Does Christmas come at a price?

Honestly, is there nothing Muttie will stop at?

I'm beginning to wonder if she's embarrassment-deficient. The other day there she went into Acorn Pets in Irvine and asked, without a trace of irony: "Do you sell Santa Hats for kittens?"

"No," the woman behind the counter answers, "but I think BHS do."

Galvanised by this said-with-a-straight-face-reply the Mother Ship goes on: "Oh, such a shame you guys don't. I wanted to get one today for The Milt so he could do his blog tonight. He tries to write one once a week you see and he was looking for a Santa theme..."

"NEXT!!!" the assistant cries.

So, four days to go, eh? There's a big purple, plastic thing hanging from the gas fire. Muttie says it's called a stocking and it's all mine. It smells of treats. I circle it daily. It interests me...

I'm a bit worried though. I overheard the Mother Ship and Paw talk about "a holiday" and the words "Madrid" and "five days" came up. Then they mentioned "heated kennels" and "dogs there too."

Is this some kind of Christmas-type-thing? Do any of my cat pals out there recognise this language? It's my first Christmas you see and I haven't a clue what to expect...

Yours, in a quandry,

The Milt xx

Woofs and Waves...

A few things tickled my whiskers this week.

But the thing that really startled me was Paw in the loo today.

Now, don't worry, we're not going to get all toilet-humour'ish. It's a long story really but to take you back to the beginning there's a big fat black cat who keeps coming in through the bathroom window (Muttie leaves this open when she goes to work so's I can come and go as I please, my pad being on the ground floor). Big black fellow however, has adopted my home as his and feels it's his right to come in and scoff my food. Muttie and Paw were having a consultation about this the other day and Paw was rightly alerted.

So, anyways, this morning Muttie was lying in bed devouring the Sunday Times Style mag (she can but dream) and Paw thought it was time to finally wash. He wanders into the bathroom only to be confronted by big black fat chap making his way towards my breakfast bowl.

Muttie was disturbed from her ridiculous fashionista-fantasising by hearing the following: "OUT, GET OUT, Grrrrrr, OUT, Grrrrrr."

"Bill," she hollers from her cushioned pad, "You're not by any chance, pretending to be a dog in there are you?"

"Er, no," came the reply, "I'm just trying to scare that big black bugger. He's on the prowl for Milt's grub. And I thought if I gave him a growl or two it might get more of a reaction."

Honestly, folks, don't ya sympathise?!! I mean he doesn't even LOOK or SMELL like a dog! Still, I suppose you gotta give him points for trying...sort of.

The other thing I noticed this week was that there's a company in Oz who are offering to bury folks upright (ie vertical)http://www.theblogofrecord.com/tag/upright-burials-australia/

Genuinely interested, I shoved this Muttie-wards with my paw.

"Oh yes Milt," she said with a horrible glint in her eye. "I wonder if they'll do it for cats too."

However, the most disturbing thing this week was when Muttie went to take a bath. I like to sit on the side of it and judge how much flesh appears on a weekly basis. I also LOVE to sip her bath water. Yesterday though she thought she'd try bath oil instead of bath foam. So, she gets the taps going, pours the oil in, steps into the bath and whooooooosh. Tsunami city, the silly bint lost her footing cos of the greasy oil and this massive tidal wave engulfed yours truly, throwing moi off the side of the bath and drenching me (see pic).

Let's just say, when it comes to friendship between the Mother Ship and The Milt well, you thought Germany and Europe had a lot of reparation to do?...

M (in the huff) xx

Cinderella comes in many disguises...

I've thought about it frequently over the last few days and I just can't make up my mind over which of the two human tin openers (Jez and Bootsie's term, I have to concede) is the more pathetic.

I mean, I've seen Muttie wail over novels while lying on the couch (and grumble about having to wash the mascara off her silk cushions afterwards) but Saturday was embarrassment par excellence.

There they were, the whole Stevenson family - Maw, Paw, Grannie, Auntie Maureen and cousin Jenna - sitting hooked on the panto, Cinderella in the Citz. The sweeties were oot and the boos were deafening. All was going well it seemed until the final curtain came down and the lights went on. Now, even as a frisky feline, I know how the ending goes ie Cinders gets her Prince after the doves peck out the eyes of the wicked stepmother (and good thing too!) So what happened to Paw?

