Mac = Misery

Well now, it's been quite a week, or weekend...Jeez I'm all over the place.

I just couldn't figure out what the Muttie One was up to over the last few days. I mean, since Friday last week she's been regularly rubbing me with this old tee-shirt of hers (thankfully she'd washed it first). But why?? I couldn't figure out her reasoning. I mean, my days of circling the sides of the bath then falling in head-first are long gone (see previous pics) - my fur didn't need drying off. I now know how to conduct myself where baths are concerned.

But still, The Muttie persisted, every night...wipe, wipe, rub, rub. At one stage I thought she'd lost it. Well, let's face it, she's been leading up to it for months now. In fact, the moment I met her I privately placed her in the 'barmy' category.

All was revealed however on Sunday night when I came face-to-face with this hyperactive explosion of ginger fur:

Apparently he's my new 'brother.' His name's Mac and I don't like him very much. In fact, I HATE HIM. The reason Muttie kept rubbing me with the tee-shirt was that prior to meeting me she rubbed the ginger thing in it, and believed some sort of 'transference' would take place ie apparently cos the ginger thing smelled like me I'd think it was my offspring! Doh!! Just how much intelligence to humans attribute to cats??

Out of sheer curiosity (and immediate hatred)  I had a sniff at the ginger furball. Gads!! My instinctive (and I reckon intelligent reaction) was to rear my back, spit, hiss and growl. I then, showing my distaste, fled the scene.

Three days hence, he's still here.

Muttie spends her nights in the spare room with him and Paw cuddles up to me in the double bed.

Could cats cause relationship-anxiety??

Anyways, I don't want the Muttie and Paw to split up on account of my dislike of ginger furball so I've devised a plan to rid us of him once and for all. I will:

• eat all his food so he'll starve to death
• take him for some 'road sense' lessons, only forget to teach him the basics
• introduce him to the neighbourhood fox
• give him a bunch of lilly's to chew on

Any more suggestions welcome....

Your, not-particularly-friendly-Milt xx

PS The Muttie Woman says if I don't put a link on here to her PinkVox column then - in her words - "you think your life is bad right now - in terms of a kitten-conundrum - let's just see how much worse it can get." At this point, I realise life is a compromise and I'm willing to do whatever to get the old bat off my back. PS, the forthcoming text has no relation to my musings...http://www.pinkvox.com/index.php/old-reflection/47-humorrumor/120-feeble-texts-and-feathered-fluff

What's Going On??

Oooooh, one does enjoy a good back scrub in dirt - free exfoliation courtesy of Mother Nature:)

Meanwhile, what to report?

There's an air of secrecy around the household these days.  I catch Muttie and Paw whispering away then, when I stroll into the vicinity, they change the subject. Muttie will say something like: "So, petrol's gone up another 10p eh?" And I just know their current conversation isn't related to what they were speaking about previously.

Also, on Saturday, Muttie bought a packet of Hill's extra-special cat food...the KITTEN variety!! Now, I might be small for an adult male cat - and rather muscular I might add - but I ain't no kitten. Fatboy says I'm just being paranoid and maybe they're just trying to keep me on my paws. But I'm not so sure.

Also, Muttie's cancelled all engagements for the last weekend in June. And she and Paw are planning to sleep in separate rooms. Apparently I've to sleep with Paw. But who's Muttie going to be sleeping with? Not that I particularly want to sleep with her 'cos boy can she snore! But it's the principle, ya know...

Anyway, sorry, I know this isn't a particularly informative post but I'm just wondering if you blogging buddies can shed any light?

Your much-maligned Milt x

Historical Boobs?? My Muttie's...

I've been a bad kitty - in more ways than one.

Firstly, I haven't been blogging as regularly as I should - due to a fascinating big clump of wood and leaves in our neighbour's garden which the aforementioned has left lying all week (she felled her two trees in one go).

Well, I feel it's my mission to inspect this now-redundant  huge piece of nature to ensure there are no mice etc inhabiting it. And unfortunately there's not :(. And believe me, I have spent HOURS rummaging. To the extent that Muttie has had to come grab me to get me to come to bed at night...she even ventured out in her  pyjamas the other night (shudder). This is not a pretty sight especially as the complicated bone-structured stuff she refers to as 'underwear' no longer 'holds her in.'

