A Moggy's World

Hello...been a bit dozey of late!

2010-07-15T16:36:00.002+01:00

It's been hot and, whilst sleeping in the sun by the kitchen sink, I suddenly remembered my blog! Good heavens, I've got a blog! I had a quick wash while trying to think where it might be. The little window with the mousey thing, I thought. Well, it took me some time to work out my password but here I am,back in blogsville!
Now what's been happening in the two-legses' world......

Simon's Cat - Snow Business (Turn sound on) and click here!

2010-02-16T09:35:00.001Z

Another brilliant cartoon not to be missed!

Wii Wish You A Merry Christmas!

2010-01-10T13:23:00.007Z

Since Christmas the two-legses have been disconcertingly active indoors. On Christmas day there was first the crinkly sound of paper to disturb my sleep, followed by the wafting odour of roast turkey and then, heaven knows why, the bipeds started leaping about in front of the television. Mr two-legs pulled a muscle because of this and spent the next day watching Mrs two-legs doing step exercises. It was something to do with wees. Now, I always thought weeing was a cat's daily duty and one that should be done expressly outside, but they were playing with wee indoors and being particularly flamboyant about it too!

I folded my arms and watched from a safe distance, probably with my ears back and certainly a disdainful look on my face. On top of this disruptive behaviour, there's been the weather outside. The vacating of bowel and bladder where one has to find a suitable garden spot to fashion out a make shift toilet are often difficult enough at the best of times but at 5 degrees below....I'm afraid it has to be an on the surface operation amidst much steam, in a hurry and without ones normal dignity. Don't look back old boy, the steam will subside, I think to myself and make haste for the cat-flap.

Who would have thought the two-legses would have chosen such a cold day to be hard hearted. The cat-flap seemed as though it was locked! I couldn't get in! I bashed and shouted.

"Wait a minute!" called Mr two-legs from inside, "It's frozen shut, old fellah."

He bashed it from his side and eventually it flipped "bonk" into my face. That made me so cross I gave it a good shove back at him. Well, pretty soon we were playing Wii table tennis with the flap and Mr two-legs, so into playing Wii games, began shouting out the score. "Your serve," he called excitedly whilst peering through the frosty aperture. I served.... and I got him! "Clonk!" right in the face just like on the Wii! Now he's got a black eye as well as a pulled shoulder muscle.

Is there a catch the mouse game on the Wii, I wonder?

Herky

Roofless Thieves!

2009-11-10T14:36:00.008Z

There've been men about this week;
Yes, strangers in our garden!
They turned up early thursday
Without a 'beg or pardon.'

Noisy men they were
Took off the garage roof
And threw it on their lorry
One had a missing tooth.

We watched them from the house
No one else was home
The bravest one who stayed outside
Was Fred the garden gnome.

When they'd gone off down the lane
We inspected with dismay
How were we going to explain
What happened here today?

Old two legs will blame us
Said Millhouse, with wide eyes
We're supposed to guard the house
Not watch and stay inside.

Pooh! sneered Hercules
He sat and looked aloof.
The only theives that I know of
Wouldn't steal the garage roof!

Roofless; the garage is brighter
But much wetter in this rain.
Better hope those men return
And put roof back again!

Herky

Sunday. Another Day Of Rest!

2009-11-01T10:50:00.005Z

It's raining, it's pouring
Old Two-legs is snoring.
He went to bed when we'd been fed
And couldn't get up in the morning.

Old windy's outside the window. He seems to be vigorously shaking a thick rubber blanket and throwing grit against the glass in the early morning darkness. And so it is we're sat about staring forlornly at inanimate kitchen items. Waiting. Waiting for something to do. Waiting for the rain to cease or for Old Two-legs to appear; to give us cause to spring into action. The presence of catiness prevails in all its warm furry rumbling hungry tension. The atmosphere is charged with feline anticipation.

Enter Two-legs
Two-legs: Oh, no! The committee's here. Holding counsel are we? Good day, oh wise ones. What great deeds have you decided are to be enacted today? A race round the house, a poke about the dark corners of the junk room or a sleep in some inappropriate cardboard box?

On this occasion we maintain our furry silence. Some things are best kept secret. However, we do gaze between our vacant bowls and Old Two-legs with rounded shoulders. The more dejected our appearance, the sooner the pouch will be produced and slopped before us.

Two-legs: Here you go you two piglets. Get that down you.

The licky slurping begins;
Winter's on its way.
When we've finished washing
We'll while away the day.
In some damp old box
Or maybe on the stairs
Perhaps on the dirty washing
To cover it in hairs.

Herky

Take That!

2009-10-27T08:52:00.014Z

Sir Millhouse is a fellow of greed.
If I'm not there when it's time to feed,
He casts furtive glance from left to right
Eats my bowl first, the cheeky mite!

Then, when I stroll up to eat my share
The bowl is clean, there's nothing there!
Sir Millhouse, at's own bowl, all slobbery
Says, "Herky, there's been some daylight robbery!

Your meal's all gone, I'm sorry to say
The thief ran off...'Went that away."
Thinks me a fool, that naughty cat
Thinks I, well we'll see about that!

Later,on the flagstones.

Sir Millhouse, (dropping a mouse upon the ground before himself).:
Once again, I have been out on the hunt,
From across the road I bring back lunch.
I shall eat it soon when I've finished boasting,
Perhaps Two-legs-pouch-face'll give a roasting.

Lord Hercules:
I'll not forget, my food you stole.
Licked it from my serving bowl.
Methinks that mouse should be for me,
Fair's fair I say, so that's my tea.

Lord Hercules deftly picks up the mouse
And disappears round side of the house.

Sir Millhouse sits with eyes of dismay.
He's pinched my mouse and run away!
Oh well, I must just wash this paw
Then pop indoors and ask for more.

Herky

A Mid-Summer Night's Prickle!

2009-10-18T11:36:00.012+01:00

During those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer; those days of snoozing and mousing and burrs, there was much rustling and snorting neath the bushes in the nightime garden.
Sir Millhouse and Lord Hercules are sat upon the flagstones listening intently.

Sir Millhouse: Hark my lord! There it is again! Tweak thine sharp ear t'ord y'on Hoster. 'Tis a scary sound, doth, no doubt, foster the coming of some midnight monster!

Lord Hercules: True, it is of an eerie nature portending of some unknown creature. Think you we should cut and run or wait awhile? It may be fun!

Sir Millhouse, with a worried look, shuddered a little and shook his foot. The rustle gets louder and more intense. A shadow is seen against the fence.

Sir Millhouse: See there, my Lord, I glimpsed a little.
His fur stood up. His backbone prickled.

Lord Hercules: Ay there it was. Now crossing the lawn. 'Tis round and pointy; horse-chesnut form.

Sir Millhouse: Yes, it stops and munches. Slugs and snails methinks it crunches. Yuek! I can think of better lunches.

Lord Hercules, curiosity tickled, creeps up upon the thing of prickles. He looks quite closely, to find a face. It takes a while to find the place. Then they both jump; a great surprise, finding themselves set eyes to eyes. He holds out a paw of cordial greeting; an ambiguous cat-sign of a friendly meeting.

Lord Hercules: Ouch! There was no need of that for I'm a friendly pussy cat. I don't think that we've met before. Pray tell your name, and mind my paw.

Snout: No, we've not met. My name's Snout. Now please excuse' what I'm about. There is so much to be done and I can't keep talking to everyone.

He snuffles off under the Wisteria, leaving both their lordships feeling a might inferior.

Lord Hercules: Well, Sir Millhouse, what an encounter! He was curt, arrogant; the cheeky bounder! He pricked my paw without being sorry! How different it would be were he warm and furry!

Sir Millhouse: Hmmmm! Methinks that's true. Not many get the better of you.

Herkspeare

Simon's Cat - Hot Spot (Click Here)

2009-10-12T17:44:00.000+01:00

Ode To Idleness!

2009-10-12T16:55:00.003+01:00

Fellow readers please forgive
That late I have not written,
It's because I'm such a lazy lump
No more a lively kitten.

But old two legs pouch face threatens
If I don't write some more,
He'll only give me crunchy bits
And shut the bedroom door.

But I haven't just been snoozing;
No, not sitting under my laurel(s)
I've had two mice, n'chewed a frog
Not to mention other horrors!

So it's back to the world of Herkspeare
I'll tell of all my deeds
The garden's where things happen
Amongst the wildpatch weeds.

Herky

A New Simon's Cat! - Fly Guy (Click here)

2009-07-25T09:15:00.003+01:00

Spot our little behaviour patterns!

Lord Mole-de-Morte

2009-07-12T09:17:00.009+01:00

Scene: Hercules, having just regurgitated his fresh meal upon the back of the settee, now sits down the garden chewing the long grass. Lord Millhouse washes thoughtfully nearby..
Lord Millhouse: Oh, Sir Hercules, why 'tis dost thou chew upon the grasses so? Is it wizardry, I'd like to know! For as I sit and wash'n lick, I think this be what makes thee sick?
Sir Hercules (with wisdom in his eye): I seek the grasses with good reason; For they are best in summer season. A goodly blade stirs up the bile; and pretty soon out shoots a pile. Alack! That it was o'er the settee; For now old Two-Legs will blame me.
Lord Millhouse: But why, o'wise one, wouldst thou sick thy dinner; only to be blamed and labelled sinner?
Sir Hercules: A secret 'tis why it is done; and is not privy to the human ones. You see, my friend, no sooner one is rid of dinner, one can plead for more; And yet stay thinner!
Lord Millhouse: Pooh! To that idea my friend. Methinks you must be round the bend. In the land of Bulimia they once did that; they called it the land of the skinny cat! See how I have a nice round tummy; 'Tis 'cause my food's so scrummy yummy!
Suddenly, Lord Millhouse suppresses a yawn as he spies some movement in the lawn.
Lord Millhouse: But wait! Here's my underworld chum, Lord Mole-de-Morte; He does often come. Tho' he maketh soil rise and fall, yet's never seen by me at all! How, I wonder dost he that; avoiding paw of pussy cat!
Sir Hercules: Ay, 'tis a wonder old Mole-de-Morte; He digs below our very thoughts. He moves in such mysterious ways, and in the dark lives out the days. They say he must come up for air; but know not I of when or where. Perhaps from Burnham Wood he wriggles, and seeks Dunsinane..ha ha!(Herk giggles!)
Lord Millhouse: Oh now, Cruel Sir! Enough of that! For I'm no fool of a pussy cat!
Mole-de-Morte tunnels off to their dismay, no doubt, we'll not see him today.

Herky

Lawn Walkin'!

2009-06-28T15:45:00.007+01:00

Old Two-legs-pouch-face had been staring down the garden for some time with considerable curiosity, so I sat myself before the flatcap to see what could possibly be more important than attending to my gastronomic demands. Beyond the patio steps, the short stretch of lawn and the (pathetic human-built excuse for a) rocky outcrop, there is a small thicket of bamboo. Behind the latter I could see a static greyish mound. Was it a new rock? My eyes blackened. No, to me it looked more rear endish? Indeed, yes, I decided, t'was a rump for sure. A cat rump at that! "Aye there's the rump!" came to mind and I grinned to myself. My tail flicked in delight at my own humourous wit. "A Millhouse rump, methinks" and there he was, crouched, elbows next shoulder blades, with his queen Anne legs either side, staring intently at the grass before him. Well, "grass is grass, just as a fridge door is a fridge door," I thought. Can it be that Millhouse is deep in thought? Or observing the differences between Creeping Fescue and Rye? Unlikely! He's not one for intelligent botanical analyses. But he was so intent. Not an ear twitched, nor a whisker tweaked. I began to think he may have trapped a mouse or bird amongst the mass of bamboo stalks; was waiting to pounce when it emerged. But nothing was evident. No little brown thing wriggling amongst the stalks.
After a while, Millhouse began doing a little dance. Yes, he was nodding his head as if to a catchy Michael Jackson number! But I knew he hadn't taken his Ipod out with him; it was still on the kitchen worktop. Had he heard the news? Was this his kittenish response? Anyway, Millhouse can't moonwalk. He can't even walk normally. He slinks. But, getting more into his stride, he managed a 180 turn in one neat swirl followed by some more serious rhythmic head banging and fancy footwork. "Hey, Man! Get it on!" I muttered with spontaneous enthusiasm. "I do believe Rocky Robin's out there! Yeah!"
Eventually in a tremendous finale, Millhouse cantered a schizophrenic zig-zag round the lawn and raced up the cherry tree. Now that's what I call choreography!
"So you heard about Michael Jackson then?" I said when I finally met up with him for early afternoon tea. (As opposed to late afternoon tea which comes not long before early evening supper followed by bedtime supper and the 'go on give us some more' final chance moment.)
"Michael who?" He looked puzzled.
"You know, Jackson." I said. "All that dancing this afternoon. Getting it on man!"
"Goodness, I don't know what you're on about." He replied, "but it's the first time I've met a mole. Wild, man! Wild!"

Herky

Another Job For Two-Legs.

2009-05-28T09:44:00.024+01:00

Scene: The garden patio. A blackbird is feeding his two young fledglings on their first outing from the nest. Lord Millhouse the badun' watches hungrily through the catflap ready to dash out and commit an evil deed.
Fx: The threatening sound of "Jaws" music is heard inside Lord Millhouse's head.
Mr Two-legs: You can forget that little plan right away, young Millhouse! You'll be having a civilised breakfast like the rest of us.
He locks the catflap just as Lord Millhouse presses his head against the clear plastic. Lord Millhouse scrabbles and meows in protest.
Lord Millhouse: But I only want to play with them. You know, pat them on the back. Chivvy them along a bit. Play chase around the garden.
Mr Two-legs: Oh really? How silly of me. Oh yes, I'll let you out if you play nice and gently Millhouse .....the badun'! And to think I thought you just might want one itty bitty blackbird for breakfast. How unfair of me not to trust you!
Lord Millhouse: Yeth, it is unfair, Mr Nasty man! You always think the worst of me, pouch face. Why only two weeks ago, didn't I bring old Yorick home alive and well to live in our kitchen? Now he lives happily in luxury in the summer house. Rejoice, merry Yorick. I raised his standard of living, didn't I Hercules?
I stare blankly at the fridge door and flick the tip of my tail as if to say, "don't include me in this discussion!"
Lord Millhouse: See, I don't always murder my playmates. Now let me out!
Mr Two-legs: Nope! I'm sorry but you're not going out there to cause mayhem with the baby birds on their first day out; after all the hard work their mummy and daddy have done and all. Now, go and have a wash somewhere and forget about the birdies.
He flapped his hands at Lord Millhouse impatiently.
Lord Millhouse: Meanie! I am going to play with the new birdies so there! Let me out, rotter!
He scratches and scrabbles at the catflap then trots through the house to the front door and pulls at the carpet. There's no way out.
Mr Two-legs: I said forget it! Go and flop down somewhere for half an hour, for goodness sake!
Lord Millhouse continues to walk around the house for some time, noticeably agitated. Then all goes quiet.
A while later Mr Two-legs enters into the kitchen where Lord Millhouse and I are in our 'Lions at rest' poses discussing the MP's expense claims scandal.
Mr Two-legs: OK. Paws up, who left the pile of poo on the bathroom carpet?
I put my ears back, in surprise. Millhouse grins smugly and turns his head the other way.
Mr Two-legs: Well thankyou very much, boys!
There's a clatter as the carpet shampoo machine is prepared.
It's just another day. Gosh! I'm starving!

Herky

Yorick, Wherefore Art Thou?

2009-05-25T09:08:00.012+01:00

It seems that Yorick the field mouse has taken up residence in the summer house. The Two-legs-es were taking advantage of the warm Spring weather to groom the garden and Lady Two-legs was rummaging for the garden rake amongst the tangled clump of long handled implements when there was a dual leaping in the air as Yorick and Lady Two-legs surprised one another simultaneously.
Lord Millhouse-the-bad'un was promptly set down inside the summer house to investigate. With the usual puzzled expression on his face, he sniffed a few things, and gazed around nonchalantly. Sadly, unlike Poirot, he hasn't many little grey cells to call upon in such circumstances, and he quickly uttered a, "Pah!" and walked out again in a matter of seconds.
"Definitely nothing doing in there!" He concluded in a French, nay Belgian accent and strolled off onto the lawn to flop on his back. "That cloud looks just like a bowl of cream," he mused with a lick. And that was that.
Yorick must have breathed a sigh of relief and got back to organizing his food hoard into 'best before' dates.
Me? Well I'm a bit disgruntled - having been quite happily gruntled yesterday I might add. You see the sunny, luxury upstairs boudoirs have been closed off to the feline fraternity on account of a visitor who is due to arrive this week and will be availing themselves of said rooms for a few days. The Two-legs-es feel we leave too many gritty, furry deposits on surfaces when we set up camp in nice clean rooms. All attempts to gain forced access have so far failed. I even tried the 'police raid' type rush as I've seen on TV to shoulder the door open accompanied by an angry yell, but it merely rattled. No sympathy was extracted from the Two-legs-es who stood at the bottom of the stairs, with arms firmly akimbo and brows tightly furrowed. I could see they were determined and so I huffily slunk off to the dining room chair where so far I've spent half the day feeling grumpy. The sort of grumpiness which only three extra meals could possibly placate.
It's half-term; the Two-legs-es are around all day, so additional sustenance can be purloined if one is persistent enough. A situation with which I am well acquainted and of which I always take full advantage!
"Get out of the way!" Says Mr Two-legs as I wind myself around his legs in the kitchen. (Care must be taken that extremities aren't trodden on.)
"What's the matter now?"
"But I fed you only half an hour ago!"
"Oh, for goodness sake!"
"You don't stop eating 'til it comes out the other end, do you?"
"Tutt! Oh, go on then!"
Then a nice fat pouch comes out of the cupboard. As it's ripped open with such impatient vigour, the gravy splats across the cupboard doors in a splendid orangey brown rainbow.
"Doh! Now look what you've made me do!"
"Bloomin' greedy lumpus pussus!"
I eat daintily and with composed dignity. (Just the one ear backwards)
Two-legs faffs about with the kitchen cloth. He babbles too much!

