Friday, 25 September 2009

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


  1. Well Milt. It occurs to me that if YOU were the one needing therapy then you get might get out of this knobbly-knuckled lark. Feign a schizoid turn - you know, get out the claws and teeth and go for her next time she goes to pet you. When she yelps and tells you off, act like you don't know what came over you and sook up to her big-time, preferably whimpering but I don't know if cats can do that. In any case, lay it on thick and she'll be cooing all over you again toot sweet. While realising - if she has an iota of responsibility - that you'd be a liability to old folks whose hearts may not be able to take the strain of a sudden attack. Mate, you ain't got anything to lose.

  2. Auntie Shaz, you is a genius!! Did I tell you that you were my favourite Auntie?

    Ok, this should be real easy for me to accomplish and much better fun than just nibbling her toes of a morning, hee, hee.

    Them old dears are onto a loser.

    Much luv

    Milt ;)xx


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