And the other reason I've been bad...well actually, this is Muttie's fault (as usual). I believe there was a 'historical' error in my last post due to Muttie's crap research. Yes, the silly bint told me that Queen Elizabeth the First had an affair with Ghillie Brown when really, everyone knows, that ruffs only came into fashion after Mary Queen of Scots defeated Hitler at the Battle of Bannockburn in 1066. Doh!! She's sacked...again...

Anyhows, other matters...me, Paw and the Muttie One went to the local RSPB Centre at Lochwinnoch the other day and we discovered all these wierd objects nailed to trees. Well, they're not wierd objects in themselves but to find them nailed onto trees was pretty Kooky:

 Yes, that's a teddy bear. And the other weird item:

Er, that'll be a hat then! And the reason for this? They're both birds' nests. Recycling-tastic!!

Another thing happened at the RSPB reserve and I was SOOOO embarrassed but I believe the Muttie-Bint is using it for her woman's mag column so no doubt she'll share the link in my next post (she's so PUSHY!!) and anyways, I'm so glad it's not being referenced to in this one (one has standards). Obviously, the next link will be a' la her...or however you say it in French. I'm a German scholar myself.

Anyways, sorry - nothing riveting to report in this post although I believe future mailings may be more interesting. For instance Auntie Jennifer (she of the eagle eyes and bleeding First Class History Degree who, of course, noted Muttie's boob) and Uncle Steven are coming to visit next month (hoooray - they always give me LOADS of cuddles and strokes and I'm hoping they might even bring a few packets of Dreamies with them - which were noticeably absent on their last visit by the way).

And the other potentially interesting matter - according to Muttie - is that our household is about to increase...by one...in three weeks time...

Yours, in a curious and rather fretful fashion

Milt xx

Ruffling up some Fun!

Life's never easy. And in times of extreme adversity one finds it's easier to well, go along with things...

Particularly if those things involve one's Muttie's BF's offspring insisting you dress up as Elizabeth I, complete with ruffles:

For all you Non-Brits out there, this was an English, red-haired, Protestant Queen who had an incredibly long reign, as well as an affair with her Ghillie, the brazen Scot John Brown (oooer,). And there was a brill film on her reign starring the gorge Cate Blanchett.

Still, one can always turn a blind paw to misdemeanours and look to the future. And the future is rosy my friends. The Muttie One starts a new full-time commission tomorrow which means she's out of my whiskers five days a week for the next eight months. Meeeow. I almost don't know what to do with myself altho it will involve a certain amount of bird watching and mousing, that's for sure. And I'll have the place to myself. I wonder if Fatboy might want to come over for some tuna? I've kinda missed bashing him while I was staying at Paws. I've also heard there's a new dog on the prowl in our back yard. I'll have to get my paw down, and hopefully Fatboy will give me a helping paw or two too.

In the meantime, the Muttie one is braying away tonight 'cos she got a beautiful, colourful award from my old buddie Max:

I got the award, but the Muttie has claimed it. Apparently we have to answer a series of questions then pass it on. So here goes:

1. What would your prefect day consist of?

A bit of tuna for breakfast, the Muttie One could go tramping around with her camera and a book and I'd get peace. Then we'd meet up again and there'd be tuna for tea

2. How would you describe yourself if you were an item of clothing?

Something luxurious. Maybe a faux minx stole?

3. What hobbies are you currently working on?

Well, mousing is my main one. I like to concentrate on this while Muttie is doing her quilting and dreaming of getting her bony ass out on her bike

4. Walking in the woods in wellies or bare foot on the beach?

Oooh, definitely bare-pawed

5. Have you ever hugged or sung to a tree?

I've accomplished the odd recital. As for Muttie - don't even go there!! Remember, a cat's hearing is six times as sensitive as that of humankind. One tends not to encourage her.

6. Growing your own veggies or nipping to the supermarket?

Growng my own. One has fun gnawing the green bits off carrots

7. Have you found anyone exciting in your family tree?

Well, there was Uncle Ignacius who, as a Republican cat during the Spanish Civil War brought many a Nationalist mouse to its knees

8. Slap up meal in a posh restaurant or fish ‘n’ chips from the wrapper?

Oooh, def fish 'n' chips

9. Which element do you most resonate with, Earth, Air, Fire or water?

Fire, baby

10. Do you believe in fairies?

I do, of the whiskers variety and one that'll hopefully rescue me from Muttie...

Now, apparently I have to pass this along to five of my cattie pals..