Q.E.D.

Herky

Fat Cat

2009-05-16T18:20:00.004+01:00

Millhouse the cat
Is getting quite fat
He goes out and gets his own tea;
And when he comes in
He bolts down his dins
And even eats what's meant for me!

Herky

Ye Biting Of The Foot Of The Hand That Feeds One!

2009-05-07T15:31:00.006+01:00

Scene 3: The scullery.

Lord Millhouse lying on his back, eyes playfully open and paws in the air. Sir Hercules sitting washing thoughtfully after another breakfast.

Hercules: Lord Millhouse, valiant hunter o'er all this ground, why in such idleness lounge ye around? Some seven days hath now gone by and Yorick has not passed one's eye. Think not you that with mouse-like cunning, he jumped the door and kept on running?

Millhouse: 'Tis true my Lord, I've heard no scratch of late: freedom may have been his fate. Your fault I fear, my old slothful friend; had you been quicker he'd have been caught: a sticky end he would have bought!

Enter Two-Legs Pouch Face who is tempted to tickle the furry belly of the reclining Millhouse with his foot.

Millhouse: (Grabbing foot and biting it): Ha! This indeed's a merry game. A well aimed nip'll make you lame! Many a Two-Leg's fallen for the belly lure; indeed 'tis fun and that's for sure.

Rises to his feet.

But I must away: the wild is calling. There's much to be done in the early morning.

Exit via cat-cullis.

Hercules climbs the stairs and sits outside the two sleeping chamber doors of the now departed younger Two-Legs-ses.

Hercules: Oh, heooooooow I wish to enter here. Oh, heoooooow long must I tarry. Come on Two-Legs, let me in; Ohh, to sleep; perchance to dream and in.....

Two-Legs Pouch Face lets him into the sleeping chamber. Lord Hercules brushes round the door frame and into the room.

Hercules (To himself): ......Aye there's the rub! (Round the door frame.What did happen to the rump? He thinks!)

Bed is sprung upon. A loud purring tumbles down the stairs.

Hercules: Who knows what dreams may come...........(Sigh.)

Herkspeare

Alas! Poor Yorick!

2009-05-03T09:27:00.010+01:00

(Continued from - Live Entertainment)

Scene: A week later in the castle scullery. Hercules is sat thoughtfully before his un-dolloped bowls.

Hercules (To himself): Seven days have passed and I'm yet to see; yon mouse young Millhouse brought to me. We called him Yorick the brave field mouse, whom Millhouse brought into this house. Me thinks perhaps he got away. Ay worse; alack! may've met his day.

A rustle. Enter Millhouse from behind the arras. (A plant that which we do not really possess!)

Millhouse: Alas! poor Yorick, I knew him, Hercules; a mouse of infinte zest, of most excellent flavour; I have borne him home a thousand times; and now he may've gone to warmer climes.

Enter crawling across the carpet; two beetles, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Rosencrantz: This tale we hear, 'tis sad to say, is getting more bizarre by the day!

Guildenstern: 'Neath the washer, dwelt old Yorick. I knew right then he might be for it!

Rosencrantz: Well, 'tis true. He's not there now. I'll wager he got out somehow!

Guildenstern (Producing coin):You're on, my friend, I'll take that bet. I'd say old Yorick lives on yet!

The pair beetle on under the fridgery closet.

Hercules: 'Tis evident Yorick took his chance; for towards the washer we do not glance.

Millhouse: Damn and fie! For my hard work, now under the washer he does not lurk. 'Twas your delay, Hercules, did make this trouble; find him I must and at the double

Enter Two-Legs Pouch Face.

Two-Legs Pouch Face: Now my Lords, why all the fuss? More food? Oh well, if I must...

A pouch is dolloped and the only sounds are the slurping of chops at jelly mounds.

Herkspeare

Printer Trouble

2009-04-27T10:15:00.002+01:00

Live entertainment!

2009-04-27T08:35:00.009+01:00

Scene: The middle of the night during a warm, dry spell. In the castle scullery.

Enter through cat-cullis: Lord Millhouse with full mouth.

Millhouse (excited): Make haste, sire, for I have brought thee a fine diversion. Far better be it to play with the real thing than watch yon David Attenborough on the magic window!

(Lays down cute field mouse which promptly disappears under ye mechanical washer contraption.)

Millhouse: Damn! Now did I not tell ye to hurry, sire. Your sloth makes it necessary for us to play the long game. Heaven knows how much time will pass now ere my prize will come out to tease us with its whiskery snout.

Hercules: Pray, have patience Lord Millhouse, for I upon the bookshelf was musing of foreign parts when you in stumbled! I dreamed o'lands where mice swarm in merry abundance and all the two legged inhabitants are heavily bedecked in pouches of many exotic flavours. Where is this gift you bring on this pleasant night in Spring?

Millhouse: 'Tis under yon washer, sire. I'll leave that to you for I have many other things for to do.

(Leaves again via cat-cullis)

Hercules (To himself): Now here's a fine thing! A mouse in the house Lord Millhouse did bring. Who knows when I'll catch it if it should show? And what will be said when Two-legs gets to know?

Later.

Enter: Two-legs Pouch face

Two Legs Pouch face: Why, good day Sir Hercules. Slept you well I trust? A pouch you'll be wanting for feed you I must.

(Opens cupboard for pouch whereupon a mouse runs out.)

By the heavens, Sir Hercules. These pouches are fresh! I'd swear I've just seen a mouse there in the flesh.

(Chorus: I saw a mouse. Where? There on the stair! etc......)

Hercules: I know nothing of these goings on, Two-legs, I'm sure. Speak with young Millhouse, for he can say more.

Enter Millhouse with clear eyed, innocent expression on face.

Heavy atmosphere as breakfast is eaten in silence.

(To be continued)

Herk

Ch..ch..ch..changes!

2009-04-14T08:52:00.009+01:00

The old human lady came for the afternoon over Easter. She never remembers my name and asks, "What's her name?" when I amble round through the doorway. I swivel an ear back but carry on purposefully. I'm not a 'her' and I don't respond to folk calling my name anyway. I'll come to see you when I want and only then. After all, I'm a cat!

I noticed as she pottered about she was humming 'Around the world in eighty days' to herself. Don't ask me how I know of the song; just accept that cats have an infinite wisdom of the human world passed down by means of interminable purring from wise old puss to kitten. It led me to thinking back when I was a young whippersnapper plying my skills down the lane. Yes, I had a skate-board, an earring; but my 3lb mobile phone had to be carried in my back pack.

Mister had to wind his car window up by hand. The exercise, I'm sure, staved off obesity.

The Internet took 2 minutes to load a page and you had to put £3.00 in the kitty to pay for that exciting privilege; only to find it wasn't the page you wanted anyway.

Humans went to shops to buy things.

Cat food came in tins. (Labelled in English.)

On Friday nights local cats all met down the pub for a pint or two, a chat about the ones that got away, and a smoke. Then we'd hook paws over shoulders and stagger back singing 'Show me the way to go home,' or 'We bring 'em back alive.'

As I listen to the young human's music today. The punk, the house, the rap, the hip hop; I wonder if in the future some old human will be gently humming in a shakey voice, "Yo! Get down bitch!" and jerking about as they make themselves a heart warming cup of tea.

Herkopheles

Long Live The Smartest!

2009-04-07T14:01:00.012+01:00

Lord Millhouse has been fascinated of late by a pheasant who makes daily expeditions into the garden. He is very smartly dressed with his traditional dark green, and red head, white barred neck, and golden speckled body set off by a magnificently long tail. The large bird is quite unmoved by the furry observer and sits in the sun on the compost heap. Millhouse looks on from a distance full of admiration and respect.

"Nice meal!" he says to himself as he hums," I'm not a pheasant plucker; I'm a pheasant plucker's son...."

It just goes to show if you dress smartly you command greater respect and may live to see another day.

Sadly, there is feathery evidence behind the shed that a less strikingly attired bird, Mr woodpidgeon has met his muncher; he's surely been plucked! We suspect Mr Fox was responsible for that particular drama.

Apart from his mid-morning nap until 2 p.m. , Millhouse is out for all hours living the wild life of a merciless predator, in his mind anyway. He's very brave and the master of his craft; until someone should sneeze behind him and send him running into the bushes with his ears flat.

It all illustrates Darwin's theory of survival. Millhouse hasn't quite earned his ticket yet!

I'm the smartest of all in the evolutionary tree in my domain: but it does take a lot of patience. Sometimes I have to sit in front of my bowl for twenty minutes before due notice is taken and food is served. I know it will come in the end otherwise it's time for plan B; pad clumsily across the keyboard between human eyes and screen....."Oh for goodness sake!"...and there it is! Squidged in the bowl.

Herky

Maintain Your Dignity At All Times! (Click Here)

2009-04-06T09:33:00.001+01:00

Blogger's Block (Non-writipuss)

2009-03-31T10:07:00.010+01:00

Well, a month has passed since I last blogged and I must beg my readers' forgiveness for not keeping them up to date with feline events at Meadowside. This has not been due to any great veterinary emergency nor even my narcoleptic lifestyle, but merely that I have suffered from an acute case of Blogclot non-writipuss(Blogger's Block); or 'bcnw'. Yes that's berknwah. Goodness what am I talking about! That's the same noise as I make when I'm being sick. Well, I suppose I was sick. Anyhow, it's very trendy to use catronyms for these things nowadays.
Since February has passed, the daffodils are scattered merrily about the lawn and grape hyacinths are creeping delicately skywards. Such Spring tidings are lost, of course, to Lord Millhouse. I'm afraid he has taken once again to the killing fields over the lane and frequently returns with the spoils of his daily campaigns. I watch his return with much dismay for I know how little this amuses the Master; but I do feel just a little self-righteous when the Master tells him off.
"See, I told you so." I say with a lingering frown; eyebrows furrowed and whiskers curled forward.
But he takes little notice.
"'Tis fun," he argues. "Anyway, a young knight must continually hone his hunting skills, and I am helping to keep the vermin at bay. 'Tis more than you do and, after all, what I'm bestest at!"
He leaves another poor grinning corpse on the patio. "Now, where's my lunch?"
I sigh, but deep down know he's right. I used to be quite a rebel in my youthful past. I ranged far and wide. Naughtiness ever on my mind.
However, yesterday he committed the worst sin.
Lately he's been retraining himself for bird table tennis. This is the sport where one hides in the hedge until some unsuspecting feathered friend stops by for some bread and Millhouse dashes across the lawn takes a flying leap at the table and swipes randomly with his paw. This year, having put on some weight, he wasn't quite able to jump high enough for the forearm smash; well not until yesterday that is. Oh dear! Not only did he manage the swipe, he brought the poor little fellow inside still alive! I'll spare you the details, but needless to say the kitchen looked as though a professional chef had been busy! A culinary nightmare: feathers everywhere!
When Mrs came home, it was an 'Elvis has left the building' scenario. "Who on earth made that mess!" We heard as the catflap clicked behind us.
Although it wasn't me, I knew we'd both be for it!
Let's hope this clears my Blogclot. I've got to go and flatten a big plump pillow in the bedroom now; just one of my many daily duties.

Herky

Ay, There's The Rump!

2009-02-28T17:28:00.003Z

Scene 3: Yet another morning in the darkened scullery.

Enter through cat-cullis, Lord Millhouse.

He sets aside his arms with haste;
And lays down the mouse he's laid to waste.

Says Herk, "Another gift, my Lord, ye bring?
For this small crime you'll surely swing.
For hath the master not dictated,
no more mouse be masticated?"

Millhouse proceeds to crunch then chews,
"But Herk, this vice keeps me amused."
A silence befalls while bones are eaten;
alas, too soon ye cat is beaten.
Mouse rump abandoned on the floor;
Millhouse legged it out the door!

This scene, methinks occurs too often
For time my master's heart to soften.
To eat: to clear the floor:
Ay, there's the rump
For what wrath may grow if he sees that lump
Lying there upon the floor
Not one and twenty inches from the door?
(Haven't I been here once before?)

Well, master stumbled in the room
And must have seen my eyes agloom;
For rump was spotted pretty dam-ned quick
And rump ejected; with dustpan flick.
(Master looking rather sick!)

Sayth I, "Oh master, pray don't take the hump;
T'were Millhouse left that mousey rump;
Pray sir be not ye badly grouched
Breakfast please! A rabbit; pouched"

With that the master smiled; bowed a sweeping bow
And I thanked him with a polite meow
The pouch presented with due respect
Lord Millhouse?
He'll blooming well get his later;
I expect!
(Must get out of this Elizabethan phase!)

Herkspeare

To Eat Or Not To Eat.

2009-02-15T11:12:00.010Z

A room in the castle.
A distant fanfare is heard.
Enter through flap-cullis: Lord Millhouse, with much ceremony, bearing yet another mouse which he proceeds to chew upon lightly!
I am sat before my bowl, tail gently tapping, and patiently awaiting the morning mincey slop which my master is contractually bound to plop. Say I, "My Lord, t'is apparent that, yet again upon this early day, you see fit to remind us of your deadly play. Thou hast, indeed brought us a handsome bounty fit for a..well quite small... king. Aye but, I do beg, offer me not such crude debauchery; for I, prince Herk, do prefer the more delicate flavours from the royal pouchery... e'en tho' oft squelched out in such an unbecoming manner."
"See," sayeth Lord Millhouse, with mouth abrim, for he's still plying his sad victim, "how I do earn my keep? Tho', alas I do fear I've chewed too deep and of form 'tis a little mangled now, to gift to the master, anyhow."
He dropped it 'pon the kitchen floor and awaited the master through yon door.
My hunger now waned a little to greet what Lord Millhouse had brought to eat.
Sitting aloof, I did espouse, he did not ought to eat that mouse.
"To eat, or not to eat: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
Eating the bones and marrows of this good fortune,
Or to stand firm against the sea of troubles it causes,
And by refusing end them? To starve: to sleep;
Bring no more mice; and by a sleep to say we end
The ear-ache and the thousand verbal tellings off
That we're subjected to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To lie, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of hunger what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off leaving his mousey spoils,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long a wait for the next meal;
For what cat would bear the whips and scorns of his master
Having house rules wronged, and viewed the angry man's dustpan sweep,
Thence the pangs of deprived cupboard love, the food pouches's delay,
The insolence of humans, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
By eating the mouse's body? who would fangs bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary (nine) lives,
But that the dread of no pouches until death,
The tenth time fromwhich no puss cat returns'
Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather destroy the evidence
Than get into more trouble ever hence?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the decision to leave the mouse there
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pride and moment
With this regard their currents turned awry,
And lost the name of action. Hasten you now!
The master comes! Quick! Millhouse, eat that damned mouse
Or banned we'll ever be from this house!"

Enter the master.

With a flourish.
"Good my lords, how do your honours for this many a day?"

"We humbly thank you; well, well, well!" I replied as Lord Millhouse swallowed the last bone with a shudder.

Herkspeare

Hubble Bubble Boiler Trouble!

2009-02-11T09:30:00.013Z

"Is this a fan heater I see before me?" Trembled Millhouse in the night. "Out! Out damned spot heater!"
But no, t'was but a figment in his mind as he sat before his bowl remembering the last three weeks.
Hubble, bubble.
The boiler's been trouble.
Now the hurly burly's done,
And the boiler battle's been lost...and won!
Yea, I say, t'is typical, be it not! Just when the coldest weather moves off apace, thy white box repaired be and heat once more is spread with grace.
I'm just lolling on the bed in the winter sunshine dreaming of days of yore.
Millhouse, who at first thought the snow exciting, grew tired of shaking an icy paw at every step and is also happy now to foray in greater comfort; and with more speed! Indeed, this morning the cat-cullis flipped open and in he swaggered with his ruff ruffled and a hunting gift a-jaw
which proudly he laid on the kitchen floor....at the feet of our master.
"Look what I bring from my sojourn abroad. The goodness of the undergrowth has fortuitously gifted me a mouse. I beg you, take this a gesture of friendship for thineself, my lord." He bowed gracefully, "Pray know ye that for myself, I have a preference at this time for a product from yon distant pouchery; supplies ofwhich I have seen many times retrieved from this nearby kitchen cabinet. So!" He strolled across to the door in question.
"Pray, would you be so kind as to quell this hunger, sir?
I will pay you later with my friendly purr."
"Indeed, o'ye young forager," said the master, "Your wish shall be attended upon, without further ado.
For t'is true, fair exchange is for the best
and you have justly earned your quest."
With a sweep of his arm, he bowed in acknowledgement. The mouse he swiftly gobbled up (aye, but in the dustpan). Breakfast was duly squigged with a ceremonious flourish and thus food partaken with greedy relish. Chops were smacked and much gruff chuckling, gagging and merriment ensued. After some contained belching, appetites were found to be amply sated.
Civility resumed, and beds awaited. (I have made use of some licence here!)
Having damped down his ruff with gravy licks, Millhouse nay, Lord Millhouse spoke to me in hushed tone, "I've heard tell that Birnham wood is soon to march on Dunsinane. We must prepare at once to defend our home."
What evil is afoot? No one knows.
Well, he's always had a penchant for a good sturdy cardboard casket.
That is to say, he enjoys a good box or basket;
If it's been set down for any purpose other than a bed,
Then we will make it one instead.
(Many is the time the master has provided us with cardboard homes, but we'll have nothing to with such divisive human trickery.)
"But lo! A box left randomly about the place? T'is fair coveted a prize my liege. A home! Nay a castle!"
Thus it is that Millhouse has his castle
And is safely boxed in his keep today
He's ever been a naughty rascal
So our advice is - keep away!

Beware the whipping paw swipes out,
From his fortress portal.
Sure you'll get a vicious clout
And he might do something awful!(One might call it a window of opportunity.)

