrieved him from the gap he was climbing into. I plonked him on the floor and wagged my finger at him, to say 'no'.
As with most cats when they're told off, he affected boredom and started cleaning one of his paws.

In wonder, I looked up underneath the kitchen cupboards, to discover a huge gap that went upwards and into a shiny, foil, cylindrical vent. That's where he was going, to get himself up into the ceiling, and then the walls, of the flat! The little bugger!

We didn't want him to keep going in there as we didn't know how dangerous it was (if he'd chew through wires, or fall down somewhere etc), so we got our landlord to fit a piece of wood over the gap.

From this point onwards, we realised that Bruce was just too active and curious - and too much of a menace! - to be kept indoors: it would've been cruel.
So out he went, although his first time outdoors was an unexpected adventure too...


*Bruce sitting near the offending cupboard. I think wrapping him up in feathers may have been revenge!

Farewell to a lovable little sod! :)

Hi all,

Bruce's owner/servant here. Luckily he left his blogspot account open...

Sadly, Bruce is no longer with us :(

He got clipped by a car late on Tuesday night. Thankfully, he was found (incredibly), by the roadside, by a student veterinary nurse on her way into her night shift at the emergency vet hospital.
At the very least, he was taken in somewhere warm, where he had pain relief too, rather than left in the cold.

He only had the one injury; to the head. Amazingly, he didn't have any broken legs or any other significant injuries. On the outside he looked fine, which was good as I'd hate to have seen him covered in cuts. Unfortunately the head injury was enough.
He was making a good recovery the day after the incident, and even walked around a bit, but he went downhill rapidly yesterday, and had a couple of fits. 

I then got a call late last night saying they were trying to resucitate him. He didn't make it.
He was never in any great pain and, mercifully, didn't know much of what was happening yesterday as he was 'out of it'.
He was well looked after at the vets, and I know they did all they could, and he passed away relatively peacefully. I did see him the day before and he responded to his favourite - a chin tickle - so I'd like to think he knows he was loved and I was around. I'm also very grateful to the nurse who found him as he was as warm and comfortable as he could've been.

I got to say goodbye to him, give him a little belly rub, and tell him that - wherever he's going - there'll be lots of meeces to chase, and lots of fences and trees to run up and get stuck on :)

Obviously I'm gutted that my little mate, my sidekick, has gone; and I know my ex-partner, who I had shared him with, is heartbroken too.
He was quirky, clumsy, silly, mischievous (what cat isn't?), and ridiculously docile/sweet-natured. I often wondered what he even had claws for! Cats are supposed to protect their prone bellies. He'd role over for a belly rub for anyone! He was lovable idiot! :)

If you have a cat yourself, please look after them (stating the obvious a bit, I know). Give them a big hug from me, and a little nose-nudge from Bruce.

Over the next few days - maybe a little self-indulgent - I'm going to put up some funny/silly memories of the ridiculous things Bruce used to get up to, including the time he got trapped in the walls and ceiling of my old flat!
I hope they're things that make others smile, as he made me smile a lot :)

All the best,

Brucey's former servant...


* ....Thanks Bruce, I guess I'll be sleeping on the floor tonight then!!

: )

I'm a very happy cat today.

Look. Can you tell?

Irritated

I'm worn out.

I think I accidentally sniffed up some dust (or it may have been catty-biscuit crumbs), and have had the catty-choos nearly all day.

I have tried nose-nudging things to see if that will help, but it didn't work.

In the end I gave up and had a nap. I have woken up now (see below), and the problem seems to have sorted itself, but I am still tired from all of the earlier catty-choos :(

Is it a bird?

I had some huge catty-excitement this afternoon; my little catty-heart nearly popped out of my mouth!

I was in my garden, stretching my neck to lick my tail, when I heard a rustling in the bushes to my left. My head shot up and I looked over, tuning in my super catty-vision.

I saw some feathers, so started up a pre-pounce tail swish. Then this massive thing ran out onto the grass! It was covered in feathers of all different colours: brown, yellow, purple, white. It was quite fat, and had a really long tail. In fact, its tail alone was nearly as long as a whole Magpie! Its head was weirdest of all; a completely different colour to the rest of it: shiny blue, with two big red circles around the eyes.
What was this thing?

I was sizing it up, but realised there was no way I'd get my little catty mouth round it. I'm only small :(
Just as I was thinking this, it moved off at great speed. It didn't fly away like a Pigeon would. Instead, it ran. It did look a bit like a bird, but I've not seen a bird do this before; they normally just fly off.

It sprinted through a gap in the fence. Even though I didn't think I could catch it, curiosity got the better of me and I went into stealth mode, stalking it with my body low to the ground.

When I got through the gap it had passed through, it was gone.

This left me very confused. It looked like a bird, but I'm not sure it was. Does anyone know what it was?

Miaow, miaow, miaow, miaow

Hello catty friends and humans.

I've had a very busy week, catching up on naps, so haven't been around much (apart from a bit of happy catty-dancing on Monday).

I'm a bit bored of napping now, so intend to be up and about a bit over the next few days.

I just wanted to run something past any human readers quickly; catty readers will already understand this.

Sometimes, when we miaow, it's not for a particular reason: we don't want food, a cuddle, or to be let outside.
Sometimes we just like to chat :) I love wandering around my home chatting. I think this is because I'm part Siamese, and Siamese cats are know for being very chatty. Sometimes I like daddy to chat back to me.

So, humans, next time your cat is wandering around miaowing, miaow back at them. We like it :)

Happy catty-dance

I have had such a good morning that I just had to share it with you.

First, I managed to bury a little catty-poo so deep that you wouldn't even know it's there (one of my catty-promises I made a few days ago).

Then, when I came inside, I let daddy pick me up and cuddle me for what seemed like catty-hours, without squirming to get away once.

To round off my good morning I gave the left side of my face a thorough clean, in keeping with my promise to give it as much attention as the right side.

I was so happy with myself that I did a little catty happy-dance, which you can watch...

One catty-promise down

I achieved one of my catty-promises today, by reaching the fifth branch of my favourite climbing tree, in my garden.

I had a big run up , and scrambled up the trunk. It took me 24 catty-seconds to get there. I'm not sure what this is in human-seconds....

It did take me several catty-hours to get back down again though.....

Recovering...

Hello fellow cats, and humans.

I've been a bit silly. On the same night that I wrote about my 'catty-promises', I managed to break open one of the Catnip mice. Catnip went everywhere! I've never been able to resist it so I had a bit of a catty-binge.
The only problem with this is that I've been on the bed, feeling rubbish, for the last 3 days.
I did manage to go outside for a bit, earlier, but it was too bright, so I came back in.

I hope to feel more cat-like tomorrow...