She's great and I've learned so much from her: ten-lives-second-chances
Ok, we're talking canine's here, but he's a buddy terrierabouttown. 
He's one of ours but has his own identity: four-furry-friends
Muttie and Me love Lucky sillylupie
Muttie thinks this lady is as cool as a cat: snifflesandsmiles

Miltonian xx

A Shellfish Tale

This is a scintillating side-on profile pic, as you can you see for yourself.

But regardless, er, can I just apologise to all you adoring legions of fans out there? I haven't been able to blog recently cos the Muttie One has been selfishly bashing away at the keyboard non-stop, having obtained for herself a wee commission or two (journalism, not fiction, so don't get too excited).

Still, it means loads more Dreamies for me, hee hee. This is a yummy kitty treat manufactured by Mars. Now, this is the second time  I've mentioned Mars and the reason for that is, being a smart kitty, I'm looking at the possibilities offered by product placement here. Hello 21st Century!! I'm going to send Mars my two blog entries in which they're mentioned and ask if I can become an ambassador for them and hopefully they'll say: "Yes, Milt - we'd sooo love to have you on board (they'd talk like that 'cos they're probably American - all the big corps are). And please, take these 30 free packets of Dreamies with our compliments as a token of our initial appreciation."

That way, I wouldn't be reliant on Muttie and could quite easily fend for myself. This opens up all sorts of possibilities ie like me leaving home, maybe getting my own place (with furry furniture), enjoying a foreign holiday twice a year - boy are those French felines TRES sexy?! It'd maybe even result in me being able to afford that wee sparkly bling collar I spotted in Cats R Cute the other day! Actually, the possibilities, as I'm sure you realise, are endless. Of course, it'd also give me some bargaining power with Muttie along the lines of me insisting tuna should be served every alternate day rather than just every Friday. Independence is a great thing.

The other thing I wanted to mention in this blog is my R E S P E C T for cousin Jenna. I love Jenna. She's eight and so cute and smart. The other day there she'd been to the beach and collected a big bag of shells. She'd brought them to Gran's home where she spends a lot of her days after school. She wanted to clean them up, count 'em, then paint them in all sorts of gaudy rainbow colours.

"Ok," said a reluctant, ExtrEEEMELY houseproud Gran. "Now let's organise this. I'll fill the basin with hot water, you wipe them then put them on the stainless steel draining board to let them dry. Later you can paint them."

"Cool," says the Jenster.

So Gran retires to the sitting room with a cup of coffee and her mag, leaving Jenna to her own devices.

An hour later Grandpa goes into the kitchen to see how the Jenster's doing. He immediately returns to the sitting room and alerts Gran.

"Er, I think you'd better go through and have a look," he says in a rather undecided manner.

Gran throws down her mag and enters the kitchen only to see every single surface of her immaculate, sanitised haven covered in shells. In fact, it was even quite difficult to open the door.

"Wow, 305 shells Gran!! Who'd have thought?" the Jenster proudly announces....

Who indeed! Not Gran I'd readily surmise...I only wish I'd been there to see the horrified look on Muttie's Maw's face, hee, hee.

Milt, the mean advertising man, er kitty xx

Kopywrite Konfusion!!

The Muttie woman is really getting on my nerves!

Like, she's been commissioned to write a column for an online-mag and she's stealing all my best blunders, er lines, to put on there. We're at this crisis point, it seems. So I've said to her...all my stuff is copyright ie whatever I do, whatever I meeow, whatever it seems like I'm thinking...it's prone to legalese.

She's not happy about it, obviously, as she's such a boring individual herself; it is moi who gives her inspiration.

She claims she'll be able to write a column minus my intervention...I doubt it!  I mean, this is what she came up with:

http://pinkvox.com/index.php/old-reflection/47/95

Folks, I rest my Kittie Kase!!

Your Milt, always...xxx

Mountains and Mediation

What a lonesome week it's been. The skinny-ass'd one has hardly been home.

On Monday she and Paw went tramping up a mountain in an effort to reduce the circumference of Paw's gut so his trousers won't cut into him when he's sitting at his desk at work (he's a teacher for goodness sake, shouldn't he be poised - chalk in hand - in front of the blackboard, er whiteboard, most of the time anyways?!)

