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.