"Bill," eight-year-old Jenna excitedly exclaimed, "your eyes are all filled with water. Are you crying cos it's a happy ending?"

"Er, no Jenna," Paw coughed, in a non-convincing-fashion, "it's just er, my contact lenses go all funny sometimes and, like, they make my eyes go a bit soggy."

Yeah, right...

Meanwhile, Muttie's been having a right laugh-fest this weekend. She was convulsing so much that at one point I thought she was going to have a hernia.

"Oh Milt, this is hilarious," she screamed.

What? You've finally acknowledged your attempts at make-up is not what it should be?

Apparently not. She shoved this lilac, fabric-covered book, in my face - 20% off from Borders shut-down sale. It's called: "How to Dress for Success" and was written by a famous dresser-to-the-stars called Edith Head in 1967 (the Mother Ship claims she was but a twinkling in the womb at this point altho I'd heavily dispute that).

"Look at this entry, for instance," she exclaimed. "It says here 'whether you are a bride of a few weeks or the mother of a grown family, the way you look to your husband every day should be a matter of personal pride.'

Then she went on, the book says if you invite your man and his friends over to your place, you've to consider your attire: 'A full-length hostess gown in a colour that blends with your living room is the perfect answer, but make sure it is one you can move in gracefully without spilling the drinks....no matter how glamerous they look in the ads, avoid long dangling necklaces that wind up in the salad bowl when you're serving. Above all, for every three cocktails you serve your guests, make a weak one on the rocks for yourself. There's nothing that will turn a potential bride into a passing fancy quicker than her passing out at her own party.'

Well, let me tell you that last wee bit of advice has obviously gone way over Muttie's own non-sophisticated head...

So, anyways, just three weeks to go before the Treat-Meister arrives, apparently. Miaaaaaow.

M xx

The Mother Ship has become extraordinary secretive these days.

I saw her smuggle in a big carrier bag the other night and, as is my want, I tried to stick my nose in it.

"Non, my sweetie," the intelligensia-challenged one, declared. "You canni peak inside this bag. It's a gift from Santa to you."

Like, who the FECK is this Santa dude? And why would he want to give me a pressie anyway? Not that I'm complaining. I mean any bloke who wants to give me a gift will be on the receiving end of 'purr central' far as I'm concerned.

Anyways, folks, to change the subject entirely, Muttie came in the other night practically pulling her hair out. This upset me 'cos there's nothing I like more than to pounce on her long locks on the pillow while she's sleeping. I like to knead them, it kinda gives me a nurturing-type feel. I can't really explain it but you know where I'm coming from.

Anyhows, Muttie was exasperation in the extreme.

"I can't believe it Milton," she declared. "It's education gone potty!"
Right. Let's have it.

"Well, I just learned today that in a school in Alloway teachers have now to refer to themselves as 'facilitators.' The word teacher is banned!"

Really? That's tres interesting. Not!

"Not only that my little kittie, but in the self same local authority the word Librarian has been banned. From now on they're to be known as 'Outreach Development Officers!"

Really? I'm appalled. Anyways, what else is this Santa dude bringing yours truly? Will it take the form of treats?


Miltonian xx

Santa - I know you're no sap...

Dear Santa

You may consider this a tad early for a Christmas list but in light of its extreme importance I'm getting it to you now to give you plenty of time to reflect.

What I'd really, really, really like for my first-ever Christmas is a new Muttie and Paw (as in Dad).

The reasons for this are numerous but the five I'd particularly like to highlight are:

a) I only get a treat once a day and it's used as a bargaining tool to get me in the house when I'm playing outdoors and refuse to come in (of course, I always fall for it, darn!)

b) Maw and Paw have reduced the amount of time we play 'chew the toes under the duvet' in recent weeks from 20 mins to a mere five a day.

c) Dad has changed the make of treats I get from Whiskas to Tesco's own brand (it's cheaper.)

d) Muttie has commandeered the laptop meaning I haven't been able to write my blog for three weeks (I'm only doing it now cos she's out at the dry cleaners). She's using the laptop to write her OU Creative Writing stuff and let me tell you Santa, having seen what she's produced, it's clear there's only one writer in this household!

e) It's getting colder and I can't get to sit in front of the gas fire cos Muttie's fat arse is always there first.