The lumpy structure they ascended is around 2,900ft high and called Ben Arthur. But everyone refers to it as The Cobbler because of its shape ie on the far right of its peak apparently you can see the cobbler, in the middle is his last and on the left is the wife supposedly nagging him to work faster (he must be related to Paw):

For once in Scotland, the sun was shining and it showed just how pretty our wee country can be:

Halfway up The Cobbler the parental combo encountered some snow and Muttie just couldn't resist the opportunity to pummel Paw (sigh):

The day before they'd gone for a walk to Eggie Park near Paw's place where they encountered a medieval bandstand. Thankfully Paw didn't have his g'eetar with him and peace reigned for the entire afternoon:

But hey, there's no piccies of me so far in this post. What was I thinking?! You lot must be so bored viewing all those scenic shots. So anyways, this is my favourite place to sit in Muttie's kitchen and means I can watch what Fatboy's up to without too much difficulty:

There's been a big ginger Tom hanging around our place for a few days now. Or at least it was until I returned. For the past two months now I've been spending two weeks at Paw's house then two weeks at Muttie's. I wish the Great Female Procastinater would just get organised and move into Paw's for good. He's dreading it of course cos she tends to be rather messy and she also has plans to 'modernise' his decor.

He gets really jumpy whenever she mentions Homebase or B&Q. She's threatened to ring up the local TV studios and offer his home as the backdrop for a 1950s sitcom unless he does something soon....I tend to saunter outside when this particular strain of conversation arises...I find it's best to be impartial in these matters and cowardly purr for both sides...

Milt, the Middleman xx

Kitty Kunundrum

Oftentimes I ask myself...wot's going on up 'ere..?

 Then I see's it for myself. The Muttie woman is in entertaining mode.... On Monday her BF Sharon, from the sunny South of France and her kids (Skye and Gaia) came to visit...ahhh...

They spent the day catching up on womany-type gossip then went to the local park to feed the squirrels cheap bags of peanuts (altho I'm sure the squirrels couldn't tell the nutty stuff were half-price from Lidl's). They seemed to like them anyhows:

Anyways, I got so annoyed with the Muttie one and followers cos they wouldn't take me with them. I tried to 'act as one' with them but this big bruiser of a Mutt stood guard at the end of the street. And I'm a kitty who doesn't take any chances. So, I took out my aggression on this branch hanging thing that I know Muttie really treasures and which droops daintily down from her kitchen window:

She's not gonna ignore moi anymore!!

Milt the seriously-Maligned. xx

Cross Words...

Gads, I feel like a right ponce having to pose in front of these daffs in Muttie's back garden...

And for other reasons...I can't relax.

Muttie keeps peering at me with an expectant expression on her auld pus (Scottish for 'old face').

What? I shriek in cat angst.

"Do something interesting!" she demands. "I have a column to write and I need stuff to blether on about. I haven't been out the house for two days now 'cos I'm stuck with all this freelance stuff so unfortunately for us both, you're my singular muse."

Did I sign up to this when I agreed to let her adopt me? I don't think so. I believe free Dreamies, a nice, fluffy, woolly blanket together with the bathroom window laid open whenever I needed away from her (regularly) were the main bargaining points.

I mean, I give her purrs, head butts, I sleep on the end of the bed with her every night and only the other day there I delivered half a sparrow for her lunch.What else must a cute kittie such as moi give out?

She looks towards poor old Paw for material too. She's considered writing about his obsession with the Observer Crossword ie they can't go out the house on Sunday morning until he's completed it.

Well, they tried it once, went to this really beautiful olde-worlde academic town of St Andrews, wandered around the university cloisters, viewed the ancient ruined Abbey, then popped to the upmarket student cafe for lunch. Muttie was bowled over by the atmosphere of the place. And what does Paw do? He whips out his newspaper, even before the waitress has appeared, and demands:

"What do you reckon 3 Across is?"

Let's just say Muttie's reply didn't quite fit in the required blanks....

Milt xx

Tapping into Tapas

 

Forget water bowls, the best kinda H2O is the stuff that comes straight from the tap. And often I get away with it...

However, I had to do a bit of hiding under Paw's car yesterday after bringing home a decapitated pigeon.

Muttie thought she was in some kinda horror film as I gaily pounced up onto the kitchen window sill with it. Actually bringing it home caused me considerable difficulty seeing as it was twice the size of my head and I could barely see where I was going.  

Meanwhile, me and the Muttie woman went head-to-head last night when she opened a tin of sweet corn. It ended in a rather ugly scene. No, she didn't glimpse her reflection in a mirror. What she did do though was submerge one's paws in one's water bowl while she dug in tin-wards with her oh-so-sharp fork.

