Monday, 21 December 2009

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

Sunday, 13 December 2009

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)

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

Sunday, 6 December 2009

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 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

Thursday, 3 December 2009

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