One slash of his mighty paw
Thy blood shall surely flow
His teeth you'll feel for sure
And he will not let go.

T'is said he has oil on the boil inside!
So, beware the ides of March.....Well it is February!

Fie! The scamp has just thrown up
In his keep!
Now there's another place,
He will not sleep!

Exit Herky: Stage right.

Herkspeare

Indoor Games

2009-01-31T15:28:00.007Z

The news headlines say we're in for colder weather and snow for February! But the white box repair man still hasn't returned. Our contribution to global warming is therefore threatening to be disappointingly low this month. Yet, having every confidence in the human race, I'm willing to believe it takes many long weeks to put a phone call through to the manufacturer for advice; "Press one for sales. Press two to progress an order. Press three etc." Then having to listen to 48 hours of Leonard Cohen presumably as a test of your mental stability before being permitted to submit a challenging question to another human being. Yes, it can take a long time, particularly in these days of recession!
So, for the time being, Mister is keeping the house warm by way of strange gestures and stern commands which he makes at the white box. He pokes it rudely in its one red eye saying,"You don't get off that lightly old boy!" and such like.
In puss terms, cold weather means more dozing time; more looking for naughty things to do around the house, more tapping of interesting things off the windowsills, more staring forlornly out of the cat flap and more bundling with Millhouse. Well actually, more time spent goading the humans. They surge across the room with wide-spread arms making low pitched hubbledy hissing noises and we look back with suitably shocked faces. Secretly we chuckle inside. We likes reaction. We wants it.
Sometimes, we gets too much of it!
Sometimes we gets none of it. You've heard of lap cats. I was a lap cat once. No not a cream lappy type cat; a cat who enjoyed the warmth of a sitting human lap. Nice lap. Purry lap. Then home came the naff lap. Yes, the lap top. The lap top which sits on laps.
It laps too. It laps up attention time, our stroking time, our feeding time!
They may say they're working on it. But it's always the same work. That green screen work with the playing cards on it? Some work! Spider work! I peer at them over the screen. I sit alongside. I watch those skittering cards. I may be tempted to pat them. Finally, patiently but pointedly, I skillfully glide in front of their faces and sit upon the keyboard. Food is produced - 'tout suit'. Tummy is filled. Chops are licked. We knows what we wants.

....And we gets it!

Q.E.D.
(Quite Easily Done)

Herky

A Winter Cold

2009-01-27T11:42:00.004Z

It was early in the morning that the whooping noise started. The big white box, above my sleeping shelf, shuddered and wheezed three or four times. Then it quietly settled down to its usual hum. The whooping had caused me to sit up; eyebrows raised, ears back. Though, now all seemed normal, I sensed trouble.
Millhouse was still curled up next to the hob. He's pretty oblivious to any new sounds around the house. Indeed, it took him three years to recognise the creak and clonk of the cat-food cupboard door followed by the foil crinkle of a pouch!
"There may be trouble ahead." I said.
"Hmm," dozed Millhouse, easing out his clawing paws to their full length.
The white box clicked and wheezed above my head several more times. I was just thinking the room felt rather cold, when in marched Mister in a purposeful manner. Ignoring my greeting smile, he wrenched open the door of the white box impatiently and started poking buttons and turning knobs. The white box wheezed and roared and then stopped with a, "Pah!"
"Boiler's not working!" he called to Mrs who followed him in wrapped up tightly in a dressing gown.
"Knew it felt cold," I thought huddling up my paws. By now Millhouse had sat up with a dazed stare in his eyes because the kitchen light had been turned on so suddenly.
The conversation proceeded along the lines of, "What's wrong with it. Can you make it work?" and "Oh, bloody hell," etc. It was minus 5 outside (that's about 28F) and you could feel the house physically absorbing the cold.
In came a weird looking blowing thing from the garage. It blew out warmish air, rather feebly, I might mention. We all huddled round it for a while though Millhouse and I didn't much care for the blowing characteristic.
We moved down the kitchen to our bowls and sat looking back at the humans still hovering over the blowing thing. "Food might be some time coming," I thought. I gave them the look of, "Come on you two! Get it sorted I'm bloomin' starving." It was to no avail.
Well, we spent a day living under the jurisdiction of the blowing thing while the rest of the house was as cold as the big outside.
White box repair man came, fiddled about, optimistically at first, then slowly shook his head, his shoulders sagging a little, he sucked through his teeth, scratched his groin, and muttered, "Dunno. Really dunno". Then, "Of course you can reset and start it by pressing the dooberry button, y'know. I'll have to phone the manufacturers," he added dolefully repressing a belch. After admitting defeat, white box repair man sallied forth whistling 'Land Of Hope And Glory' quietly; off and out the door.
'Nice chap," said Millhouse, who has no idea of character assessment.
We haven't heard from or seen him now for four days, and every morning Mister has to get up and curse the white box many times before it deigns to issue the desired output. So we're warm but living on the edge of an ice-age here which is somewhat threatening our winter hibernating pattern.
I await the outcome with fishy breath!

Herky

Intruder Alarm!

2009-01-18T10:50:00.005Z

Millhouse, huddled in race car pose, was perched at the very top of next door's fir tree. He was swaying slightly in the breeze and studiously glaring at our patio windows. He had the expression of a husband whose wife has just run off with the milkman on his face! He's never been up there before but somehow knew that from this particular vantage point he would be able to observe all the activity in our living room, and the kitchen, as well as the garden. He had his reasons. It was actually both a territorial and a racial issue!
The territorial aspect being due to the unexpected intrusion of three visitors. The boy youngling, who has not long fled the nest, had brought his girlfriend back to collect some belongings. Well, as things go, that's OK. Humans are generally sympathetic to a cat's needs and therefore happily, (and purringly) welcomed; but with them (this being the racial matter) had come a woofer! Yes, a big black clumsy stumbling woofer whose wildly wagging tail thumped cupboards and whose spittle laden tongue flapped and flailed dribble about like an uncontrolled garden hose-pipe.
This noisy incumbent had lolloped into the kitchen, without so much as a please or thank you, and launched his big wide pink lapping paddle into our water bowl. Empty within about four laps; most of the water had fallen drenching the carpet. He then proceeded to slurp up any odd cat crunchy bits lying in our bowls and proceeded to howl until allowed for a trot around the garden. There was nowhere safe for Millhouse to go but out and, he instinctively knew, up!
So atop the tree he stood sentry for two hours through all the wind and rain!
"When God designed the woofer he must have been in a hurry!" he thought to himself. "He stuck the funnel in one ear and distractedly poured in two litres of enthusiasm. Then just one drip of common sense, when, 'Oops! Was that the doorbell?' and off he went to pay the milkman. (Shouldn't really mention him twice under the circumstances, should I?)
Anyway, eventually normality was resumed. The visitors left, and after making a mental note to associate the male youngling's arrival in future with a woofer alert, Millhouse came home; to a fresh bowl of pussy num-nums.
But wait! 'I can't eat this!' he turned to mister in dismay. 'This bowl is contaminated. Contaminated with...with...what is it? Yes, woofer slobberiness!
'He backed off in abject disgust; as though the bowl contained a dollop of doggy do. A very personal slight on his dignity from those un-empathising humans.
So, with a human hand on hip and a sigh, those bowls had to be washed, refilled and checked by the local food and hygiene police.
'Fussy?! What do you mean, fussy? Good heavens, folks! We're cats, damn it! We have standards and we won't let you forget it!'
'What was I doing throughout this little drama, you ask?'
Nicely curled up on the humans' bed out of harm's way.
I confess to having had just one ear on woofer alert, but this is where age and experience count as far as a puss cat is concerned. Me scared of woofers? Pah!!!

Herky

How Cats Were Made

2009-01-11T12:02:00.003Z

When God designed the puss cat,
He wanted warm and furry;
Gave it great big smiling eyes;
Inside put something purry.

A friendly, happy mouth, a grin;
Cried out for tickly whiskers'
With odd ones sticking out the cheeks;
Suppose we wouldn't miss those!

Random swirls for eyebrows
With carefree wistful strokes.
Then made it sort of fluffy
To please the human folks.

Which way to make the ears go?
Much harder to decide.
I know, I'll make them mobile!
And so he made them slide!

The body he made lithe and supple
Though spine was rather nobbly
And with sticks for legs, well not so good
But paws were nice and bobbly!

He hid some claws amongst the pads
Providing self defence,
Oh, and a wiggly waggly tail
For balance on garden fence.

Poor God! Now feeling rather tired
And no end had puss cat got;
So baggy pants he quickly drew
And then that final dot!

Herky

Back To Black

2009-01-10T17:01:00.008Z

"What on earth have you been doing!" Came a falsetto yell from the kitchen.
Millhouse stared silently with blank green eyes back into Mrs eyes, with his ears flattened akimbo; the sort of behaviour forwhich he was well known. He's as oft in trouble as he is seen eating. I trotted to the kitchen doorway; eager to see what was afoot.
A foot was definitely afoot! ..and a face afoot too; both being sooty black to boot. Or boot black chops with sooty foot. (Ooh sorry!) And Mrs. had nearly blacked out too...from shock that is. You know - figuratively speaking - well of course not literally.
I heard the familiar words, "You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be taken down and later used in evidence against you."
He didn't say anything; or wouldn't! After all,'I'm a cat' he must have been thinking.
Thence followed a lively discussion between humans Mister and Mrs.
'Where could he have got so dirty?'
'Did he stick that inquisitive paw in a car exhaust pipe?'
'Don't think so. Or why would his face be black too?'
'Has he been up someones' chimney?'
'Why would he do that?'
Millhouse set about his tea greedily and ignored all the fuss as best he could - his ears gave him away a bit.
Forensic analysis of said blackness indicated coal. The general human consensus eventually settling on next door's coal bunker as the likely scene of crime. A mouse, most likely, had given old Millhouse the slip. Wriggled amongst the neighbour's winter coal store, and Millhouse had persisted determinedly with the chase within a whisker of becoming carbonised.
As there was little substantiating evidence and no known victim, no charges were brought.
Now, had it been me in this escapade, being of an overall black appearance, no-one would have been any the wiser, would they!

Herky

Chris's Mass Marinade and Baby Cheeses

2009-01-04T10:19:00.012Z

There's no doubt about it; it's been a cold spell. Frost on the lawn every morning. Makes your pads ache! And solid garden soil contributing to the difficulty of ones daily ablution routine. As if that's not enough, the humans have been at home a lot more than normal. This means we have to tolerate being half heartedly entertained and fiddled with more than usual. You know; balls of wool, rulers under newspapers, tummy tickles - that kind of thing. Humans call this time of year Chris mass, and there's often mention of baby Cheeses. Well, we don't know anyone called Chris and we certainly haven't seen masses of them, but I am partial to a lump of cheese. Sadly, it's not often on my 'a la ca rte' menu.
'Turkey' was another word which perked my ears skyward for a few days but even that was not doled out with the accustomed abundance this year. Apparently, to economise on waste, only a turkey crown was cooked. Now, in my opinion, if a turkey looks more attractive with crown adornment, then where's the sense in cooking that and leaving him gobbling about with all his ugly bits a-dangle!
"There's not much left for those one step down the food chain," said mister with an insincere look of sympathy on his fat cheeked turkey munching face as he looked down at me beneath the dining table. I put my ears back in dismay, rather like an F16 fighter's wings, and produced the pleading - please don't let me starve - eyes but it was to no avail. Crackers were soon pulled, silly hats worn, jollity prevailing while Millhouse and I kept a low profile behind Chris's tree.
There was something new on the menu, however. It took the form of a pouch bearing the grand title of 'fishy and meaty marinade'. Squirted disparagingly over mister's shoulder into our bowls while he inaccurately glugged some more wine randomly around the kitchen near some glasses.
Well, we gave it try. A tentative sniff. It wasn't bad enough to warrant a jab with a paw, but it took some of the wonderment out of the word 'marinade' when you studied this mysterious paupers jelly with a few microscopic weasley slivers of meat dotted about in it. We looked at one another in abject horror then ate slowly, reluctantly, with nostrils flared and slightly curled upper lips.
"Main thing is, we're still alive," muttered Millhouse as we retired to our respective sleeping spots away from the turmoil. Meantime, the humans were building huge piles of books, boxes and ripped up paper; like giants from 'Jack and the Beanstalk' counting their acquisitions. Oh well, so much for the cold turkey - uncrowned!
Indeed the best bit of the whole holiday had been the arrival of the second generation of humans on Chris's mass evening. I used to call them the young ones, but they're big now. This meant the upstairs bedrooms being opened up for general use revealing a whole new world of secret sleeping places for me. Full of interesting jumble; boxes stored and forgotten. Dusty smells of the past. "We likes that, my precious!" I delved with unwatched delight to emerged much later with dishevelled whiskers and powdery cheeks. More washing to do!
Of a morning I would lunge against these bedroom doors until any dozy human would unthinkingly allow me access. Then I'd curl up next to the oversleeping guest leaning heavily against them and purring loudly; oh and dribbling quite profusely. Can't help it, sorry! - got very productive salivary glands, me. The principal objective of this behaviour is to make the occupant so hot and repulsed by the general steaminess of their situation that they roll out of bed and stomp off leaving me the freedom of the whole bed for the morning. Never fails.
On Chris's mass evening too came Elizabeth Taylor from next door. No, not the one who kept marrying Richard Burton - though she shares the same name - and, I wouldn't mind betting, could probably launch a thousand ships after the commotion she wrought. Well, she does like a whiskey or two! And she certainly launched Millhouse and me into the garden when, in a somewhat tipsy condition, she decided to help the humans give us our worming tablets! I ask you! Unspeakable humiliation! All humans present were instructed to clap once simultaneously as the pill was popped. This was on the pretext that it would make us swallow. We know this game too well to fall for it straight away. But it was third time lucky for Cleopatra and, by golly, two ships were launched into the night - we legged it like two horses in National Velvet! The cat flap flapped like western saloon bar doors. We galloped a good twenty feet!

Happy New Year to my fellow Moggys!

Herky

Eddie Izzard On Cats And Dogs- (Click Here)

2008-12-26T09:32:00.001Z

We do drilling!

Winter Days In

2008-12-21T09:13:00.002Z

As the daylight hours get shorter so I'm getting longer. I've been stretching myself out to 3 feet, inclusive of tail, along the back of the settee of late. This is just fine during the human working day but in the evenings I seem to have become a substitute headrest. In the interests of preserving my feline dignity, I respond by flicking my tail around in front of their eyes and mouth. This eventually brings on a satisfactory bout of spitting, spluttering and the desired restoration of my personal space. Oh so rare is it that the humans get the better of us!
Whilst on the subject of reminding humans of their place, I've also taken to lifting my meals out of the bowl and dumping it on the floor to eat. This is not because it tastes any better from such a position, as they may think, but merely because I know how much it annoys the them. Yup! The messier I can make it, the better the reaction. And just to complete the effect I find that leaving one or two dollops randomly scattered about is most satisfactory. They need to know where they stand in the animal hierarchy.
Millhouse and I tend to stay indoors more during the winter which results in a certain amount of boredom. To offset this we have the ritual bundle in the mornings after breakies. First we stare closely into each other's eyes, just like real boxers do. When we've worked up enough crossness, I smack his ears. He gives me bear hugs. Then comes the lunge and we roll around the floor gagging on mouthfuls of each other's fur for a while. In the end as per tradition, one of us declares by sauntering off quietly to tidy up our ruffled fur.
Unbeknown to the humans when they're out (and this must remain a secret), we also flick elastic bands at one another. Yes, 'tis true! That's why our thumbs are so far up our forearms; we can hit a raised furry ear from 15 feet away. The winner gets the best sleeping spot for the rest of the day.
Well, just lately the nights have been a tad warmer so I've taken a fancy to whittling in the dark. The trellis post by the front door is my favourite. At 4 o'clock in the morning I pop out and give the old post a damned good whittle. Very satisfying. Even better that I know it wakes up the humans from their deep slumbers indoors! Whittle, whittle, I go for ten minutes with all the vigour of a workman with a road drill!
Oh, the power of the velvet paw, eh?

Herky

Simon's Sister's Dog - (sound on & Click Here)

2008-12-17T18:51:00.002Z

Just thought you might enjoy watching a greedy doggy, but don't feed us too much will you!

Legs Eleven And A Mouse In The House.

2008-12-13T16:05:00.008Z

Last night Millhouse, with a keen sparkle in his eyes, kerplopped through the catflap; his fur in spiked style from the rain and a squeaking mouse in his whiskery choplettes. With proud ceremony, he dropped the poor mite on the floor as though seeking marks for presentation. But the mouse, of course, immediately seized his chance and made under the kitchen cupboards. It was 2.00am so there was no human around to observe this flagrant flouting of the house rules. Shrieking would have ensued, no doubt, followed by doors closing, sticks poking and dustpans clanging. But on this occasion, it was only Millhouse who crouched and dabbed here and there. I suspect Mr. Mouse is still shredding newspaper and arranging his new home somewhere very nearby. However, by daybreak it had become obvious to the humans that something was afoot because Millhouse was still repeatedly sticking his nose into every nook and cranny around the base of all the cupboards. This will provide him with some amusement for the next few wintry nights I expect.
I nonchalantly watched from my bookshelf nestled in the legless position. Yes, sometimes we have no legs. Humans seldom get the hang of our ability to transmogrify. For cats have an infinite number of legs ranging from 0 to twenty of so. In racing car mode we even have two rear wheels and either two long front legs outstretched or maybe instead we'll be sporting a little bra discreetly to the front. When curled in a ball in spare tyre mode, we may have no legs at all or, there again, five or six sticking out all tangled up like a badly folded deck-chair. Then, when hurriedly trotting down the road you'll see we surely have at least twenty legs and more. That's what evolution's all about, methinks.
Now, in the living room the garden's crept indoors in the form of a spikey tree. I vaguely remember what this means; sparkly things to play with and eventually a turkey lunch! Millhouse can have the mouse.