Anyhows Santa, that's just a taster of what I've been having to put up with of late. I'm sure you'll agree no kitten, and especially one as intelligent and sensitive as myself, should have to endure such outrages.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Milton (who, incidentally, has been as good as gold this year). xx

A Kittie's work is never done...

Muttie's been giving me strange looks all weekend. When I say 'strange' I mean disconcerting.

They began after a two-day reading fest. She wouldn't take her snout out this one book, to the extent I had to remind her, while she popped to the loo, that I still hadn't received my BREAKFAST treat by DINNER time yesterday.

"Alright Milt," she growled. "Treats aren't standard by the way. They're as the word suggests, a 'treat' ie something that you get now and again, usually for being good. Although if that were the case you and treats would be strangers eh? Ha,ha."

Yes, very funny. Have you weighed yourself recently?

Then she went on: "Of course, really clever kitties would get regular treats because they'd always be doing something smart or useful."

Eh, what's the dotty one going on about now?

I decided to investigate. And it didn't take long before the penny dropped. The book she was reading was called Dewey (although Pewey, would be a better title 'cos it's full of the brown stuff I reckon).

It's all about a little kitten that turned up in the Overnight Returns Box of a small town library in Iowa. It had hypothermia and even after it survived it was still hobbling around for months afterwards cos it had frostbite on its wee paws (Dad was in tears at that bit). Anyhows, this ginger kitty lives in the library and ends up charming the whole town of Spencer with its sociable, playful nature. It seems to understand when folks need a cuddle and makes everyone smile at a time when the town is in economic shut-down.

Dewey's story spreads, locally at first, then nationally throughout America and finally internationally when a Japanese film crew come and screen test him.

"Milton," the Mother Ship 'innocently' enquired late last night. "Don't you get bored running around the garden all day? I mean, wouldn't it be nice to do something a bit more well...challenging?

"You're coming into work with me tomorrow. After all, I KNOW you can shuffle papers."

Growth...

Muttie's paranoia has reached extreme stages...she's convinced a guy in her building (let's not be too specific here), is cultivating cannabis. I have a wee bit of sympathy for her imaginings here. Three months ago he bought black-out blinds and he doesn't seem to actually live there. Prior to that she was always bumping into his "outta their head mates." They were pleasant enough to the extent that one of them invited her to a 'Pot and Poker Party.'

Being the non-Poker player and addictive personality that she is the Mother Ship said: "Thanks Dude, but I got a pot roast to get going." Boy, was I embarrassed by that comment but I kinda know where she's coming from. The last thing we want is for the Mother Ship to get hooked on cannabis...

However, as an open-minded pussy, I'm curious all the same...

Muttie is planning to go to Madrid at Xmas for five days and the cannabis growing bloke in the building has offered to look after me. What d'ya think?

Dad thinks Muttie should give the police an anonymous tip-off call but I'm with the Mother Ship in that we think the polis are fun-lovin' Dude Oppressors and hey, we really like the neighbour! And hate the polis...

Let the weed widen...

Yours in a potentially hallucionegic-mode, The Milt xxxx

Flourescent Fantasy

The Mother Ship has gone all paranoid again.

She's convinced there's an elephant's graveyard of discarded kitten collars out her back garden.

I've seen her looking. She puts on her hippy, velcro-attached summer sandals (while wearing her socks - EMBARRASEMENT!!) and goes a-searching of a night.

Between you and I - and the whole internet world - she ain't gonna find them. Me and Sophia (my very masculine black cat pal - despite his poofy name) have actually flogged them to the guy next door who'll do anything for a fix. Well, I call it Cat-Entrepreneurship.

In my defense, the Mother Ship isn't exactly forthcoming when it comes to pocket money so I think sympathy kitten-wise is appropriate here. How else can a cute fur-ball like moi achieve treat-maximisation?!

And anyway boy, did I hate that leapord-skin number. But guess what, she's gone and purchased another one cos she thinks it's just "soooooo cute!" She doesn't realise that a hunter-gatherer such as I should be adorned in something a bit more well...masculine. I'm thinking more of an orange tiger number, you know?

Today, were you to enter my back garden you'd see me sporting a yellow fluorescent collar. Yes, I'm your lollipop-man cat...NOT!!