Paw's been a bit more gracious about my 'mouse drop' after googling 'why cats kill mice' earlier tonight. In fact there was quite an emotional ear-scratching moment between us at one point. (Pssst, a wee aside here - Paw has a contraption that he sticks in his ears every now and again. It makes a buzzing noise and I wasn't sure of it's purpose until he insisted earlier tonight: 'When I do this Milt Boy, it makes me look YEARS younger.' Er, yeah Paw, whatever you say...).

Anyways, we mustn't slag off Paw 'cos he occasionally reads this blog too. In fact we'll praise him. Yeah, he'd like that. Ok, he's....good at bringing Muttie bacon/fried egg rolls in bed at the weekends, he always fetches the Guardian for her on Saturday mornings and, occasionally, he indulges her in a Spanish Evening where he cooks her really yummy tapas, opens a bottle of Rioja and shoves a Spanish film in the DVD recorder.

He's going through an 'I love all things Spanish phase.' Actually he's been indulging it for the last four years now. Muttie's impressed with his knowledge of this sexy Latin language - but she really doesn't need to hear it all the time. Still, he always gets top marks for his Spanish essays (but then he IS an English teacher so there's a pride thing going on there).

He's also really encouraging of Muttie's writing 'cept he always picks up on the mis-spellings and poor grammar. "But look at the creativity and imagination," Muttie implores.

"I'm trying to but I can't get past that use of 'less' instead of 'fewer' he insists. "And incidentally, your use of apostrophies is abysmal!"

You know how you had that day-dream at school about marrying your English teacher? Well, in a way, Muttie's done it and occasionally there's times where she can't help thinking maybe it would have been better to focus on the flirty volley ball coach instead...

Milt xx

Miracle Cats and Me

This is my profile shot. Like it? Very 'smouldering' James Dean, I thought.

Other matters - Paw isn't very happy with me right now. He says I'm in disgrace (yeah, yeah). It's because I brought a mouse home last night. I had such fun chasing it about the livingroom. Muttie was giggling away watching me and Paw both dive for it at the same time. Him to free it and me to well...have fun and practice my not-inconsiderable hunting skills.

It's been a good week actually. I finally managed to corner Fatboy and give him a real bashing for eating my grub:

Meanwhile, Muttie keeps going on about this miracle kitty in our home town who fell 120ft and, amazingly, survived - thanks to the free veterinary skills of those marvels at the Glasgow PDSA clinic (Garfield's treatment would have cost owner Andrea $900 otherwise)!

http://www.eveningtimes.co.uk/news/editor-s-picks-ignore/120ft-high-rise-plunge-cat-cheats-death-by-a-whisker-1.1020363

Well, I've survived 11 months living with she-who-doesn't-have-time-to-do-any-housework. Don't I merit some kinda mention from Her Majesty's Press Corp?

Other news, Muttie's been commissioned to write a fortnightly humour column for an on-line magazine. More in later posts. The site is for 'go-ahead, intelligent women'. I'm a bit concerned about their recruitment process...Stilll, I'm looking forward to the burgeouning opportunities here seeing how Muttie regularly appoints herself Guest-Blogger on MY site!

M-m-m-m-Milton xx

Meddling with Malapropisms

Frankly, there are times when I feel used.

Muttie is supposed to be studying various Comms Strategies right now with a view to getting a job and, far more importantly, more Dreamies (a yummy treat, manufactured by Mars) for me. But instead she's sidled up to me and announced with a forced brightness: "I know Milt! Let's have some fun and do your blog." Well, I'm telling you right now, there's no-way she's regurgitating her paltry, putrid thoughts down on my on-line diary. This sacred space dear followers, is between you lot and moi. There'll be no product placement or mutterings of a mad Muttie on here, let me assure you!

So anyways, can I just say: "miooow, miooow, MIIIIIIIow." Right, just had to get that off my furry chest. Reason for that was Maw and Paw have been huddling together of late, supposedly out of my earshot, and discussing a forthcoming meeting with a 'pet therapist' (they don't realise that cats have ten times the strength of human hearing. Doh!) So, I've picked up a concern they have with my miooow. They say I don't do it right. That I just do the 'oooow' bit and can't pronounce the 'mi' and I'm coming out all plaintive and well, 'wailleeeeeey' was Muttie's word. She says I hurt her ears, especially around 6am when I demand to get out and do my first patrol of the gardens. One likes to get out and make an early start on these things, non?