Herky

Food For Thought

2008-11-29T16:12:00.003Z

I've taken to the pouffe or do you call it poof?
Why? Because it's nice n'warm...
..Hot to tell the truth.
But there's another reason this is my favourite spot
You get those little extra things
..Like creamy yogurt pots.
I may look comatose, inert, stretched before the telly
But a crunch of crisp, or a ting of spoon
And I'm up to sate my belly.
No! I'm not overweight, though they used to call me portly
I run around ooh.... twice a year
And will again but shortly!
Get what you can when you can, and never miss a trick
It's the basis of survival
With tasty treats to lick.
Good, the tv's on again, I'm glad I haven't missed them
So after tea it's pouffe time
Ready digestive system?

Herky

Get Your Own Dinner....(Click here)

2008-11-23T12:06:00.002Z

Wind And Words!

2008-11-23T10:44:00.005Z

The wind is blowing and it's hailing outside! Millhouse burst in through the catflap with his eyebrows furrowed in a disgruntled manner. The glistening frozen droplets on the extremities of his very ample fur coat were flicked into the air in spiral pattern, as he shook his whole body in that corkscrew motion which defies physical possibility. He hurried towards the food bowls expectantly flicking the moisture off each paw sequentially as it left the floor.
'Difficult to catch a decent breakfast in such inhospitable weather!'
He'd been crouched under the laurel hedge for half an hour enthusiastically observing the birds feeding whilst being relentlessly battered by wind and hailstones. Eventually, the weather having worn down his enthusiasm, he now buried his fluffy head into the crunchy bits as compensation for his failure to land a fresh meal. Now he's cuddled up with his head snuggling an expensive plant pot on the window sill just above a nice warm radiator. Mister says they don't make hooded raincoats and welly boots for cats because we'd look silly and, in any case, would inevitably run about with our bellies on the ground trying to flick the wellies off! He says we're too fussy about our appearance to accept practical solutions.
Huh! What does he know!
He says we take umbrage at anything which threatens our dignity; go strutting off with an air of disgust and start washing ourselves vigorously to remove any evidence of human association.
Huh! How dare he! (I say this as I wash myself vigorously.)
But, with the wind whistling down the chimney and the hail tinkling against the windows, I've settled myself down on a carelessly abandoned dictionary- for we do like any scrap of paper or cardboard to sit on for reflected body warmth- and in so doing, have observed some inconsistencies in the humans' english language.
Why is umbrage always taken but not given? And can one be gorm instead of gormless, or gruntled instead of disgruntled? Or worse, can you be feck instead of feckless?
Well, I'm fecked if I know! This last being said with ears back, eyebrows raised and a blank stare on my face. Now, where are my welly boots, I need to go out for my ablutions. Now, would that be abluting? If I don't hurry up, will it be oblating? Hmm, I'll have to look that one up later!

Herky

A Day In The Life!

2008-11-15T10:58:00.015Z

Phew! The last couple of weeks have been exhausting haven't they? On the magic window all we heard about first was a Mr Obama becoming chief human over all the American cats. Well, at least he's black like me and can string a decent sentence together.(Wasn't so long ago all they talked about was Mr Osama, who apparently lives in a cave with a few friendly rocks and a laptop!) 'Still all his efforts, Mr Obama's getting a big white house and.... a puppy. I ask you, a puppy! Poo! He won't get much political sense from a daft old dog, methinks! Meantime, we're stuck with a Mr (Asperger's) Brown who, in this credit crunch, is about as much fun as a box of stale crunchy bits.
News of greater import is that one human being, curious about his cat's private life, has fitted the poor moggy with a collar web-cam so he can spy on his cat's misdeeds. Talk about infringment of one's liberty! What we do is really no business of the humans!

Nevertheless, here's a glimpse of my world as a security officer:

Waiting for breakfast! (With quite a lot of patience.)

Bowls empty. Come on! Hurry up!

Stare at fridge door for thirty minutes thinking about the big
bang or similar.

Stare out of catflap for twenty minutes to check weather and
for any activity.

Stroll round to front of estate to see how many tinbox wheelie
things are home.

The scratching/welcome home post.

Nothing doing? Aaah. Time for a little snooze then.
(Sometimes this view is the other way up.)

Indeed, 'tis a tough life. I'nnit? 'Bet you didn't think my life was so exciting, did you?

Herky

Wet Wet Wet!

2008-11-10T18:39:00.006Z

I'm not a happy tiddles
The wind and rain, you see,
Makes life damned unpleasant
When I need a pee.

Peering through the catflap
I wait, and wait, and wait,
Please, rain do stop soon
Or else 'twill be too late.

(Chorus)
The human's'll be oh so cross
Should I wet the floor,
Though some have got away w'it
And pee'd behind the door!

Oh no, it's tipping down
I need that Jimmy Riddle
Here goes now, tally ho!
I'm not a happy tiddles.

(Sung to the tune 'Love is all around you.')
Herky

Why We're Not Allowed In The Bedroom At Night.(Click Here)

2008-11-02T12:05:00.002Z

Maybe humans sleep for longer than us.

Quantum Of Solace

2008-11-02T10:50:00.003Z

The clocks have gone back an hour. In sympathy, Millhouse and I have switched to our winter routines. We're woken by Mister stumbling sleepily into the kitchen to put the kettle on for his morning cup of tea. This is our cue to sit strategically in the middle of the kitchen floor whilst directing slightly pathetic but expectant looks in his direction. We know he can't ignore us for very long. For a start we're in his way and if he does, we commence the agitated walking about and posing in annoying positions type behaviour. As the atmosphere of intense hunger builds, his face gradually transforms into a cat food pouch. His ankles, sticking out of the foil bag, looking ever more tasty; turning green for Rabbit, yellow for Chicken or pink for prawn as our desires warrant. However, he usually surrenders before we take meaty matters into our own paws. Annoyingly, though, he doesn't always deliver the flavour we were thinking of. Must improve our thought transference skills.
Breakies over, inevitably we both pop out the jolly old catflap, smacking our chops as we go, to execute necessary ablutions and also to sniff the air. If it's pleasant we'll pass a little time on the patio. Great fun to taunt Bengy the silly woolly woofer next door who stares through the fence uttering doggy snorts and yelps if he spots us. We sit looking disdainfully back at him just to show how daring and unimpressed we both are at his threatening bevahiour. Pah! Over excitable dogs!
After a while, Millhouse, usually saunters off for an adventure in the killing fields while I slink back indoors to select my day's slumber spot. I get enough excitment in my dreams nowadays. I carry out this manoeuvre with extreme discretion so no human will guess where I am. Then it's each back leg up for the full rear end wash before a good long wholesome doze in my feline underworld of sunny mouse chasing exploits.
I think Millhouse comes home mid-morning for his clean-up and doze. The clean-up taking much longer as he has long fur which requires an equally long tongue to deal with it all!
On human work days we don't stir until 4 o'clock when we pop outside to greet the first home-coming pouch face. Food is urgently required at this point for our tummies are hollow again and we will not be ignored else pussy hanky-panky will surely ensue.
Well, then it's evening and it's in and out of the catflap with whatever frequency is appropriate for weather conditions.
Yes, it's tough but we cope. Ooops! Someone's coming home. To the kitchen........

Herky

Simon's Cat - TV Dinner (Click Here)

2008-10-26T11:45:00.002Z

Another brilliant cartoon! Sound on, please!

Eat Now, Pay Later.

2008-10-26T10:24:00.008Z

Millhouse suddenly rolled over into the racing car position, racked his elbows up behind the ears, threw his head forward, and seemingly surprising even himself, catapulted his supper all over the kitchen worktop. It was two in the morning. No humans were about. He'd been sleeping defiantly beside the kettle. Defiantly, I say, because he knows such a spot normally warrants a finger wagging head shaking tut-tut from the human element.
"That'll teach him to steal some of my evening meal!" I thought. But, despite my vengeful satisfaction, I had to agree it was a mighty neat job and, on closer inspection, had been executed with some, possibly unfortunate, precision. An ample portion had landed on the humans' daily diary, purposefully left open to highlight important appointments. Further deposits had made it as far as the weekly shopping list alongside. I suspected maximum collateral damage had been inflicted. Large dollops of half digested meaty lumps had splodged themselves, not over appointment locations, but covered actual times on one page and many essential shopping requirements were now left to the imagination; revealing only one or two letters to nudge a shopper's memory. I pictured Mrs tottering around the supermarket holding a runny gravy stained shopping list up to the light trying make out what provisions were required. Goodness! She might overlook the cat food!
"Now look what you've done!" I exclaimed from my spot on the bookshelf to a surprised and somewhat hang-dog looking Millhouse. "No doubt we'll have a worming tablet episode thrust upon us now! All the shenanigans of being wrapped in towels and having one's jaws wedged wide to receive that much loathed and unbelievably enormous white pill! Well, cheers mate!"
"Sorry," muttered Millhouse, "It just...well it just came out!" Looking sheepish, he jumped down from the worktop and established a new sleeping post on the worktop near the back door. I suppose he thought this might disassociate him from any direct connection with the evidence. It might have the added advantage of providing a speedy exit route to the catflap if required.
I groaned and settled back down with a paw over my eyes and tried not to think about the probable consequences in the morning. I hoped it wouldn't be raining. I needed to be somewhere else when the humans got up! Well, I suppose Millhouse is only a typical teenager. He'll, no doubt, learn in the end.

Herky

Simon's Cat - Let Me In! (Click Here)

2008-10-20T15:59:00.001+01:00

Season Of Mists And Smelly Fetishes

2008-10-19T12:11:00.005+01:00

It's blog time. Now, let me see. What's the news this week?
Well, weather sunny. Leaves falling, so garden ragged and future bleak.
Coughs and sneezes, gags and wheezes. Winter's coming and money's tight.
More time indoors on humans' bed. Three meals a day, so that's alright.
Housemate Millhouse; odd methinks in choice of sleeping station.
Decides he'll make the bathroom his preferred sleep location.
'How comforting! think humans when calling for a pee
To hear a purr from down below - just beside their knee!
When flush be pressed, his neck is craned to watch the waters flow
Then, when it's gone, settles down 'til another wants to go.
He has many peculiar fetishes which a psychoanalysist may treat
Such as when he sleeps with humans, it must be on their feet.
Or where there's any car on the drive, which has just pulled up upon it,
He feels such an urgent need to curl up on it's bonnet. (US: Sorry hood didn't scan!)
My blog, I fear, is short this week 'cos Mister's got a cold'
He says he's feeling dozy, lazy and really rather old.
Nevermind, I quite like him being sleepy. Well, I'd doze with him all day
It's just that when he sneezes oh so loud, it makes me run away!
Aaaaah-ti-shoooo!

Herky

The Rule Of The Velvet Paw!

2008-10-12T11:02:00.004+01:00

Well, we've had quite a sunny week here at Meadowside although the daylight hours are 'drawing in', as the humans say. As a consequence we're both spending more of our waking hours indoors enforcing our regal wills upon the humans.
Of course, we've been imposing our wills upon the humans for over 4000 years. It's part of our genetic make-up. And just how is it that we adopted humans as our slaves? Well, as I'm sat here doing very little today, I'll tell you.
The story goes, that one of our feline ancestors, Puss Purrn'Comin, was busily digging a hole in the desert sand for his daily ablute. Chance had it that there came upon him an Egyptian human pursuing his regular early morning jog. Now, the nature of shovelled sand being as it is, the Egyptian noticed Puss Purrn'Comin had constructed a pyramid; quite inadvertently as far as Puss was concerned, but he looked like he knew what he was doing. Anyhow, so impressed was the Egyptian with these skills that pretty soon, they were building pyramids all over the place. Moreover, the cat became deified - and rightly so. Anyone who killed a cat was executed. What's more, if a cat died the respectful thing to do was shave one's eyebrows. Hmm, I've not noticed many eyebrowless humans around lately!
Whilst lolling on the newspaper this week, I read that even Winston Churchill had two cats. One named, rather disparagingly, Cat who ran away after being shouted at and only returned when a notice was displayed in the window of No.10 saying "Cat, come home, all is forgiven."
The other was, much more importantly, named Nelson and was allowed to sit on the cabinet table during vital war meetings. If matters looked bleak, to the astonishment of the rest of the war cabinet, Winston would say to him, "Well, Nelson, what's your answer to the situation confronting us?" No doubt Nelson gave the matter some considerable thought, but probably refrained from replying. We don't like to make humans look stupid.
Today, we quietly maintain control of our lives (and that of the humans) by, in our free spirited way, keeping them guessing as to whether their love is reciprocated or not. We are domestic only as far as it suits. "The social smoothness, the purring innocence, the softness of the velvet paw may be laid aside at a moment's notice, and our sinuous feline form may disappear, in deliberate aloofness, to a world of roofs and chimney pots where the human element is disregarded."
When their company is required, we slip back to rejoin their world, pad across their keyboards, sit under their noses or, with tails raised, lean our bottoms against door frames impatiently urging nutritional supplements.
Long live the rule of the velvet paw!

Herky

With acknowledgements to "The Joy of Cats" by Celia Haddon

Crime And The Recession!

2008-10-05T10:12:00.011+01:00

"What's that on the kitchen floor?" Groaned Mister when he stumbled into the kitchen this morning.
That was a couple of brownish grey ovoids splurged on the floor, the origins of which would have taken a crack team of forensic scientists many weeks of analysis to identify. Of course I'd observed the spawning of said objects during the night and knew the perpetrator. They hadn't been born in the Alien manner but more in a sort of Poirrrrot ejaculation. In true feline manner, I decided to remain a Silent Witness . Millhouse had quite suddenly plopped off the kitchen worktop, where he dozes on wet nights, and produced these mystery objects with wizard like chantings of Taggarttt Ttttaggart from his throat; certainly made me feel a bit Quincy.
Mister eyed Millhouse, the Prime Suspect, accusingly for a moment then proceeded with his usual tea making ritual; presumably while he considered how best to deal with the evidence.
"Probably the result of another Midsummer Murder," he muttered. Although, quite understandably, it's not what you want to look at first thing in the morning. After stepping around the crime scene a few times, he decided on the best means of removal while still eyeing Millhouse with lowered eyebrows.
Millhouse had the "Whaaat have I done now?" look on his face. He always assumes that look when guilty of some misdemeanour or other. I think he was more worried about whether he may have to forfeit his breakfast Morsels on the basis of a suspected bad stomach.
However, much worse was to come! As misfortune would have it, when Mister headed for the back door, with aforementioned offending articles in dustpan held aloft, he tripped over Mrs' gardening shoes, the (Cagney &) Lacey's of which, whipped themselves round his ankles. Even with the most basic understanding of Einstien's laws of time and motion, you will readily picture the natural consequence of such motion. In short, the regurgitents complete with dustpan have become part of the world's sat-nav network. Heaven knows what chaos will be caused with truck drivers becoming wedged down narrow lanes now!
Thankfully, (Dempsey & Make)peace was re-established and breakfast was served when normality had resumed.
Meantime, the weather's turned distinctly autumnal; well, let's be honest, cold and wet. As a result, Millhouse and I are, like the whole of western civilisation apparently, moving into recession. For us that means semi-hibernation.
Oh, at least the central heating's on at last albeit at some miserly low level!

Herky

Mind Your Ankles You Skinflints!

2008-09-28T12:13:00.007+01:00

I'm sitting in the kitchen staring into space
Wondering what is the matter with the human race?
The weather's turning colder so I spend more time indoors
But they haven't turned the heating on! How can one warm one's paws?

I sit around soo patiently waiting for my food
Yet they fill my bowl with crunchy bits! I do find that quite rude.
They know I like the meaty stuff squidged out of the pouch
'Cos only then can I wander off to have my well earned slouch.

If credit crunch means crunchy bits, I'd rather have raw mouse!
So how can all of this be due to the cost of someones house?
My owner states interest rates are the underlying reason
For why we've got no heating on during this autumn season.

I'll have them know I'm a pussy cat, I'll not let standards slip
We've ways of getting what we want; so beware our curling lip!
The flick of tail, the ankle nip preceded by the stare
They'll soon know just what we think of treatment so unfair!

I say, panic not my pussy friends if the banks are in liquidation
We must stand firm, stand side by side, right across the nation.
Claw back our rights to comfort and decent central heating
For goodness sake we want more meat; no more this biscuit eating!

I'm still sitting in the kitchen staring into space
Now getting rather bored with being in one place.
Hmm, those ankles moving round me are looking rather tasty
I think a nip is called for; wait now not too hasty!

Herky

Will The Black Hole Ever Be Filled?

2008-09-07T10:23:00.008+01:00

"..don't know why there's so much fuss about black holes!" I heard Mister muttering to himself over the newspaper. He must have been reading about the new Large Hadron Collider which they're about to switch on in Switzerland. (Well, yes you see I am quite aux fait with current affairs even though I may appear to be asleep for much of the day. My ears are ever receiving data.)
"We've had a black hole in our house for the last 16 years!" He said more loudly looking in my direction.
I turned my head away and shifted my sleeping position a little; bracing myself for the predictable direct personal remark.
"It's most assuredly black and has a voracious appetite for anything and everything that circles past it's bowl." He went on; making sure I could hear.
"I can't believe it requires 5 million calories just to maintain the state of a sleeping giant!" He forced a cough.
I sighed and stretched out my back legs with such effort my toes spread and exposed my claws momentarily.
"They're hoping to discover what happened just after the big bang." He continued. Goodness me, I thought, there's more? Get it off your chest, man! I'm trying to get some shut-eye here!
"Says here the experiment will cost millions." He went on. It was followed by the sound of pencil scribbling on paper for a few moments. "I reckon it'll take about 60 pouches at a cost of 19p each er... that's £11.40 to create a big bang in this house!"
Cheeky blighter, I thought. I knew what he was getting at.
"Hmmm," he tutted thoughtfully, "they have to photograph the event for analysis to find the answer as to how the universe came about." He decisively raised an index finger. "Right!" Then standing up in the manner of a man about to earn the respect of all mankind, stood up and strode purposefully across the room.
Oh no! I rolled over and put my paw over my nose. I heard him rummaging excitedly in the sideboard drawer.
"Ah, here 'tis! He sang out triumphantly. He waved his digital camera over my head in a 'this'll teach you' kind of way and set off for the kitchen. Sounds like I'm in for a very large lunch!