"It's for your own good babes," the Mother Ship insisted. "With the nights fair drawing in, I want you to be seen."

I give this one three days. Watch this space....

Your sneaky, wee pal, The Milt xxx

Orange Paint and Crap Collars

"Maybe we should change your name to Houdini," the Mother Ship declared last night.

"Well, let's face it my scrawny skinny-necked little one...you've managed to loose TWO kitten collars within the last three weeks...incidentally these cost me a bloody fiver at a time - the fancy collar and the tag with your name on it.

"Actually Milt, I'm faced with two possibilities here:

A} You've done a big ear-scratchy thing and the collar has gone "ping"

B} A drug addict person (let's face it, there's lots around our way) has grabbed you and stolen your collar to sell for acid etc...

"I'm at a bit of a loss here...and you're not helping one bit!"

The Mother Ship worries too much. Obviously what happened between the collars and me is a sensitive subject and maybe one that will come up in future correspondence...

Anyhows, keeping the Mother Ship in suspension, last night I sashayed into the kitchen....only to find her painting the shelves a - what can I say? - 'sunburst' orange colour!"

It's finally happened...the old dear who dishes out my grub - has finally flipped.

"What d'ya think Milt?" she enquired, with a sickening smile on her old pus. "Cool eh?. From now on when me and you walk into the kitchen of a morning feeling like crap and wishing we could just crawl back into bed and not go to work, instead we're going to be so gee'd up by this positive colour you and moi are gonna think to ourselves: 'Hey, it's another new day. Let's get out there and do damage!!"

Actually the paint's making my head spin and the colour makes me want to boak. I'm well aware Muttie is a despressive but colour therapy?!

And this was just after I'd eavesdropped and heard Muttie's friend going on about how she knows how it feels to be Victoria Beckham. Not that she's married to someone who looks better naked than her, or that she feels sick when confronted by a carbohydrate. No, it's cos at her work they've covered all the windows in a tinted film. This apparently is a cost-saving carbon-tastic measure ie it keeps the heat in. Brilliant! Except..it's now so dark in there that unless you want to know how it feels like to wear sunglasses indoors - all day, every day (the skinny Vicky way) - then you have to switch the lights on which er....uses up electricity and costs money....

Another bizarre carbon-tastic idea came from a man who proudly sent the Mother Ship a photo of his new electrical bike. Yes, when going up a hill you just switch on the rechargable operated engine and it shoots all the way up to the top. Job done. No exertion required. Except this self same man who, at 40, is even younger than she is, had just been saying how unfit he'd felt and how this new bike was going to get him back in shape again. The Mother Ship felt incredibly disappointed at this and thought it kinda missed the point. I got a long bloo*y lecture on it.

Anyways, if you've read this far you're an extremely tolerant person and maybe one day, you and Muttie could get together...

Miltonian The Memorable xxx

Toilet Training for Deluded Humans

You’ll never guess what the Mother Ship is proposing now.

In a contradict-me-if-you-dare tone, she announced last night that kittie litter trays were "so passe.”

“Yes, Milton" she continued, "While trawling through t’net the other day I came across a brilliant invention. It’s a system that teaches you, my cutey wutey little kittie, to go to the loo human-style. In three easy steps it shows how you can discard your litter tray and do a Jimmy Riddle in a toilet pan instead. And it's called...wait for it baby, you’re gonna love this…the Litter Kwitter!! Genius, huh?!”

Actually no, it’s not "genius" you silly, delusional, old bat. I’m happy with my soggy wooden chips thank you very much. And anyways, what If we were both bursting to pee at the same time? The Mother Ship would no doubt come out with something about me being lower down the evolutionary scale, push me aside and insist I make way for her….pronto!

Worse still, there’s no way I’m going in there after one of Dad’s marathon dumpster sessions. Gas masks? There's times when I've considered advising all the neighbours in our four-storey tenement to decamp to the nearest nuclear bunker, or at least Lidl's across the road. Despite being surrounded by products with wierd foreign names and a check-out lad with a drum-size hole in his left earlobe, it's way safer than being in the vicinity of a stinker that's sure to knock your senses sideways.

Having said that, I checked out the link and I must say, the fourth cat to take a pee, the Bengal one is a bit of alrrrrrrrright!