Let me tell you right now, there is NO way I'm going to a pet therapist. He or she will be human for a start. And I won't be able to focus on them up close (we cats tend to be short-sighted, which is a blessing when encountering Muttie head-on first thing in the morning!)

So, to move onto more interesting things...(and make her forget about taking me to the aforementioned pet therapist) Muttie was sitting staring at me earlier today with yet another problem on her mind. It's to do with the mother of one of the main characters in her novel. She wants her to have a 'funny foible.' She considered dementia (loads of laughs with that but it's kinda a sensitive subject too and frankly I don't know if Muttie has the wherewithall to do 'sensitive') so she then went on to talk about Tourettes - but I soon put her off that, BLOODY HELL!! And eventually we settled on 'malapropism' - you know, when you say the wrong word.

Her friend Alee put her onto this idea today when he was telling her about his sister-in-law who'd gone into labour with her first child and was having a terrible time. She recounted it later to him and, on describing the unmentionable events, told him: "Yes, it got so bad, the doctor had to seduce me!"

Well, did it not remind Muttie of the time when as a 16-year-old studying for her 'O' Grades (not yesterday, let me tell you) she'd depart to her bedroom, determined to swot, only to hear the impressed tones of her Nanny Mitchell: "Is that you away upstairs for some squatting now, honey?" Muttie was always left with this vision of giving birth to an 'O' Grade Maths paper (and which, in retrospect, would have been far more impressive than what she eventually ended up with!)

Milt the Mis-proportionally Maligned xxx

Dog-Gone-it!!

I can barely bring myself to write this...

My concentration hasn't been too hot today. Frankly, I've been worrying myself sick - which isn't like me as I tend to be more of a "take what life throws at you" kind-of-a-kittie. However, today would have sent any 'feline with feeling' scurrying up the nearest tree, I reckon.

So why am I so moody? Well, I found out where Maw and Paw went this afternoon. They were trying to keep it secret but I checked her Netbook when they left and the latest website she'd looked up was oh...this is really hard for me to say...The Dddddddddog Trust. The only conclusion I can come to is that they're thinking of getting a puppy!!! Yes, my cat pals out there, this is dire straits indeed....

I stayed in all afternoon contemplating their return and had actually packed my knapsack with a view to fleeing the nest (I could live on titbits from KFC and maybe hang out in Sophia's home for a bit I reckoned).  Still, they returned at 5pm minus any canine accoutrement. Obviously they've done the Dog v Cat bit and the cat (as always, hee, hee) wins. Well, let's face it, we're so much cuter, independent and er...better at catching mice?

Anyhows, CHEERS!! my feline friends. Victory is ours!!

Milt the truely Magnificient xx

PS No offence, like, Frankie and Hobbs!

Take Away Food is Heaven!

'Take that...and that...and feast your face on this...'

That's me getting my own back on Fatboy for stealing my grub. Just in my dreams but one day our punch-up will become a reality (we're both Weegie cats after all). Fatboy's still denying his crime but I reckon his MASSIVE stomach is proof enough.

He might get a temporary satisfaction from consuming my Hills chicken-encrusted delicacies but in the long run it really doesn't do him any favours. For instance, there's no-way he's gonna chase me up a tree. He tries but usually pathetically plops back down on the grass at the first attempt. I then like to nimbly dance around the branches a bit, baiting him. Oh...it feels good to be a lithe, winsome creature (something Muttie might want to have a wee think about!) 

So anyhows, she's spending a lot more time at home these days, which is really getting to me. When she was working full-time I could kid her on I was an athletic individual who spent his days surveying his territory and berating any birds who came within an inch of our garden. Now, she sees me sleeping quite a bit...er... rather a lot, actually.

And on the subject of sleep, I got NONE last night. Why? I hear you ask. Well, the answer is, the silly bint - or Muttie as she likes to be known - went to bed early last night with Julie Walters' autobiography. She laughed and laughed and then started giving it ZZZzzzzzzzzz's. Lil' ol' me meanwhile was outside and she'd shut all the windows! 

However, all was not lost. Around 1am I spotted the 'hot' neighbourhood cat Sophia stalking past the flat. I decided to follow her. She nipped past 'The Wilderness', a brown, rather uninspiring patch of ground, optimistically referred to by Muttie as 'My Garden' and headed towards the busy main road. I remained in pursuit altho it wasn't easy. At least on two occasions I had to conceal myself behind car tyres and at one point ended up pretending I was part of a Lidl dustbin. Still, it was worth it cos Sophia reached her destination and in doing so I experienced a revelation - there really is Manna from Heaven!! Or rather, chicken scraps from Kentucky Fried Chicken :). In order to obtain this scrummy grub apparently all a cat has to do is sit there looking cute and doleful. Well, with my looks I could hardly fail to melt the hearts of the generous staff.