Herky

A Day's Work Is Never Done.

2008-08-31T12:29:00.009+01:00

Cat Among The Pigeons! Millhouse watching Peter, Paul and Mary Woodpigeon(behind the birdtable) a little too close for comfort! Wisely, they keep an eye on him.(Click to enlarge)

There are never enough hours in the day to do what has to be done
First breakfast to beg, then wash one leg, or roll on my back in the sun.
The birds need eyeing with their fancy flying, and a mouses' rustle to track
So, if I'm not careful or cough up a hairball, no lunch if I don't hurry back.

In the heat of the day I'll wander away to snooze 'neath a privet or bramble
Time slips by fast 'til through the long grass I homewardly pad at an amble.
Things buzz past and flit, a moment'ry sit to watch a spider skilfully weaving
But better get on, for it isn't that long to the much needed meal of the evening.

I guard the front door through to sunset then pad round the back in the dark
For me a great responsibility is this security lark!
They've put some small lights in the garden, charged in the day by the sun
And I've made it my job in the evening to check that they've switched themselves on.

When supper is done it's out for some fun to see what's afoot in the night
Foxes and meeces, rabbits and screeches that give me a fur-raising fright.
But I have to be bold for being quite old, should know every nocturnal beast
And it's blatantly clear there's nothing to fear 'cept missing my breakfast at least!

Herky

Back to the Future

2008-08-17T18:38:00.005+01:00

Ah! Now that's better! Now that I've filled my tum.
It wasn't the red pouch today but green - the rabbit one.
I've washed my paws, ears and face; I try to look my best,
And when I've smeared my whiskers back,
I'll sit and have a rest.....

I'm in my autumn years, you know, so when I leave the house
'Tis only a distant memory to be off to catch a mouse.
I used to saunter down the lane and, one day, I shall afresh.
But only after I've licked my chops
And sat and had a rest.....

Oh yes! I had adventures then; bounding through the corn.
Stayed out late. I didn't care. Stayed out 'til bloody dawn!
Happen I may go off again! Grass up to my chest.
But first, I'll lick my whiskers back
And sit and have a rest.....

Oooh look! Was that a bird; swooped above my head?
Next time you try that trick my friend, you'll be certain dead!
Never mind! He's bound to swoop again and t'will be the acid test
Meanwhile, I'll lick my whiskers back
And I sit and have a rest.....

Herky

Synchronised Washing

2008-08-09T11:36:00.006+01:00

Me on security duty with Mr Passion Flower.

Right paw. Lick, lick. Nibble, nibble. Lick, lick. Swish behind the ear.
Right paw. Lick, lick. Two swishes of the whiskers.
Left paw. Lick, lick. Swish behind the ear.
Left paw. Lick, lick. Nibble between the pads.
Left paw. Lick, lick. Swish across whiskers and nose.

Millhouse and I, having gulped down our breakfasts, were side by side on the morning sun bathed patio practising our synchronised washing. Wish wash, wish wash. It's a moment of intense contentment. I had hoped, with just a little more practice, we might even make the synchronised washing team headed for Beijing, but Millhouse often spoils the harmonious flow with an unexpected spontaneous fidgety lick of bottom. A peculiarity learned in kittenhood, no doubt, and a habit seemingly impossible to stem; though I am partial to a quick bottom lick myself. Perhaps I should include it in our sequence. Six licks ought to be enough. Mind you, that is dependent upon what we've eaten the day before; it's not always pleasant. Bottoms provide a spontaneous reminder of the recent past. A sort of -Oh yes, that's what I ate last night- moment. I like modern history. Sometimes, Millhouse offers me a taste of his past too!
The weather's turned rainy again. So after our washing practice we sat at the open kitchen door considering the day's options. Dry indoors or wet out. As it transpired, I opted for the dry day and curled up on a dining room chair while Millhouse sought an under bush opportunity outside. He has so much fur, I suspect he'll be a full 2lbs heavier when he drags his wet body indoors and he'll be quite keen to squeegee himself dry on any nearby surface.
Much more rain and we'll have to ditch the washing and go in for synchronised swimming! Yeuch!

Herky

Florence Nightingale And The Retching Boy.

2008-08-01T18:20:00.004+01:00

Watch the birdie, MIllhouse!

We've had some close, warm nights this week so Millhouse and I have been out on night patrols. We wander around looking for any action we can find. Of course I'm much better at it than he is. I'm as black the night; quite invisible. He's grey and white and looks like a flashing advertising hoarding trotting about.
Because the nights have been so warm, the humans have been opening the large bedroom windows to get some air in the early hours. Prrrt! Tee Hee! ...can't waste such an opportunity! I waited until around 5 a.m. then hup on the windowsill. The effect of sticking my whiskery face through the open window with the curtains draped over my head gave me a rather fetching Florence Nightingale look. I beamed my night eyes at Mrs on the pillow and shouted, "Brrrreakfast pleeease!"
'Worked a treat! She shot upright and in no time breakies was dolloped in the bowls with some vaguery, I might add. 'Don't think she was that pleased with me judging by the upside down mouth and squinty eyes!
I'm somewhat concerned to learn from listening to the general human conversation this week, that Mister and Mrs are going away for a few days next week. For us, that can only mean one thing; the young human will be chief grub Waller. Oh dear, that could mean fewer meals. Also, he's got a bit of a weak stomach. When he plops out the num-nums, he's prone to retching at the sight of it. Charming, I say! Suppose he were in a restaurant where the waiter held a hand to his mouth whilst making burruping noises as he served your damned meal! At arms length too!
But still if he is sick, Millhouse will eat it, no doubt! He's such a greedy pig! We may have to seek out some dietary supplements this week.
It's tough being a cat!

Herky

Murder Most Horrid - In The Dark!

2008-07-27T19:27:00.002+01:00

"Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble." Millhouse and I whispered together mysteriously as we both lapped out of the stone bird bath. T'was the hour of four in the morning. Mother earth was taking her first deep breaths for the coming light. Into the mono chromed sky there rose a series of blood curdling screams. They were long piercing screams of agony. It was as though the fields across the lane had become our own Midsomer Norton. Murder most horrid!
Well, curiosity and all that! With the fur of our bellies skimming the ground, we scurried excitedly round to the front of the house, one behind the other, to see what was afoot. Necks as long as they'd stretch, eyes as black as we could manage, we watched in horrified wonder.
It was Mr Fox, of course; on his everyday foray for breakfast for his family and this time he'd really come up trumps. A goose! Yes, only he'd bagged a goose from the cottage across the fields! Even we found the gory clamour upsetting; we who dabble in the dark art when it suits.
The whole episode lasted about 5 minutes before he triumphantly made off to his lair with his silenced prize. Such was the disturbance that it even awoke the living dead; Mister and Mrs. were nervously peering through the bedroom curtains.
Of course, as soon as we saw them looking, we followed standard feline practice and pretended to be oblivious of such goings on.
If Chief Inspector Barnaby should call seeking witnesses, we shall maintain a cool silence....hear no evil, see no evil and speak no evil. Cackle, cackle!

Herky

Halfway Down The Steps.

2008-07-26T17:53:00.004+01:00

Mmmmm! Well it's really, really summer now. Lovely fresh Lilly scented mornings enlivened by my ever untrusting playmates, the birdies, bouncing and hopping across the lawn; fighting over bread crumbs while I wash myself deliciously on the patio after breakfast. Millhouse dashes off to get up to no good before the day gets too hot. I purposefully plod off to my new secret sleeping spot amongst the ever searching fronds of a bushus unknownus down by the pond at the bottom of the garden. Nobody knows I'm there curled up like a cow-pat in the buzzing leafy shade. The young foxes scrabble through the hedge at the bottom of the garden and scout about for forgotten birdie num-nums while I sleepily watch in secret silence. Just how I like it.
Millhouse comes back to the garden around mid-morning sometimes providing some unfortunately cruel circus entertainment with some poor new acquaintance. I won't describe the performance for you. Hopefully his hormones will slow him down a bit soon. Anyway, the heat of the day soon turns him into a wet lettuce!
When it gets hot, he flops down in the middle of the lawn and lolls one way then the other, hoping for some attention. "Tart!" I mutter.
Sometimes the humans come out and dig about in the dirt for a while, but in 16 years I've yet to catch them relieving themselves. They do it in that strange room where the watery stuff goes on.
In the early evening, MIllhouse has taken to sleeping on the steps leading from the patio down to the garden. There are only three, and he always sleeps on the middle one. As I pass by, I often hear him quietly singing this little song to himself:

Halfway down the steps is a step where I sit.
There isn't any other step quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top.
So this is the step where I always stop.

Halfway up the steps isn't up and isn't down.
It isn't in the garden, it isn't in the house.
And all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head.
It isn't really anywhere, it's somewhere else instead.

Halfway down the steps is a step where I flop.
There isn't any other step quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top.
So this is the step where I always stop.

Well, I tell him what a silly boy he is, but he doesn't care. He looks at me with a naughty twinkle in his playful young eyes.
Mind you, in my next life I know what I want to be.
Exactly what I am!

Herky

Fish Face!

2008-07-20T19:59:00.004+01:00

It's quite a long process wishy washing one's face after a nice fishy meal. You have to lick a paw until it's nice and slippery, then smear it across a cheek or up behind an ear making sure it pings back into place. For heavens sake don't ever leave an ear inside out, the humans will laugh loudly and point at you. We most certainly don't like humans laughing at us! ..must keep our dignity at all costs. When you think you've smeared enough on one side of course, then there's the other side. Well, it's not really washing at all, is it? It's more to do with giving one's face a waft of dinner aroma. I often have a little chuckle to myself at the humans' expense, because although humans don't smear their own food on their faces, they do sometimes kiss me on top of the head; thus though indirectly, they secretly have a taste of my food! Dirty creatures!

Herky

Of Mice And Men.

2008-07-13T18:43:00.003+01:00

Well, this week I've followed my normal summer routines with few interruptions. I make sure I'm in the kitchen for breakfast at 6 o'clock. Pop out for a quick 'blute in the nearest dig-able flower bed and nip straight back for a paw and face wash on the dining room table before settling down on the back of the settee for a long paw stretching zzzz. The humans do their morning things and go off round the corner in their tin box wheelie things. I think they go round the corner and, when just out of sight, they park up and spend the day eating sandwiches until 5 o'clock just to make us cats think they've got something important to do.
Cats are well aware of this behaviour because we too always pretend to be doing something vitally important if a human happens to spot us in someones front garden even though we were really just mooching about aimlessly.
At around 2 o'clock, if there's no-one at home to badger for a meal, I stumble back outside and amble round to the front door flower box, cuddle up with Mr. Passion flower and await someones return. I never sleep in the flower box in the mornings for, though it's a sunny spot sheltered from the wind and rain, I'm very wary of Mr Postman who scrunches up the drive with disgustingly hairy bare legs and flings fistfuls of paper through our letter box. I fear he may even have the audacity to speak to me or worse, touch me! I don't think he knows his place in the pecking order of life according to the wisdom of the ancient Egyptian Sphinx.
Whilst lolling around with Mr Passion flower, I often make mental notes about who or which wheelie box passes down the lane; just part of my security role.
As I wait, I ponder such things as why humans need anti-wrinkle cream for those deep set wrinkles. Because they're worth it? Pah! I've got plenty of wrinkles of course, but no-one knows. A furry face. It's the best answer, me thinks. Why doesn't Mr L'Oreal of Paris bring out Furry Face Cream? Bound to work every time.
Then there's Pussy Crunchy Bits shaped like fish, bones or stars. Well, why not mouse, rabbit or birdie shapes? Or I might wonder if they make alphabet soup in Arabic or Chinese. Needless to say, these are questions which continue to mystify.
When one of my humans eventually turns up, I hurriedly leap from the box lest they smash into the house then, reassuming my usual cool demeanour, saunter into the kitchen for tea.
Time for another snooze in the garden until dusk. Who'd want to be a human!

Disaster as the Credit Crunch brings Crunchy Bits!

2008-07-06T10:46:00.004+01:00

Somebody's switched the summer off! This morning it's suddenly turned murky, windy wet and rather cold. I haven't even had time to don my winter coat, so today I've gone into feline hibernation mode until things warm up again. Sigh.
Indeed, it's been a tough week for all residents of Meadowside, including Wilfred the Woodpidgeon, who's sitting all puffed up on the rim of the bird bath in the horizontally streaming rain storm. Millhouse is peering at him through the flatcap but with no intention of making a hostile move in such inclement conditions.
Atop this seasonal misery, the credit crunch seems finally to have filtered down to cat bowl level in the kitchen. You see, being cats of a middle class nature, (i.e. we're generally polite, keep ourselves clean and enjoy our creature comforts) we expect a regular supply of food pouches to be provided erm, well, on demand actually. On occasion, we'll settle for a supplement of crunchy bits which are sometimes offered, usually only if we otherwise refuse to vacate the kitchen. Yes, well, that's how we like it. Our routines are paramount to our happy existence. On stirring ourselves this Thursday morning, imagine our dismay to find the humans baring empty palms at us as we awaited our breakfast. What! No pouches left! This could not be! Ears back, eyes wide Millhouse and I looked at one another. Is the world about to end? Is our everlasting alliance with the human race about to be destroyed? We drummed our little bobbly pads on the floor impatiently. Even our extra loud purring which induced a fore and aft rocking motion of our furry bodlettes didn't induce a result.
The Crunchy bits box appeared; knobbly contents shaken out (like a pictogramme biscuity version of alphabet soup - why? I might ask. Do we need a fishy shape to tell us it tastes of fish; or a bony shape to tell us it's a bone!?). We both stepped back a bit. We made sure the humans could sense our disappointment by pulling mournful faces and lifting a pathetic paw. However, eventually we ate. We had to for that's what our tummies demanded. But the grudge has been lodged, and they'll regret it in the long run.
So now I know what credit crunch means; when humans run out of credit we get the Crunch(y bits)! Who'd have thought that a wobbly American housing market would spoil my breakfast in drizzly Dorset!

Herky

Wimbledon and the Electric Tennis Tournament

2008-07-01T17:12:00.009+01:00

Now we're into the summer, I don't watch much tv. Both Millhouse and I are out most evenings either slouching around the estate or chasing some flitting moth. Buzzy things are more of a problem. In my wisdom I leave well alone, but Millhouse? Well he's up for anything even if it stings! House-flies sometimes keep him amused for ten minutes; the entertainment usually ending when something valuable gets knocked off a shelf.
I mention flies and tv because this week its Wimbledon Tennis. No, I'm not particularly a tennis aficionado, although I have a pretty fearsome forehand smash, but because Mrs has been swooshing an electric tennis racket about the house! Oh yes, she has a gadget shaped exactly like a tennis raquet, but it has two layers of wire mesh between which passes a high electric current. Well, blacken my pupils and flatten my ears if you will, but this activity certainly rattles the clapper of my pussy alarm!
You've probably worked out that it's a fly swat of the natty gizmo variety. Now what I can't fathom is what advantage it may offer over a normal fly-swat. Surely if you've swatted the damned thing then it's swatted. Dead! Buzz-less! Inert! Why should a couple of hundred volts through its ugly abdomen be required as well?
Well, that's humans for you. Nevertheless, I leave the room before the electric tennis match begins. Last I heard she was into the quarter finals.
During the evenings, my current preference is to share my plant pot sleeping spot by the front door with a Passion Flower. I sort of curl myself around his stem and we have been getting along fine together. As the summer progresses however I've noticed he's getting more passionate about how much space he needs. Passionate to the extent that I think he's plotting to murder me! For, while I doze, he imperceptibly wraps his loving tendrils around my ears and tail. When I wake, I have quite a struggle to wriggle my way out. I'm beginning to suspect that perhaps he's one of those carniverous pussus cat-flap-trap plants.
Hmm, the world is full of unknown dangers. Perhaps I'll lean on him a bit more heavily tonight and snap his stem! That'll stop him being too friendly.

Herky

The Light Was On, But There Was No-One Home!