However, when it comes down to it, in terms of Muttie hitting the barmy scale, the hammer’s been thumped and that silver arrow is about to not just hit the bell but whack it right off.

You know, it's a real shame for me, I mean, of all the mum's in all the world, I get her....

Milt :( xxx

Appropo of Nothing...

I've come to the conclusion (after a long lecture from the Mother Ship) that it's not in my best interests to slag her off on this blog anymore. Not that I ever was - I was merely recording life and her attempts at stumbling through it, from my inconsequential (her word) point of view.

"Milton, you have an opportunity to speak for kittens everywhere via a state-of-the-art medium and all you can do is go on about my weight, intelligence and general demeanour," she huffed. "And as Auntie Debs pointed out, it's hardly earth-shattering verse! We're all boooooored reading it. In fact I'm thinking of putting a lock on my computer so you won't be able to access it anymore."

Do I care? I'll just nip along to Govanhill Library and execute my wit there...

Then she got threatening.

"Actually Milton, there's been a couple of articles in the news recently that have been very interesting...extremely interesting, in fact. They concerned new pets one could adopt. Very cute pets - ones which don't have paws that can type. For instance micro pigs and pigmy hedgehogs."

Actually I wouldn't mind one of those pigmy hedgehogs myself, I can just see myself playing pit-pat with it, from one paw to another like that computer tennis game you used to get in the 80s (obviously I wasn't born then but I've googled it).

So anyways, I digress. The Mother Ship thinks it would be a good idea for me to 'raise the standard' of my blog and comment on political matters. So...did you see Samantha Cameron's Kath Kidston-type dress she wore to the Tory Party Conference last week? The Daily Mail, of course, did a big piece on it and I have to say, I was a fan myself. I loved the ruffled collar. It showed off her lovely, long neck to perfection.

What else can I say that will appeal to the intelligensia? Oh yes, the Booker Prize Winner - Hilary Mantel and Wolf Hall. Well, afraid I'm going to go against the grain here and say...a big kitten yaaaaaawn and stretch in front of the fire. Darlings, I'd rather watch Tracey Emin do the research for her installation piece Everyone I've Ever Slept With...

Other matters, Muttie has signed up for an OU course in Creative Writing (this'll be a laugh). She was supposed to read the box of literature that arrived in the post yesterday. And what did she do last night? Suddenly the four days worth of dishes that had been piling up at the side of the sink got done. And now there's nothing left in the laundry basket...I'm sure one day she'll also get round to cleaning out my litter tray (wonder's will never cease). The fridge, however, is another matter. God knows what it'll take to get that cleaned. A deadline for an essay perhaps?

Yours, in an interested, voyeuristic fashion, The Milt xxx

Well folks, first off, paws for thought while you admire my new snakeskin collar (see extremely flattering photo). Snakeskin is very now, actually, according to the Observer magazine last week. Mum (now that I'm seven months old I've dropped the 'Mummy' bit) has an over-sized handbag that's very similar.

"Milton," she exclaimed, excitedly: "How cool would it be for you and me to go into town with you sitting in my matching bag flouting your snakeskin collar!"

Like, does she think she's Paris Hilton?!! Well she's probably got the same intellect but without the cash...

As I'm sure you'll sympathise, I let that one drop by shooting up to the top of her ridiculously expensive Laura Ashley bedroom curtains - a brill way to wind her up and simultaneously change the subject. Having said that, now I'm getting bigger it's not so easy...when I was a kitten I was like rocket fodder climbing up those 100 per cent cotten swags.

Ah well, old age hits us all. Some more than others (you want to see Muttie's eyelids these days. Talk about creases...we're looking at major steamroller action to get those babys smooth again). And she's not exactly sympathetic. Viewing my ailing attempts at my impressive ascent up said curtains I swear I clocked her tittering away under the duvet covers. I'd like to see her master it! She used to go rock climbing - as we all know (yawn) - but let me tell you, she hasn't been to the gym in six months and those biceps she used to be so proud of are like putty these days. Don't let her tell you otherwise...