The only problem was having to disguise my fried-breadcrumbed-coated whiskers from the bleary-eyed one the following day...but then, those human eye-bags do tend to miss a multitude of sins...

Milt the marauder xx

'ow's this for a convoluted Yoga pose...'

Okay, okay...I'm willing to admit Paw has a bit of wit.

For the last fortnight me and Muttie have been staying with Paw in the incredibly quiet commuter village of Beith in Ayrshire. For Muttie this is quite difficult as she loves the noisy diversions of the Weegie (Glasgow, for all the American followers out there).

Anyhows, Muttie admits Beith has a 'cracking' library and loves when she wakes up and can't hear any sirens (honestly, in her place, if it ain't the cops, it's the ambulance - who needs an alarm clock?!).

So anyways, since decanting there I've befriended another two pussys. Was a bit bizarre 'cos at first this cute eight-month-old lil' kittie approached me. Honestly, it was like lookin' in a mirror 'cept her face was all black. The next day, lo and behold, her mother approached and she was identical! Was bizarre in the extreme. Anyhows, at one point we three black and white pussies gathered together in the back of Paw's garden (Macbeth anyone?)

"Quick, quick," Paw hollered to the Muttie woman.

"Whhhhhhhat?" the prone-to-Bulimic-one spluttered, raising her head from the depths of the biscuit tin where she'd scoffed the third leg of a double chocolate Kit Kat and which, in the interests of division, belonged to PAW!

"You gotta see this," Paw coo'd, not realising, for one minute, Muttie had already started on his share of the double-chocolate Kit Kat.

Brushing the tell-tale brown crumbs from her striped cardi Muttie ventured towards the kitchen window.

"Look!" Paw exclaimed, sizing the three of us black-and-white cats in one. "It's a MILTitude of cats!!"

There ensued a loud moan from Muttie whenceforth she returned to the biscuit tin and shoved the fourth leg of KitKat in her gub.

"Psychologically, it's mine by right," she groaned.

Fatboy V Muttie. Who won?

Does anyone have the phone number for the RSPCA?

Phew, wot a weekend that was.

I'm knackered and looking forward to a nine hour kip. Let me tell you, Human Watching is exhausting. I was babysitting Auntie Jennifer and Uncle Steven this weekend. They came all the way up from Harrowgate, Yorkshire just to see me.

After a spot of vintage clothes shopping (Muttie and Auntie Jennifer) and dinner at the pasta-tastic Sartis, the four of them returned to the flat. Maw wisely decanted to Paw's. My job was then to ensure Auntie Jennifer and Uncle Steven quietly sipped the bottle of red wine I'd kindly got Muttie to buy them and didn't stay up all night watching MTV(you know what these young 'uns are like).

So anyways, Rioja-wise - two bottles. MTV - 'til bleeding 3am!

However, all was not lost. It's not exactly, er, 'taxing' babysitting Auntie Jennifer. She's gorgeous! Long black, curly hair, curvey and VERY Catherine Zeta Jones. Uncle Steven could probably be described as Darcy-like - tall, dark and brooding (although he was a right big softy with me, hee, hee).

However, they did admit the neighbourhood cat, Fatboy, TWICE prior to my awakening. As usual, he'd scoffed a fair percentage of my grub while I lay in somnolance heaven. In my more introspective moments I sometimes wonder if Fatboy just befriends me so he can scoff my chicken-encrusted Hill's gourmet delicacies.

Muttie thought she'd fooled him the other day by hiding my food bowl everytime the window is open so he can't just come in and scoff my grub willy-nilly. Fatboy, however, appears to have the upperhand on cunning. Muttie was sprawled on the couch reading on Sunday when she heard this scratching noise coming from the kitchen. Dashing through she encountered Fatboy with his head stuck in the large bag under the kitchen table which contains my grub. He'd clawed, or bitten, a hole through the plastic and his head was wedged inside happily munching away and, fatally on his part, oblivious to an irate Muttie standing right behind him.

What happened next was, frankly, too painful for any cat to have to witness...

The Truth is out there....