2008-06-20T17:01:00.007+01:00

Well, the start of this week was quite summery with nice long warm evenings, so both Millhouse and I have whiled away many hours outside. I usually select interesting spots in the garden, dependant upon sun and shade, where I settle down. Some serious wildlife observation or deep, deep thinking follows for many hours. I find the speed of thought is interdependent upon the fullness of tummy and outside temperature. The formula being b = (2f + 1t)3w whereby b = brain activity, f = fullness of tummy, t = temperature and w = amount of tail wagging required.
Mister, rather unkindly I reckon, says I can't be thinking very much because all that's inside my head are two bits of frayed wire connected to a dimly glowing light bulb. He is forgetting the micro-circuits of NAND, AND and OR gates required to activate my purring motor, ear swivels, night vision and walking sticks! So that's how much he knows!
Indeed, Charlie from next door became quite the million dollar cat after several road accidents. His numerous metal parts gained him the nick-name Mecha-cat. He used to cross our garden amidst a whirring sound of servo-motors. Involuntarily, he followed the earth's magnetic lay-lines, we think.
Millhouse, the young whipper snapper, still has his youthful wanderlust and body parts intact. So, during these hazy evenings and, unbeknown to Mister and Mrs, he goes off over the (killing) fields to play with mice, rabbits and probably Mister Fox too. On Tuesday he was apparently having such a great time out that he couldn't be bothered to come home for breakfast. (Good! Double helpings for me that morning.)
But later, things got a bit fraught in the house when he even failed to come home for tea the next day. Mister walked down the lane and round the fields making,"psss, psss psss!" noises. Local dog walkers crossed the road to avoid the strange man who obviously sought to relieve himself pretty soon!
Well, it was all to no avail. Seemingly, Millhouse had evaporated. I have to admit that part of me thought, "Good, no more competition for attention or vying for the most grub!" But then again, I was saddened to think how much I'd miss showing him who's the boss around these parts. I often wrestle his shoulders to the ground. He would be missed on that basis.
Then the creeping thought that he may have met with some awful fate occurred. Would we find a body? Oh,no! Not another garden burial; along with my forbears old Simpkins the cat, Herbert and Gwendoline the hamsters, and Godfrey the goldfish under the apple trees!
The tension was relieved when our famous neighbour Elizabeth Taylor (famous in name only, I might add) knocked on the door very late on Wednesday evening. Millhouse had turned up on her doorstep as though nothing untoward had happened. He calmly sauntered into our house and was pilloried by surprised, excited voices from the humans. Despite being questioned at length and in depth about what he'd been up to, true to the law of all puss cats, he remained schtum. Pushing his ears back in the "whaaaaaaat?" manner that we do so well, he proceeded towards his bowl, sat down purposefully and demanded, "My supper please, if you don't mind." Defiantly he outstared Mister until a pouch of (foreign) vilt was belched out before him. I don't think I heard a whirring noise when his tail went up in gratitude. Let's hope not.
Such a fuss humans make, don't they! We do as we please and are answerable to no-one. Wouldn't mind a stroke and tickle behind the ear right now though. Ooops! That OR gate has kicked in and I've started purring. The light is on! The thoughts come flooding through.

Herky

I Travel The World and Eat Foreign Food!

2008-06-13T08:38:00.006+01:00

I must say a big "Hello" to all my fellow puss-cat readers around the world. It's fascinating for me to see that my blog has a readership stretching across the world from Hawaii to New Zealand and I'm coming up to reaching my 1,000th site visit. To think the whole world knows of my lifetime's experience, although admittedly some visitors have reached me through Googling some unexpected aspects of my writings such as Mr. Dribble or The Beijing Olympics! Sometimes you'll catch me pausing midst paw wash just contemplating the wonder of this Internet business.
I love this time of year when I can wander my meadowside estate observing the local comings and goings and setting up camp at whim amongst the plant life in the shady sun. My apprentice, Millhouse of course, is taking altogether too much interest in the wildlife for Mister and Mrs' nature-loving comfort and is a frequent recipient of tellings-off with a vigorously wagged finger. I'm fully expecting to hear Mister say,"Millhouse! You're fired!", any day now! In my wisdom, I know it's because, in his own way, he equally loves nature; he just views it from a completely different standpoint.
I'm a bit concerned that all this warm weather is affecting my lovely silky black coat which is tending to fade to a chocolatey brown hue. I have to put it down to the old age, but at least I haven't got swathes of white hair growing out of my ears like Millhouse. From the back he is taking on the appearance of an eccentric professor. Indeed one who wears knee breeches at that! No doubt soon he'll be off across the fields for a round of golf. Although, with his temperament, he'd get more fun fishing the ball out of the 18th than putting it in.
Hmm, my tumlette's a-rumbling so I'll just potter along to the food room to see if I can wrangle another pouch. Will it be Naudanlihaa, Tonnikalaa, Kanaa, Lachs or Lammasta, I wonder? What's the matter? Don't tell me you can't read the cat-pouch labels yet! Coo, needs must, I say!

Herky

Beware The Wockyjabber!

2008-06-07T09:50:00.006+01:00

At this time of year, Millhouse is almost always out at night up to no good. But from a cats-eye view (no, not the ones in the road), the outside world is a murky, mysteriously dangerous place. Around every corner there may lurk a viscious, slobbering, grizzling monster ready to give chase and gobble him up.
As a cautionary tale, I sometimes tell Millhouse of the Wockyjabber....

The Wockyjabber

'Twas murckle and the strabbling brumbles
Did zizzle and fribble in the groofle:
All trinkley were the shumblants,
And the stickly spicks did grople.

"Beware the Wockyjabber, Millhouse!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Grubgrub bird, and shun
The frumious Cattersnatch!"

He sharped the multiferous claws he had:
Long time the dreadious foe he sought -
So rested he by the Fuzzfuzz tree,
And crouched a while in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he spied
The Wockyjabber with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the fruggly plide,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And scrabbly plunge
Those multiferous claws went snicker snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He came a trotting back.

"And, has thou slain the Wockyjabber?
Come to your bowls you beamish cat!
Oh frabjous day! Meow! I say!"
I chortled in my joy.

'Twas murkle and the strabbling brumbles
Did zizzle and fribble in the groofle:
All trinkley were the shumblants,
And the stickly spicks did grople.

Herky

The Cat and Piddle.

2008-05-30T19:17:00.004+01:00

Hey diddle diddle
The cat did a piddle
All over the kitchen floor.
The little dog laughed
To see such fun,
So the cat did a little bit more.

(Probably by Mike Harding)

You Have The Right To Remain Silent!

2008-05-26T13:51:00.007+01:00

Humans often wonder why
We won't look them in the eye.
It's because we're very naughty
And, preferring not to lie,
We look away to hide the guilt
Pretending to be shy.

Oh, if the truth be known,
The blame we'd have to own.
Yes, we did the deed,
The one they've just discovered.
We didn't know the vase would break
When we jumped on to the cupboard!

So there it lies on the floor
Smashed to bits by touch of paw.
Paah! I was nowhere near that spot
They'll never know 'twas me!
Meow, I'm pretty hungry now
So how's about some tea?

Herky

Of Birds And Beetles.

2008-05-24T11:23:00.008+01:00

Watch Out! There's a (Naughty) Cat About!

Long Spring evenings are what we cats enjoy most. Every evening I've been outside on home security duties which consist mainly of watching things and washing random bits of my anatomy. Of course, this is undertaken in the appropriate feline leisurely manner of an old Tom. There's not much in the world beyond my complete understanding!
'Tis Spring and the local bird population is extremely busy; swooping over the lawn, arguing about tufts of Millhouse's white fur for lining cosy nests, and grabbing beakfuls of bread for hungry nestlings. All activity is duly noted in that part of a cat's brain known as 'future dinners options' even though, at 16 years old I don't suppose I'll bother to follow it up.
In and around our house all creatures have personal names just to make things more, well, friendly I suppose. So there's Robin (Williams), Bertie (Blue Tit), Cockney (Sparrow) and Mr Crow, known in this house as Russell. He's very shy of humans but, curiously, quite brazen in front of cats; especially when it comes to collecting bread crumbs for his lofty brood. Mister says they build nests high up in the oak trees out of old car parts and lumps of concrete.
Cheekily, and not 10 feet away from me, he builds up a little pile of bread crumbs until it is almost too much to clasp between his jet black plier-like snappers. After several abortive attempts to pick it all up, eventually he swooshes off still dropping the excesses to each side like a fighter plane distracting a heat seeking missile. I let him get away with it; if only because he's pretty big and looks like he could take an eye out! Caw, as he would put it.
Millhouse, who likes to put his chops around anything moving that he deems will fit and moreover, be worth a chew, learned a timely lesson this week. Come dusk in May and June, there are strange fat things which take to the air clattering clumsily along and bumping blindly into anything in the way. Big brown beetley craft which my cat encyclopedia identifies as cockchafers. They are attracted to light so sometimes head for the house at dusk. On this warm evening Charlie Cockchafer took it upon himself to try head banging on our flatcap. So, excitable Millhouse (you know, curiosity and all that) sprang into action! Yes, it got the better of him; he had to investigate. SO out he plopped through the flap and after some swiping with his paws, caught the chubby fizzing blighter between his furry chops.
I can only imagine what it feels like to have a pair of clacking wing covers between your teeth with wriggling legs and antennae tickling your whiskers, but he certainly didn't start to chew it! You could see the notions of 'pleasant' and 'good fun' instantly fade from his eyes as he quickly spat the monster out with indignation and a disgusted shudder as he ran his tongue round his, still quivering, lips.
I looked on, smugly. I could have told him before he started, but these youngsters....

Herky

When Cats Attack (Click Here)

2008-05-17T15:30:00.002+01:00

We can be very scary! (Turn your sound on)

The Cat SATs (on the mat!)

2008-05-17T13:37:00.010+01:00

Millhouse catching up on the world news. Hmmm. Nothing about mice today then!

It's been a stressful time of year for Millhouse. He's just finished his Keystage 1 SATs tests at puss school. It's overtly apparent that he's not highly blessed in the acacatademic department but more adept at physical activities.

His Cat School Report reads as follows:

English Language: Grade 2c
Speech - Millhouse is a fairly reticent member of the group. Although he often says, "Hello," he subsequently only speaks when he feels there's the prospect of food being available. Indeed, he is a greedy boy and will eat from other cats' lunch boxes first if they don't fend him off. At such times he is a persistent attention seeker and often obstructs the teacher's activities until he gets what he wants. He relies heavily on facial expressions and gestures to communicate.
Reading - Generally shows little interest except with food pouches where he not only understands what flavour is contained (even if it is labelled in German, Polish or Danish!), but also recognises how much it cost and whether it was a BOGOF offer.
Recognises his name when called.
From the length of his tongue, we fear he may have a lisp and are awaiting the results of a speech assessment test.
Writing - Likes watching a pen wriggle across the paper but only grabs it clumsily and chews it when expected to write at story time.
Spelling - Can sound the letters 'M E O and W' in sequence. Frequently practises the 'Rrrrr' sound to himself.

Mathematics: Grade 1
Conservation - Knows which bowl has the most food in it. Can judge distance to top of bird-table.
Arithmetic - Still sometimes over-fills his tummy at meal times and thus carries out an involuntary take-away sum...but very accurately. Cannot count. (e.g. How many meals he has had.)

Science: Grade 2a
Millhouse enjoys nature study and is a keen student of wildlife, although sadly his enthusiasm can sometimes lead to a fatality. When this does occur, we know he feels the appropriate guilt because he usually eats any evidence. Hopefully he will soon grow out of this distressing phase.

Sport: Grade 2b
Regards almost any activity as a sport. This can be annoying to other members of the class as he frequently picks fights but generally only in a playful manner. Falls over a lot and bites anyone who may approach to help.

Motor Skills: Grade 2a
Can curl up on the steeply sloping bonnet of a Ford KA.
Accuracy- Improving. However, more practice required when going to the toilet as he frequently misses the hole he has dug ending up with a poo on a hillock instead of a neatly buried one.

General Appearance and Behaviour:
Millhouse is a fluffy individual and consequently often looks untidy. He does wash; particularly under his chin where the wet fur makes him look more unkempt, and he spends more time than most cleaning his long fluffy tail the loose fur fromwhich can sometimes make him wretch a bit. His baggy trousers are worn in the fashionable half falling off style with the crotch low-slung. He thus is often seen dragging half the plant life he has foraged through adhered to his bottom. He also needs to clean his white paws more often as their grubbiness lets him down.
Millhouse can be a disobedient young tom and shows signs of ADHD. Although he knows he shouldn't, he frequently defies the school rules and crosses the lane to hunt in the long grass. He is a constant attention seeker and is nearly always the perpetrator of playful arguments with other cats.
Millhouse is a likeable, shy, active member of the class whose abilities will improve when he learns to do what he is asked and realises that food isn't everything.

Professor Purr Fect (B.Ed)

A Thick Ear for Boris and The General Strike.

2008-05-10T15:10:00.012+01:00

Me; being a lert. Cats need to be lerts! (Click on this piccy to see how handsome I still am at 16 years old!)
At last, the weather is beginning to stabilise and, with the extended daylight, Millhouse and I've been able to settle into our summer routines.
For Millhouse, this means slinking out of the flatcap at first light to play with the local wildlife. For the most part the wildlife play with him, I think, because he always returns, slightly out of breath, at 6.30am for his breakfast. The trouble with these early morning adventures is that with the long grass being so dewy, his white fluffy underbelly and baggy trousers not only absorb 3 litres of moisture and dirt, but the odd bedraggled weed comes home with him too.
On Monday, he was in a mischievous mood. It happened that ponderous Boris lurched around the corner staring blithely into space as usual when Millhouse happened to be sitting on the garden bench. Full of bravado, Millhouse enthusiastically pounced on the poor old soul; but oh so suddenly, that dim-witted Boris barely knew what was going on. Much cat swearing ensued before the old boy plodded off. Slowly, he turned back the way he'd come, mumbling to himself, "Zese common type moggies, zey 'ave no sense of ze etiquette! Mein Gott, Boris zey haff such bad manners!"
While the humans are out in their tin wheelie things, we slop about the house in our summer flopping places until, just before they're due home. Our empty tumlettes tell us it's that time of day. I wander round to the front of the establishment settling down in the flower box by the front door to await the arrival of one of the tin wheelie things.
The trouble is, when they zoom up the drive, they're heading straight at the front door and me! 'Damn it Herks,' I think. 'Better get outta here!' I lose my cool and have to frantically scramble to my feet and shoot under the bushes. One day they'll knock the bloomin' house down!
Well, they never do. Out I come to do my cat greeting....Tail up....Whittle away a bit more of the trellis post; then it's off to the kitchen to digest some of the human's meaty affection.
Talking of gastronomic love, Millhouse and I held a very successful sit-down demonstration this week. We fancied a change of menu, so we both agreed to refuse to eat the normal food. Yes...just sat there in front of our bowls; paws on cat hips and looked expectant at Mr and Mrs.; milled about a bit and generally got under their feet. Presto! Within days the menu was amended and all is pouchy hunky-dory, well actually ...gravy..... until the next time we change our minds, that is. Oh, the power of persuasion....and stary accusing green eyes!

Herky

Oh no, not Boris!

2008-05-03T14:10:00.021+01:00

Spot The Difference
(My reaction to hearing the name Boris on tv)
In the winter I watch the world on my mini-tv, but today it's warm and sunny.....
"Gooten haben!" said our local boring Boris as he padded sloth-like past our back door. He's an English Grey, I think, but his owner is a 'German hooman bean so he has acquired a heavy accent. "Ze wezzer iz goot mitt ze sun out, ja?" He muttered sleepily. He has a big round fuzzy flat face and wanders the world ponderously. His nose is so flat that, when he peers through our patio window, his soulless eyeballs are as equi-distant from the glass as his nostrils.
The back door was open and I was sat on the step smartening myself up for a garden saunter.
I took little notice of Boris's drably uttered greeting. Besides, I'd just had a scrummy fishy lunch and was far too busy applying the oily oderant behind each ear and smarming my whiskers. 'Pity to waste a good smell when you can keep it wafting around your nostrils all afternoon with a generous smearing! 'Gives one an air of fishtinction, so to speak!
A nice sunny day, with just a little breeze and the lawn, green and freshly cut under the cherry blossom; just the sort of day for inspecting a few plants round the ol' constituency. With Millhouse safely curled-up out of the way in his currently favoured spot I took a relaxed meander.
When I come across a newly flowering plant, it either gets a sniff of approval, or is mentally noted as yucky, and may receive a couple of swipes if there's anything buzzy on it. The cat mint is a favourite, of course. It sends a quiver down my spine. I flop over and my paws start kneading the air. Purry bliss!
I took a couple of kittenish zig-zags a cross the lawn and then flopped under the fir tree.
I don't know where Boris went. I expect he had an important appointment down the lane. He's never late even though he travels at a snail's pace! It's a German thing I'm told.
He's the very antithesis of the Boris I heard mentioned on the news today. That's why my ears went back! I could swear he said, "Thank you for voting for whatever it was I was standing for and, when I find out, I'll jolly well give it back to you!"

Pussy cat, pussy cat what news have you then?
I've been up to London to vote for old Ken.
Pussy cat, pussy cat why the blank stare?
I saw Boris Johnson voted Lord Mayor!

Herky

Out of this World!

2008-04-27T10:59:00.006+01:00

At last, some more agreeable weather! I was beginning to lose my interest in going outside, but this week we've had some sunny spells which were encouraging enough for a brief scamper across the lawn in a mock attack of Lord and Lady Wood-pigeon. They relentlessly parade back and forth across the garden in their formal grey suits with stiff white collars and, I think, they've a mind for a bit of 'ow's yer father' at the moment. That is judging by the curious head jerking, flapping and bouncing about that's going on. If they could only see themselves, they'd be quite ashamed! I've seen hefnits behaving more elegantly!
In fact, all the birdies are very busy prodding, poking and hopping in and out of the hedge, swooping over the lawn and, well, generally inviting the swipe of a flying paw if they're not watchful. But, I've become more more of a twitcher than a catcher in my old age, keeping a detailed register of all the dick birds I see just for posterity. Apart from sparrow and starling colonies, we've got blue tits, great tits, coal tits, long tailed tits, greenfinches, goldfinches, hedge sparrows, black birds, a green wood-pecker, a lesser spotted woodpecker and, something I haven't seen here before, a thrush! When they whizz past me, I'm still enthusiastic enough to thrust my whiskers forward with an "oooh!" gasp, but me old limbs don't swing into action like they used to. Luckily for them. Millhouse still has his younger instincts intact, but success has eluded him so far much to Mr.'s satisfaction.
It's not generally well known, but I spend quite a lot of time in the fourth dimension, being very proficient at silently disappearing in mere fractions of a second. One instant, crouched in the 'washing back legs' posture, I'm calmly sorting out my nether bits; the next, no sight, nor sound anywhere. Just the weary buzz of a zig-zagging fly. Humans are mystified.
It's brilliant! While Stephen Hawking's been pondering the question of parallel universes for decades, we puss-cats have known all about it since the days of the great pussus sphinxus. Well, why else would we sit and stare at blank walls for hours if not engulfed in deep, deep complicated thoughts?
Indeed, it has been noted that, when fast asleep, I look not unlike Stephen Hawking. For when fully slumber bound, a few teeth creep into view in the shadows of my chutchy bits...you know, the fuzzy upper lip fromwhence all one's whiskers sprout, and I take on that characteristic distant expression. Perhaps I could make use of an old answerphone and get on the lecture circuit!
The regular supply of sustenance is all that binds us to this earthly world of human beans. This Sunday morning, they were so late in rising that I had to sit on the bonnet of Mr.'s tin wheelie box and stare in at the bedroom window to see when breakfast might be forthcoming. It was fully two hours later than normal that he peeped around the curtain and met my impatient indeed, indignant and accusing look. Breakfast was dolloped tout suite!
You may picture me eating my breakies but look again.........Ive disappear..e...d!

