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