"Absolutely, NO WAY!!" the Big M declared, in her usual resolute fashion.

     Oh, I think you'll find 'way.'

     "We are absolutely not wasting this cheque for $25 on a mountain of Dreamies." (treats to you and me)    
     This is most unfair, of course. The reason she has that bleeding cheque in the first place is 'cos she prostituted a 'cute' photo of me to a woman's magazine (which, at this stage shall remain nameless, altho when the photos are out obviously I'll paste it up for you to drool over). She then went on to make up this story to the journalist about me being all lovey-dovey and a devoted pet. Gads, if only they knew the half of it...

     In terms of 'veritas' I'd say the Muttie woman is on a very sticky wicket...

It's Snow Joke Living Like This

Miooooow.

     Right, I've finally come out the huff. What with being abandoned in kennels and being forced to stay indoors cos of all that white stuff humans refer to as 'snow,' I've really had quite a time of it.
     The worm - or rather the weather - had turned and all last week I was darting about the back gardens of Beith, leaping across hut roofs, dancing on window sills and sticking my head down a big hole in Paw's garden I've discovered which, intriguingly, has water at the bottom. It's such good fun altho I'm not sure Muttie shares my passion. She always has this despairing look on her old pus everytime I enter through the back door at the end of the day with my funny, mud-encrusted ears.
     As usual I'm not very pleased with her right now. She's just returned from Sweden with two writing implemements she refers to as 'Milton pens.' That's because they are a replica of moi - two plastic black/white cats which double as a biro. She thinks this is funny. I find it downright insulting. Or at least I did until I remembered that the other week there someone made a Barbie doll to look like JK Rowling. Had they heard of me in Sweden, I mused? I'd no idea, though I'm not particularly suprised that my blog has reached international waters. Guess it was only a matter of time.
     Another reason I'm not happy with the Muttie woman is her behaviour last week. She attempted to turn me into a drug addict. Yes, you heard right.
    She came home from town grinning, with a cloth mouse which smelled distinctly 'herby.' She then proceeded to throw it into the centre of the sitting room, then stare at me for several long minutes in an expectant fashion. There ensued a lengthy stalemate during which I stared at the cloth mouse and, in a rather unanimated fashion, it stared back at me.
     "Well??" Muttie said, with a distinctly impatient air.
     Bemused, and justifiably in need of a treat, I gave her one of my 'I can only just tolerate you' looks.
     "Oh come on Milt, give me a triple axis or a double back flip. Or even take the blinds three at a time. I want to see you go doolally."
     It was at that point I realised she was obviously mistaking me for a performing seal. My sympathy for her simple state knew no bounds.
     In the end, of course, she gave up and stomped off, muttering on and on about someone - or something - being "a total waste of fur."
     My credibility intact, I went off to source that watering hole. I'm sure it's the home of a yummy big mole.

Christmas Calamity

This is my scarey photo where I'm about to pounce on you...

But anyways, enough of that. Tell me, what did the white-bearded one bring you this Christmas?

I got a toy cat that farts.

Muttie says I'm being silly and the deep 'pweeeeee' noise is just it purring.  But I'm not convinced. It's a horrible, battery-operated white fluffy thing (that she got second-hand at work BTW).  And let me tell you, I fair got my teeth into it's scraggy tail within minutes of meeting it. Muttie is now thinking twice about getting another kitty in March (hee, hee).  She wants a ginger kitty that she's decided to call Macavity after T S Elliot's poem (she thinks she's dead cultured, but we know best, eh?)

And speaking of which, she ditched me in kennels for six days over Christmas while she and Paw swanned off to Madrid. Her raison d'etre for the trip she said was to go visit Picasso's masterpiece Guernica in the Reina Sophia. Who's she kiddin'? It was an excercise in stuffing her face with tapas and seeing how much Rioca she could pour down her throat in the one go!

Anyhows, I caught a cold in the kennels and I didn't think much of the grub. Not only that but my neighbour was a spoiled fluffy female who miowed constantly. Honestly, I was glad to get home for a good kip. Although that's been a bit of a problem the last couple of days. It's so cold in Glasgow that Muttie has been using me as a hot water bottle. Honestly, we're in bed and I just get comfy at her knees when she wails: "Milt, my feet are frozen." Then she picks me up and planks me on her Pieces of Meat (not the best place to be at the best of times - altho more of a problem in Summer I have to concede).

Does anyone out there want to adopt me?

Miltonian the Magi xxx