Herky

The Fur is Flying!

2008-04-20T09:17:00.002+01:00

There's an awful lot of fur flying around our house at the moment and it's not the result of our early morning rough and tumble rituals. Somehow our bodies know it's the time of year to be putting on a new coat. It certainly can't be because the weather is warming up, because it 'aint! Nevertheless, wherever we've spent an idle moment snoozing or even just sitting, we seem to be leaving tell-tale tufts of fur. White and grey for Millhouse and, of course, my own rather superior chic, black offering. Well, Mr. does his best with the sucking machine, which fills up with our furry deposits rather rapidly. Admittedly, it does seem to drift about unnoticed. I heard him grumpily remark that the wretched stuff had even got into the bathroom where we haven't been seen to venture for months!
While I'm on the subject of annoying the humans, Millhouse has taken to walking about on the kitchen worktops. He has developed a desire to become more involved with human activities in a culinary way which, I may say, is not welcomed by Mrs.; what with all his floating loose bits and all. He sits about up there watching cooking activities, staring out of the window, or glued to Coronation Street on the kitchen telly! Yes, he's already had innumerable finger waggings just as I thought he would. He responds with the usual, "What!?" look when reprimanded. Oh well, he's still young!
He's not in Mr's good books either this week having managed to drag a baby rabbit in through the flatcap last Wednesday night. No mean feat this as I recall from my own hunting days. You have to put it down outside, then climb in through the flap, stick your head back out and retrieve your prize with a certain amount of head wrenching. Anyway, when Mr. hobbled into the kitchen in the early morning, Millhouse was proudly posing in front of his catch but, to his obvious dismay, wasn't to get the admiring praise expected. This offering from feline to human was cleared away promptly with visible disgusted vigour. The unbridgeable gap in ethical values twixt the species being ever apparent. Millhouse still has much to learn! As far as I know, the only gift humans will accept from a cat is a heartfelt purr.

Herky

Magic Windows and The Beijing Olympics

2008-04-12T14:11:00.009+01:00

Well, the Spring weather's still not up to much in my part of the world; chilly, some rain, some hail with a brief flurry of snow last week between the sunshine. I have to pick my moments to pop outside by sitting patiently at the flatcap and taking quick forays out for ablutions and lick downs.
It's somewhat fortunate therefore that the humans have recently installed a new magic window, bigger than the old black box, so I can lounge across the back of the settee and watch the odd nature programme. I have been particularly taken with Tiger - Spy in the Jungle where humans have hidden cameras inside bits of tree trunk which are carried about and strategically positioned by heffnits so we can watch close-ups of a wild tiger family growing up. They're big big puss cats with noses just like mine, but I can't believe any feline would really enjoy swimming in water! Surely there must be some trickery going on there, methinks!
Apart from acting as a substitute settee headrest, I have also started practising for the Beijing Olympics where I hope to represent England in the Throwing-up Shot Putt event. My current night time sleeping spot is on a bookshelf 4ft from the floor, and two nights ago, having been out chewing a bit of cud (the lawn's a bit tufty at the moment; I try to help), I repaired to the bookshelf and quite unexpectedly reviewed my supper over a satisfyingly competitive distance. Some 3 tail lengths, I'd say. Millhouse was suitably impressed and sat looking at it, then he turned to me with deferential admiration. I suspect the idea of a free meal had crossed his mind, but thankfully the ears went back as he thought better of it. He curled up nearby as a mark of respect, and dreamily went to sleep. Anyway, I wanted Mr. to produce a tape measure in the morning and take the official trajectory measurement; that is if he didn't tread in it in the dark when he got up!
Impressed? I'd say he was! The following morning he slid into the kitchen yodelling my name loudly, the doppler effect being quite effectively demonstrated as he passed. He finished with such a skilful pirouette at the kitchen sink, I was minded to suggest the Winter Olympic downhill ski run to him. Well, he could be another Eddie the...erm...sparrow at the very least!
Then, of course there's the Sleeping Marathon where I reckon I can break the world record paws down! I've been 15 years in training for that event. If they could only combine these events with Mousing, Purring and Washing, I'd be able to do a pentathlon. Hmmm, time for some more training...if I could just find a higher starting place...'
Wish they'd stop messing about with that flaming torch!

Herky

Hey You Two...Ooops! (Click Here)

2008-04-06T17:47:00.004+01:00

..better put your sandwich down first, though!

Blowing Hot and Cold!

2008-04-06T16:12:00.006+01:00

Nature has confused one's feline senses somewhat these last two weeks. The English spring has sprung, and recoiled, in its predictably unpredictable manner. Millhouse is the most disorientated. His youthful hormones giving him random kittenish moments of excited wonderment which are interspersed with periods of woeful disappointment at the rain and cold. This is illustrated by an afternoon lolling around on the lawn, paws upward in the balmy sunshine followed the next day by padding across an inch of cold, wet snow severely curbing his zestiness and discouraging any wicked playfulness. The added complication amongst these mixed influences is that the humans have quite independently decided to go about their daily routines an hour earlier than during the winter. How are we supposed to know what's afoot! Not only do they wake us up earlier, but when we rally together at our normal feed times, we're tutted at for being late!
The garden birds are, of course, very busy at this time regardless of the weather. They swoop over our domain like acrobats presumably just to tease us. Well, teasing Millhouse more than me actually, because I've seen it all before. Millhouse, on the other hand, is all over the place. Leaping in the air, batting and swiping like Pete Sampras. Luckily for them, he's not yet good enough to be seeded and doesn't succeed -if you'll excuse the expression. This morning, for example, on spotting a little Hedge Sparrow on the bird table, Millhouse charged across the snowy lawn and made a flying leap for the table only missing the prim and proper chappie by inches. 'Good try!' I thought, but Mr. soon gave him a strong, finger wagging, reprimand which was received with the customary 'ears back what'sthematterwithyou?' look from Millhouse.
For myself, I've managed to pick the odd evening sunshine moment to sit in front of the garage door for a quiet wash; a favourite activity of mine in the summer. Once or twice, I've even managed to meet Mr. coming home from work and so have reintroduced the whittling down of the front door trellis post ritual. Another couple of years and it'll have the waisted look of an egg timer!
Sunny windowsills are a choice spot for a warm loll at this time of year. 'Think I'll just have half an hour on one right now - oh, unless I've just missed my lunch again. Better check that first.

Herky

Paws for Thought

2008-03-16T10:42:00.002Z

When I wash my pussy paw
I clean each bobble and round each claw.
Further up, well there's a thumb
But it's not a very useful one.
Not long enough to reach finger tip
It's not much good for getting grip.
And then a little further on
Another bobble with no claw...
What the heck is that bit for?

Herky

An End to Wind and Spray!

2008-03-15T12:56:00.004Z

It's been a week which began with an angry wind sucking limbs from trees and strewing the land of our feline domain with nature's oddments. (Yes, the wind sucks!-Millhouse and I have given the principal much thought. Humans have got it wrong as usual.) Anyway, because of such typical British weather, we've spent an inordinate amount of time indoors in hazy puss-type contemplation or generally flopping around being a bit naughty.
The wet weather drives Millhouse to restlessness, and in the mornings he often stalks me around the furniture, like a secret agent. He likes a spot of rough and tumble. Well, I'm a dignified old tom preferring to be left to my own daydreams so I have developed sophisticated avoidance techniques which leave Millhouse as puzzled as if I've slipped into the ether. After staring at Mr Human with my head to one side pathetically prompting the doling out of breakfast, I humour Millhouse for ten minutes with the odd paw swipe, head lock and ear bite. Then, while he plans his next strike, I pad quietly off to the staircase which, being dark and shadowy at that time of the morning, is a fine hiding place.
When Mrs Human stumbles into the kitchen, it's my cue to thunder up the stairs and drum on the young human's bedroom door. I can make an impressive thrumming on the door to the extent that Mrs Human comes up and lets me into young Human's room where I settle down in the generally steamy rumpled bedding of the lad. I do have to endure the three different alarms which young Human has set to wake him, but with that trauma over, this room becomes all my own for the rest of the day. Millhouse has no idea where I've disappeared to!
Millhouse has his usefulness however, because this week the mystery sprayer finally got his come-uppance. Around lunchtime one day, Millhouse and I happened to be in the kitchen. We had hoped for a meal, but all the humans were out at work. (Well, that's what they tell us. We reckon they're actually just around the corner in the lane, sitting in their cars pretending to do something important.)
There was an almost imperceptible click of the flatcap and a nervous beige coloured interloper crept into the kitchen. He was just about to lick our bowls clean, which we never ever would do, when Millhouse sprang from the worktop in a flurry of catty, hissy spittiness and burst after the hurriedly retreating mog. He head-butted the flatcap so hard it came clean off it's hinges and landed halfway across the patio! I was filled with smug admiration for Millhouse who persued his quarry over the garden fence and away into distant foreign catlands. Attaboy, Millhouse! He won't be back in a hurry I'm sure!
Mr Human had been home sometime before he realised the cold draught in the kitchen was the result of the six inch square hole in the back door! Luckily, it was repairable otherwise we'd have been in the cathouse with the Humans again!

Herky

The Natural History Museum

2008-03-09T11:25:00.004Z

It's been a quiet week for Millhouse and me in the lane this week. Some sunny springlike mornings have facilitated long snoozes on the humans' bed bathed in the warmth of the big yellow disc, though it's not yet warm enough for me to spend many hours in the garden.
Millhouse goes on his morning and evening forays and oft returns with gloopy muddy paws due to the showery weather. His attraction has been drawn to the pond of late where, judging by the sudden flicks of his head skywards, I suspect there's a couple of frogs or toads making some springtime connections. Frogs make for great entertainment because you can't predict which way they're going to leap next. Good excercise for the neck.
This brings to mind the time when I encountered an expired frog on our gravel driveway one spring day many years past. Being curious (well, I'm a cat!) I pawed at the gravel all around the poor thing. I did a pretty neat job too, because after a few minutes, I realised I'd built a pile (or pyre?) several inches high with Mr Frog (a la rigor-mortis) perched on the top! My first artistic construction project.
Mr Human later came across my work and seemed somewhat puzzled. A dead frog balanced on a pile of stones! Days later he concluded that I was the culprit and was in the early stages of collecting specimens for my own cat's natural history museum. He felt this was confirmed after he also discovered a bird skeleton, still in the perched position, sitting amongst the thick twigs of a small fir tree in the back garden. As though I could devise such a macabre construction!
Well, since then both Millhouse and I have always tried to leave any wildlife casualties in interesting poses around our estate. Mice lying down grinning is a popular device. But despite our best artistic efforts, Mr and Mrs Human are seemingly very discerning about what constitutes artistic merit and, we think, show little appreciation for our collective works. There's no accounting for good taste, as they say. Don't they know about positive encouragement?
I only catch things which run towards me and ask for it nowadays, so I make Millhouse do all the running and fetching. He's still naively enthusiastic much to Mr and Mrs' annoyance. I pussonally think a rabbit would make a nice addition to our collection. Off you go Millhouse!!

Herky

We Don't Always Like Our Neighbours! (Click Here)

2008-03-06T19:22:00.001Z

Someone's got to clean this window when I've finished!

Some Pictures To Amuse You (Click Here)

2008-03-01T11:42:00.001Z

With apologies for the odd english!

We Bring 'em Back Alive! (A mouse a Day Helps You Work, Rest and Play!)

2008-03-01T10:20:00.013Z

It was a normal Saturday morning, or so the humans thought. We'd had our nums and were just idling about, licking the odd paw, wandering and sitting in random spots, basically deciding where to have a morning snooze. You need to do a survey of possibilities based on the warmest spots which, in itself depends upon whether there are any sunny places or, come a dull day, near the hottest throbbing radiator. Being a Saturday, the humans were off to a slow start. They need at least two cups of tea and one of coffee before they'll even get dressed. They were soon to be prodded out of their doziness!
One was gazing sleepily out of the kitchen window and the other playing spider solitaire on the computer (Tut, and they think staring at a blank wall is dull!). Cup of tea number two was slowly soaking in when, all of a sudden, there was a shriek from Mrs! A mouse, which Millhouse had plopped through the flatcap sometime before and which we pusses had completely forgotten about, boldly scurried past Mrs's foot and off into a corner. Slightly affronted by Mister's unceremonious ejection of the ex-mouse yesterday, Millhouse had brought in a live offering last night for future entertainment. He thought it promised a fresher meal for later on. And, of course, would be more fun for us with the prospect of a chase around the house -Steve McQueen style.
For the humans a live mouse in the house presents a dilemma involving a life or death situation. For, totally incomprehensibly to us, they firstly tried to catch the tough little feller -I'll swear he had a tattoo on his shoulder,- but he was too quick. Under the washing machine, then across to the freezer he bobbled. Mister was rather pathetically tracking him with an empty Utterly Butterly tub. What did he think that would achieve! Hopeless at hunting!
The second line of action was evidently to be the setting of mouse traps. I think this would have involved a forthcoming death. They were hurriedly extricated from the cupboard but, just as the cheese was being chopped to mouse-mouth size, old mousey brazenly waddled across to the back door. He was obviously a wise old fellah and rather resembled a Mars bar with legs I thought. Whether we'd brought him in before and he knew his way around, I don't know, but he seemed to know what he was about just now.
Mister spotted him and scrabbled for the back door keys. Quick! Unlock the door! And after some frantic jingling of keys, the door was swung wide. Mousey slipped over the step and, busily muttering disgruntledly (or perhaps 'gruntledly')under his breath, headed out across the patio. He turned sharp left at the bird bath, under the hedge and shuffled into the darkness of dead leaves.
You may be surprised to learn that neither Millhouse nor I took any interest in this little drama. We'd already established our snoozing posts for the morning and were in the land of fantasy chasing our own walking Mars bars. I expect Millhouse will be looking for his fresh snack when he wakes up. He truly reckons the phrase should read a (live) mouse a day helps you work, rest and play!

Herky

The Power of Persuasion.

2008-02-29T17:10:00.006Z

One of our most useful facial expressions is the one of keen anticipation. You know, you sit where the humans can't ignore you, perhaps in the middle of a doorway or so they can't get to the kitchen sink, and with wide round eyes and alert ears you express an impatient "Well?" look. It certainly works for Millhouse and me. In fact with two of us both doing it, the humans become very self-conscious and distracted. So much so that they can't get on with what they're doing until they've given you what you want. Eventually, they tut or mutter, "For goodness sake!" and surrender by dolloping out some food or obligingly opening the door for you.
We've also discovered that if you can catch each human on their own as they arrive home from work you can, by the aforementioned persuasive look, get two or even three meals in the space of an hour. Yummy! That satisfying feeling of a tight tummy! This system does, of course, depend upon the humans not communicating any information between themselves about whether we've already eaten. So you must be careful not to kick-up too much fuss. Just use your guile and sixth sense as to when you might get away with it. We're doing pretty well on it, thank you.
Oh, and dead mouse in middle of kitchen floor this morning! Millhouse's contribution to the house keeping. He'd thoughtfully only sucked its head a little and resisted the temptation to make a meal of it which would have negated it as a contribution towards our family assets. Daddy human shovelled it back outside rather hurriedly. I expect he thought it'd stay fresh for longer in the garden.
The mystery kitchen sprayer is still at it. He comes in the night and leaves his mark like a graffitti tag. This could have serious consequences for Millhouse and me in that the flatcap may be locked. We'd be nocturnally grounded! No more wild nights out. Millhouse and I are currently in discussion about this intrusive behaviour. Of course we're not wimps! Just trying to be diplomatic....

Kitchen Re-spray Mystery and Deep Thoughts.

2008-02-17T15:31:00.009Z

Yes, another mystery this week. While all the humans were out at work and Millhouse and I dozed in our chosen daytime nesting spots, an uninvited Tom-puss must have sneaked through our flatcap and poked around in our private quarters. When Mr and Mrs came home it was with squinty eyes and flared nostrils that they encountered the dreaded Tom scent everywhere. Disgusting, we all agreed and consequently had to endure the best part of half an hour with all the doors and windows open -even though it was a cold, windy 2C outside! Any cat who passes our windows gets a frosty look and wagged finger/paw from all of us now. 'Trouble is they all look guilty. I expect you've noticed that whenever you come across a cat outside, they almost always have to pretend they're doing something important. Millhouse is all for duffing-up any passing cat now and keeps dashing out the flatcap enthusiastically to see even the most unlikely passing puss off our patch. We think the offender is also the mystery bowl cleaner who sneaks in in the dead of night and licks our bowls spotlessly clean -for that is something we never, ever do! (Rule No. 12)
On another subject, I overheard my humans accusing me of being a bit dim the other day and it was merely because I was huddled in the Formula One Car pose very closely facing the fridge door and staring at it. Oh, I know humans think it odd that we should stare so closely at a blank piece of white metal or even a wall for twenty minutes but what they don't know is how deeply we are in complex thought. Actually, I was contemplating mans' misconception that the wind blows on windy days when, as a weather expert, I reckon it sucks. Oh, humans know so little, don't they! I'd like to hear one say, "It's so windy today I was almost sucked across the pavement!"
It's still a bit on the chilly side out in the big world even though the sun is shining, daylight's getting longer, the daffodils are flowering and some trees are blossoming. Won't be long before I can sit in my favourite summmer spot after my tea and have a good wash.