But anyhow, let's not focus on her shortcomings (for a few seconds at least). I do feel a tad sympathetic towards her. The other night at Daddy's for instance, she was lying on the couch reading one of her Elizabeth Berg novels (no-one, but no-one, is allowed to interrupt her in the midst of the Godess-like Elizabeth Berg) when she sat back against the cushions, causing her T-shirt to ride up. Well, all of a sudden - like the really scary scene in Alien - all this voluptuous, white, flesh came rippling out from beneath those cotten folds. We're talking one mainstream wall of blubber here! Needless to say it wasn't a pretty sight and I could actually feel myself simultaneously recoil.

Dad, who was reading his newspaper at the time (The Star, cos it's the cheapest) clocked it too. And boy, did he make the most of it.

"Milton," he innocently enquired (with a wicked glint in his eye), as I lay basking myself in front of his ancient gas fire (circa 1950's): "have you ever seen a whale?"

Alerted, like a ship's scanner, the Mother Ship sat up at this point. And, I have to say, I'd worked out the inference for myself. Well let's face it, the flesh was staring me point blank in my pretty face. I contorted myself into that comforting foetal position we cats tend to adopt when we see trouble ahead, but too late...

The Mother Ship, as is her want, felt compelled to retaliate: "Ooooh, Milton," she exclaimed in an extremely contrived neutral tone: "You know how they say bald men are virile? Well, it's total crap. There's exceptions to every rule and your Dad is a classic case in point!"

What? Since when did I become a conduit for human argumentation?! It got me thinking though...how many kitties are there out there in my position? I mean, why can't humans communicate face-to-face? Do they think it's clever to abuse cats in this way? Well, here's news for them, it's not...

Yours, in a rather troubled fashion, The Milt xx

Mummy is doin' my frigging head in.

She's just been to see the movie "Julie on Julia", starring Meryl Streep which is all to do with a young, frustrated US woman writer (aren't they all?!) who started up a cookery blog based on the writings of an off-her-trolly older woman (Meryl Street). The upshot is, the neurotic (Julie) gets a book and a movie deal out of her nocturnal blogging.

"Oooh Milton," cried my equally-neurotic Mummy on her return home, "You and me are gonna make a fortune."

She'd had a couple, I could tell.

"Baby, this blog stuff is the way to fortune and stardom. No other kitty, far as I can tell, has his own blog. You're onto a winner here Milt. Just keep up the excellent prose and maybe, like Julie, a publisher will see your stuff and wheeeeeey, you and me will coin it in!"

Eh? What do ya mean 'we' Mummy?? It's me who puts in all the hard graft to write the bloody blog. Obviously, were this to go further a bit of negotiating re further kitten treats would be on the cards.

Unfortunately I didn't get a chance to discuss it with her cos she fell into a drunken slumber... But folks, I'm currently looking for an agent...any feline friendly recommendations welcome...

Meanwhile, like any normal person, you would think with this on my side Mummy would be a right sook right now. But nah. She's giving me a deafie (which is not a bad thing as her voice really grates on me anyway).

The reason she's adopted this monastic vow of silence is because I inadvertently lost the new, very expensive, dark blue, velvet collar she bought me last week (Auntie Jen, I loved the silver, sparkly collar you gave me but I somehow wore the elastic away).

The lost collar was just one of those things, you know? I was having a right good claw at my left ear, heard a 'ping' and saw a blue flash go 'wheeeeeeee' past my left ear. Before I knew it Sophia (an annoying black male cat who lives in the vicinity - and yes, he has a poofy name cos his Mummy thought he was a female for months after she'd got him until the vet explained otherwise) picked it up in his teeth and ran off with it. I could hear the wee silver bell ringing for ages afterwards. I chased him but well, he's faster (and bigger) than me.

See when it comes down to it though, I blame Mummy. The collar had a quick-release catch. What right-thinking Mummy would purchase such a thing? I mean, I was obviously going to lose it, right?

Other stuff that's happened this week...the Pet Therapy idea hasn't gone away. Muttie rang the woman who organises it last week. Apparently I have to go to a vet in Irvine who'll check me over to ensure I have no horrible diseases I'll give to the old dears etc. Bloody cheek!! Not only that but I have to take out insurance! Well, hey...who's doing who the favour here? Hopefully it's too complicated for the Mother Ship and she'll drop the idea.

More on this soon...

Yours, despairingly, The Milt xx

Pet bloody Therapy...

Hey, thanks to everyone who read my first blog! I was really encouraged.

