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