Herky

8 Out of 10 Owners Whose Cats Showed a Preference....

2008-02-10T13:47:00.000Z

Now there's a slogan you don't see anymore! Frankly after a week of enforced subjection to some lumpy morsals not to my liking, I'm not surprised. Mrs Human succumbed to the special offer, as is a common occurence in this abode, for cat food last week. She, quite mistakenly, thought she was hitting a double whammy by saving her clinking disks and buying us that well known top brand of scrummy num-nums; and at a reduced fare to boot. I won't mention the name, but it used to be a favourite which I lovingly smeared across my fishy whiskers with some satisfaction.
Do you know what I think! I reckon the accountants have moved in to that particular processing plant, grunted selfishly to themselves and following a bit of skin-flint arithmetic whilst rubbing their gravy stained fingers together, chucked the magic ingredient over the factory wall.
Millhouse and I were not impressed. We didn't fancy any of the wierdly named Schkoffelzeiser or Krobeinzit mit Groebenwurter flavours. What's going on here? - we looked at one another with our ears in quizzical positions. In the usual feline manner we held out for a few days; walking off from the bowls disdainfully with that staring into a goldfish bowl full of fireworks look in our eyes. Eventually, however, hunger got the better of us and we picked at it morbidly just to stay alive.
Needless to say we made it through the week, hanging on to life by a thin thread, but I would like to say that 8 out of 10 owners whose cats showed a preference said their cats preferred something they could pronounce which would inevitably taste nicer than Schkoffelzeiser.
Any comments from fellow cool cats welcome.

Herky

It's a Bloody Mystery - Inspector Poirot Called In!

2008-02-03T15:10:00.002Z

Millhouse came home at 9.30 p.m. last night with blood all over his otherwise nice white bib and yet another scratch on his nose! Apart from the scratch, there was no sign of other injuries. I'm proud to say that true to the feline law of silence, Millhouse kept his lips sealed about the matter.
With their usual overreaction, the humans wiped his bib as best they could whilst babbling on about what could possibly have happened. Millhouse remained quite nochalant; even looked pleased with himself. Heh, heh we puss cats know how to keep the humans guessing!
No doubt swabs have been taken for DNA analysis and Poirot will be knocking at the door anytime now. He'll have to solve the mystery without any co-operation from Millhouse, that's for sure!
I pussonally think he went through one of those time anomalies and had a close call with some prehistoric creature. He has been watching Torchwood quite a lot lately. Will we ever know?

Herky

Lighter Days are Coming!

2008-02-02T15:14:00.000Z

Thank goodness January's gone! With it's belly wetting, pad chilling dark long days making toilet requirements an urgent, stressful dash to the nearest bare garden patch. February's begun and already days are turning lighter even though it's still cold. The Snow drops and crocuses are out and it's brought a playful spring to my step and my eyes are a brighter green. My ears more perky. My purry moments are more frequent. That mischevous flick has returned to my tail though still I sleep a lot, naturally. Well, I'm nearly 16 now so you can stop that tutt tutting!
Millhouse hasn't noticed any difference yet. He's too young(or stupid)to appreciate the finer points of worldly seasons. In and out of the catflap like a cuckoo in a clock, he is. Rain absolutely bucketed down last tuesday while he was out foraging and I'll swear he was 3lbs heavier when he got home with the sheer weight of water absorbed by his thick coat. Serves him right for going out when the weather's tricky. Me? I just watch with wisdom in my eye. "Told you so," I think to myself smugly.
Yes, I am pretty smug. There's not much I don't know...well except how to open a door that's already open a few inches. It's always been a tricky problem for me. I always pull it towards me when it needs pushing and vice versa. I'm just not mechanically minded, I suppose. Now throw a rolled up sweet wrapper my way and I'm Federer hitting the winning shot! Funny, isn't it!
I'm a bit worried about my whiskers at the moment. They used to be all black, but I've recently grown three white ones on one side and one on the other. Must remember the Grecian 2000 next time I'm out.
Hmm, I'll just roll over and warm my other side against this radiator while I think of daffodils and meeces.....

Aggressive Paper Recycling - (Click Here)

2008-01-04T18:52:00.000Z

Might as well enjoy it! Don't do this if your humans have runny tummies!

Gone Into the Night - So what?

2008-01-04T14:54:00.000Z

Yep! Millhouse went walk about last night. He always gets impatient around half past nine for his supper, and last night decided to nip out into the night air (about 3 degrees C) to find a starter for himself. Well, he's done that before but usually gets back at ten thirty for his main course. Last night at said time; no Millhouse! It annoyed me because it means I have to wait for my supper too. The reason being that if the humans had put both meals out then naturally I would have eaten both. 'All's fair in love and war,' I say, and anyway I'm a bloomin' cat. What do you expect?
My house is pretty laise-faire about when we're in or out (Well the humans have had teenager humans so they know all about creatures of the night), but when we cats do something unusual they do fret so.
After a while I got my supper, which I ate peacefully without the irritation of Millhouse sticking his head in, but the humans tutted about where Millhouse could be. You know - perhaps he's shut in someone's shed - got run over etc. They just don't trust us to be sensible you see. They went to bed after a few calls out of the back door. No Millhouse to be seen.
In the morning Millhouse was still absent so I had my breakfast in peace. Now the humans were more concerned and wandered out into the lane in their dressing gowns; much to my embarrassment. Still no sign.
Eventually, at around nine in the morning, Millhouse did come home nonchalantly and requested his breakfast with bright innocent eyes.
"Where have you been?" They asked, in slightly cross tones.
True to form, he maintained the cats' rule of silence as had I, of course. Millhouse had been in during the night but I didn't tell a soul.

Herky

Paper Recycling (Click Here)

2007-12-27T11:53:00.000Z

We learn something new everyday!

World Domination! (Click Here)

2007-12-27T11:36:00.000Z

Potential leaders of the Nazi party.

Of Food And Smells

2007-12-24T15:51:00.000Z

I was having my usual daytime winter snooze yesterday when a familiar distant sequence of sounds brought me rapidly to my, not so nimble, walking sticks. Yes, 'num num' time had overtaken me without my realising it. Now I hope all you young pusses out there have worked out which kitchen cupboard your owners use to store the 'belly filler'. You know, those mysterious containers of cat 'nums' which have travelled home in their wheelie thing. By the way, when you know which cupboard is used, it sometimes helps to sit staring blankly at the door if you fancy an extra top up. ..worth a try.
Also, you must get to know that sequence of sounds which precedes the bowl filling ceremony. I'm so good at it I even know which cupboard door is being opened from anywhere in the house! ..takes years of fine tuning. Millhouse the newcomer (of a mere 3 years experience) still hasn't quite got it right. He runs to the kitchen every 30 seconds whichever cupboard is opened! 'Dumb cluck!' Methinks. I'm not walking all the way out there just to watch them make a cup of coffee.
With practice you'll even get to know whether a pouch is being opened from left to right or vice verso. Now that's what swivelling ears are for. We ain't daft folks!
Sometimes, just to get us from under their feet, they'll dish up those dun looking crunchy bits; hurling a pile of odd looking tooth breaking pellets into the bowl in a slovenly manner without looking you in the eye. They may quietly sneer, 'that'll do yah!' Well, if desperate, I'll eat them, but at other times I'll take umbrage at such attitude and walk off in disgust! Don't be afraid to show them what you think!
We do have another secret weapon which is not much talked about. It helps if you can fine tune this particular skill too. What is it? Well, you probably already do it but don't realise. The answer is erm..silent ones . They slip out from your back end offering an almost imperceptible feeling of pleasure. Poof! Believe you me they certainly liven things up. The humans flare their nostrils and keep saying, 'pooh!' They react as though there's a wasp flying round their heads. Who'd have thought such light little wisps of gas could make any human leap in the air playing windmills. A good reaction for so small an effort, eh? And an excellent way to take command of the settee if you want it all to yourself. Take note.
Humans do have this latter facility also. However, they give the game away by producing a deep derogatory sound announcing its arrival. Plenty of warning for us to decide whether to stick it out or saunter off. I like to stick out just to show them how tough I am... good job we're born with a fixed smile on our faces, isn't it?

Ooops! I've just heard that cupboard door again so better be off.

Happy Pussmus to all my readers - and beware if you see Brussels sprouts on the dinner plates. It means battle will soon commence!

Herky

Herky Turkey Querky!

2007-12-21T12:20:00.000Z

There once was an old tom called Herky
Who gulped down his seasonal turkey
But the lesson came quick
When, he was violently sick
And his tummy turned queasy and querky.

by Mr Human

Herky - Oh, ha ha! You'll regret that one - hmm... an icky pile on the bed would be difficult to clear up, wouldn't it!

I Can Tell Christmas is Coming.

2007-12-15T11:00:00.000Z

Well it's getting close to that time of year now when the humans start messing about with things in my house. A tree, yes that's right, a tree has appeared in the living room. One's first thought used to be that the humans had bought me a super litter tray with interesting garden features. How nice it would be to go to the toilet in the warm indoors instead of crouching in a bitter wind in some chilly damp corner of the garden under the laurel hedge! But no, there's not enough space for digging ablution holes round this specimen and worse, it's been festooned with winking lights. Who wants to go to the toilet in the middle of Piccadilly Circus! It's a very private moment for us puss cats as you know.
A small compensation can be appreciated in that there are some dangly balls hanging within reach which are easily batted onto the floor and can be chased around with some energetic enthusiasm. Indoor Mouse hunting practice for Millhouse and me.
I also seem to recall that the humans will be cooking a monster 20lb sparrow sometime soon, of which we're usually allowed to share the more gobbley, scrappy bits. I never see this bird land in the garden, it's always carried in from the car so maybe it's roadkill. A good ten minutes of head nodding chewing required there, methinks.
Soon there'll be a higgledy piggledy pile of boxes under this newly incumbent tree and, with ominous predictability, there's probably some silly imitation red and purple mouse or stick with a pink feather on it for us to play with. Stunningly lifelike these lumps of junk! You see as we cats get older, we're not so easily taken in by such human petty tomfoolery but, just to please the humans, we'll eye the toys with pretend interest as they wiggle them about for a boring five minutes. Best technique is to make it look as though you're going to pounce on the pathetic thing they've bought you. That way they carry on twiddling it about for ages even though you've quietly sauntered off when they weren't looking, and gone to sleep on their bed.
After all, "'Tis the season to be sleepy, zzz zzz zzz zzz zzz zzz."
The worst part about this season; this little human holiday, is that the humans are indoors for a a whole week actively spoiling ones freedoms, peace and quiet. In fact making complete nuisances of themselves in my house.
I've just wangled my second breakfast this time out of human No.2 (serves him right for not communicating with human No.1!), and am considering whether to go for a nice steamy snooze in the teenage human's hell-hole upstairs or a more civilised lollop in the older humans' vast boudoir. (Which, incidentally, is usually mine during the daytime by right of my age.)

Season's fishy wishes from one old puss to all of you!
Herky

Doh! It's Raining Again.

2007-12-08T13:50:00.000Z

It's been windy and wet all week and both Millhouse and I are grumpy. Especially with the humans because, well it's their fault, isn't it? You see, they control everything else in the world including our food, so that must mean they're responsible for the weather too. When we see it's raining outside the back door, we decline to go out and run to the front door where it might be fine and sunny. But, blow me, it's raining out the front too. Can't even go for a pee without having to dash for the nearest hedge in this weather! Why can't humans organise things more considerately?
If you go out, the wind blows your ears inside out, not a good look, I might say. And talk about hearing the sea in a seashell! Sounds more like someone blowing bubbles inside my head! And as for poor old Millhouse; he's got a big fluffy tail just like a yacht's mainsail. In this wind he swaggers like a drunk down the garden as the wind tosses his rear end about.
So anyway, the result is we stay indoors, get bored and are driven to irritating one another around the house. Millhouse usually starts it by strolling cockily up and plonking himself down very close to me. Well within in my personal zone, I might add. He sniffs one of my ears. Then eyes up my face minutely. Well, that just makes me so cross! So I usually cuff him with a right hander, get his head on the floor and give his ear a good chew. He rolls onto his back bringing the old 'kicking sticks' (back legs) into the scuffle and scrabbles at the top of my head. There's a few cat type grunts followed by a lot of rolling about like a bar brawl in Rawhide. Eventually we break off, chase about round the furniture; you know like cat and mouse until we find another arena to bundle about in.
Of course, it winds the humans up beautifully too. They can't ignore this boisterous behaviour all over the house, especially as it amounts to tufts of fur dotted around at the various sites of conflict. We get plenty of, 'Pack it in!,'s and 'Oy! Stop that!'s from the arm flailing, knitted eyebrowed humans who stomp about carrying things from one room to another and back again for no reason whatsoever, apparently.
As the morning wears on and feeling a bit tatty, we eventually slink off to tidy ourselves up, lick our wounds; quite often ending up beside one another on the humans' bed for a damned good long mouse hunting dreamy snooze. With big pussy sighs and stretchy forepaws we doze off until such time as our our tummies tell us to bother those idle humans again.
..Might pop out for a pee in a minute then maybe go for the double whamee and squeegee myself dry between two human legs in the kitchen. Just to break the monotony!

Herky

Talking of Sucking Monsters! (Click Here)

2007-12-01T14:37:00.001Z

I say, sucks to this!

The Great Sucking Machine!

2007-12-01T12:56:00.000Z

I'm sure you've all got one in your house. It appears just when you're nicely curled up in your favourite spot. You've washed your important bits. You know, done the display of back legs stuck in the air one at a time (my owner says that's when I'm on my mobile phone), licked a few lengths of tail even though it damned well won't keep still! Licked one flank just a bit here and there (remembering which bit you can leave out next time)plastering down the fur with a few damp tongue marks; maybe you've done a front paw, and the corresponding whiskery zone (Choochie bit), and perhaps one ear (do it right or it ends up flattened, or worse inside out, which can take ages to sort out). Then you've dozily flopped down for that afternoon nap with a few dollops of tuna and prawn in the old tum. But just as you stretched out your sticks of rhubarb (back legs) and jumbled them up with your front paws (fiddling sticks), there comes that squeaky rattling sound of the sucking machine as it stumbles through the open door.
Now, initially you'll fix an ear on it or maybe one slitty eye. After all it often sits around the house inanimately for days and can be safely ignored. Perhaps it's merely decided to stand just inside the door for a while. But, it's a touch menacing just stood there and now you're cautiously aware of its presence.
The instant you hear that flicking of unwinding mains flex it's 'action stations'. You're Puss Bond again! You know the atmosphere is about to change; like those tense seconds before the first shot in a gun fight. Your muscles become poised; eyes widen. Your mind is racing; trying to evaluate possible escape routes. Invariably the only way out is through the very door the monster sucker is blocking! Suddenly, as you feared, the moaning droan starts up with a click. The sucking monster begins it's cruel teasing motion of to and fro, seeking out its prey. Now you've got to anticipate it's next few moves. It's live or be sucked into oblivion. Which way to dive for the safest exit? If you're lucky, there's a clunk; a graunching noise followed by clack,clack clack. The monster groans to silence. This is your chance! Zip out, quick while the monster's using a toothpick to remove a piece of grit.
That's another afternoon napping spot out of bounds for a few days. We all have to endure it. There's no hiding place from the vicious sucking monster. Sometimes it even grows a long snake-like tongue and comes slurping under the bed towards you. The best advice I can offer is that you make sure to leave a few small stones or gritty deposits around your house to get lodged in the monsters teeth. It always stops to clear its throat giving you a few valuable seconds to escape.

Herky

Cat Alarm Clock - This is how it's done!(Click Here)

2007-11-27T18:37:00.001Z

We know how to get what we want!

Scratching Posts

2007-11-24T18:02:00.000Z

Now puss mates, scratching posts are very important. Humans pay for the services of nail technicians. Tough old pusses don't need to pay to keep their claws nice and keenly honed. We can keep them ready for deployment in any situation. After all they're brilliant tools for hooking, climbing, giving intruder cats a slash, or giving your human the odd playful scar. (You know, keep them in their place and all that! Ten points if you get them on the forehead! Serves them right for peering so closely at you when you've got the grumps.) Well, we are cats, aren't we! Yep, long live the old unpredictable mood swings!
I have heard tell that some cats over the pond have their hooks removed! Coo, heaven knows what those guys do when they need a good stretch; padding about indoors all day in their slippers! They probably won't be needing a scratching post anyway - be like kneading dough wouldn't it?
I'm rather proud to say that I don't use the soft furnishings in my house to sharpen the old slashers. Nope! (At least not when anyone's looking)! I have two scratching posts outside. There's a trellis round our front door and when the humans come home, I always stretch up the right hand trellis post (has to be the right hand one) to greet my owners. It's my way of saying,"Welcome home, folks." And after fifteen years of whittling, I'm proud to say it is considerably thinner than the left hand post. Great stuff, eh? Me, a skilled carver!
The second one is the bird table support in the back garden. That's just to give the old dicky birds a reminder that I'm about in the mornings.
Just one more thing while we're on the subject of claws, and that is to warn you about bobble squidging. My owners have discovered that if they gently squidge my bobbley fingers, 'hey presto!' My claws extend involuntarily. Now Mr Human sometimes does this absentmindedly. Bit of a sauce really, isn't it? However, I don't mind so much because inadvertently, he cleans out those bits of mud that get lodged between the toes from mucky forays outside. He doesn't even know where I've been, does he! Yuuck!
Must go now cats. Get sharpening!

Mr Dribble

2007-11-24T17:07:00.000Z

I have a little problem
peculiar to me.
It usually happens
just before my tea.
If I'm being stroked,
or get a tummy tickle,
my mouth gets sort of watery,
and then I start to dribble.

Just like a dripping tap
I salivate so quickly,
petting hands recoil
or get all wet and sticky.
I feel a bit embarrassed
about this emanation.
Are there any other cats
who ooze anticipation?

Herky