It's fair got me thinking about future topics...Afghanistan, the shrinking of polar icecaps, a pitiful lack of treats for kittens who do blogs...the list is endless.

Actually this second blog is a bit of a cry for help. Mummy, in her infinite wisdom came out with a cracker the other day.

"Milton," she said, with a glint in her eye, "I have a wee proposition for you."

Instantly, I felt my body curve up into that spitting and hissing position.

"Yes, sweetie," she continued. "Me and you are going to sign up for a spot of Pet Therapy!"

Pet Therapy? Well, Waaaay haaaay. Maybe I've under-estimated Mummy. After all, I'm not averse to the odd massage or feline facial!

"Yes, baby," she continued. "We're going to go to nursing homes to visit old ladies and let them stroke you. It's all to do with touch and reducing blood pressure etc. It's the latest in holistic therapy."

Whaaaaaaaaat? I don't want any knobbly, poisoned old claws grabbing at me. Or worse still, dry flaky bits of skin falling onto my beautifully coiffured fur! I knew I had to think quickly on my paws. The conversation continued in this vein:

Me: "Mummy, have you really thought this through? You know how you are a tad impulsive...."

Her: "Yes, of course I have Milton and I think you'd really enjoy it."

Me: "Well, if you're that keen...why not just buy a budgie in a cage and take that? You know how old dears love budgies, particularly blue ones. Next to ginger snaps and a free bus pass, it's their next favourite thing."

Her (with that look could turn milk sour within 30 seconds): "Milton, you're not by any chance trying to get out of this by slyly pretending to be helpful, are you?"

Me: "No, Mummy. I'd just hate to see you wasting your time."

Her: "Milton, au contraire...I believe this would be good for you too. Helping others brings its own benefits. Altruism, as they say, is food for the soul."

Aaaaasaaagh! I hate her when she gets all Social Worker-ish. I knew then there was no going back. She was staring into space as she said this with that sickeningly pious look on her (rapidly ageing) face.

She's gonna phone the Pet Therapy woman this week she says. Folks, how can I get outta this? Suggestions welcome....

Yours, in desperation,

The Milt xxx

Miaaow - or 'Hey There!'

Gosh, this is all very exciting - my very own blog with photos and all that.

An opportunity to express myself at will without human censorship. I'm very aware this is not a run-of-the-mill ocurrance for kitty's such as myself so obviously I shall make the most of it. And thanks to Mummy for letting me use her computer. Personally I view the blog as a little bit of feline emancipation. Women had it, so why shouldn't kittys? Maybe in years to come we'll be given the vote too? Having said that, I'd be pretty stumped who to vote for at the moment...Brown needs to throw in the towel as far as I'm concerned and that Tory Boy is still playing at it.

So anyways, getting back to me...Well, to introduce myself (as all good blogs do), the name's Milton and I'm now a big six months old. Or rather not a big six months old. The vet informed Mummy on Monday that I'm small for my age. However, I'm "perfectly proportioned" according to self same vet then she added that I was "also a very handsome boy". I liked that even more :). She was a bit of alright herself actually, but being a vet and all that, I didn't feel it was my place to say so. Well, she bears the needle...

Anyways, the vet also said - and I do believe it's customary to blow your own trumpet as it were on blogs - that she loved having me in the surgery cos I didn't scratch her unlike the other two cats who were also in that day for a....gosh, I can hardly bring myself to say this...castration operation. Actually, that's rather embarrassing for me to reveal and I don't why I did. But I suppose, the thing about these blogs is that it's all about being honest.

I was so sore on Monday! John Wayne in feline form, I stumbed about the flat like no-one's business. Mummy felt so sorry for me she made me a plate of organic scrambed eggs (vet's instructions). She fancied it herself I could tell but reluctantly put it in a saucer for me. I sniffed it, licked it all, then well, it's not your normal cat fayre is it? I had to diss her. So then she ran out to the supermarket, got me some chicken and boiled it. Well, I fair wolfed that down.

Then I made the most of my invalid status by insisting I get to sit on the cashmere cushion in front of the fire all night. I gave her a purr every now and then just to let her know she was on the right track. She fussed over me that night light nobody's business. It's good to keep those humans on their toes I reckon...

See ya soon for more feline frolicks....

The Milt xxx