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