Sex and the single tom

The crocuses are pushing up in the front garden. This means spring is in the air and we all know what that means. It's the time when a virile tom's thoughts turn not very lightly at all to finding receptive queens with whom to share one's passion. That excludes me, ever since She Who Controls the Can Opener decided to deprive me of my two veg. It's so not fair! Especially when there are some very attractive young females in my territory. Ok, they don't have my background and breeding, but I wouldn't be averse to slumming it. If I were capable...

The bad news about spring's arrival means that the radiators will probably be turned off soon. The airing cupboard is out of bounds, so finding a suitable warm spot indoors in which to snooze will become increasingly difficult. On the other hand, I have a favourite flowerbed just outside Her office window which is a very pleasant little suntrap.

I have been enjoying an excellent regimen these last couple of weeks. After several months of Whiskas - the sort that come in those plastic foil pouches and contain peas and carrots, which I hate so I spit them on the floor - She was obviously feeling guilty about subjecting me to what was rapidly amounting to a prison diet of unending dreariness. Now I'm feasting on those little square tinfoil dishes of Felix, that contain nice meaty chunks in flavoured aspic.

Stomach replete, I stagger off and somehow manage the leap of Everest dimensions onto Her desk to sleep off the calories.

I've been quite lively though, these last few weeks. When spring is in the air, it's also a good opportunity to dispose of the excess hormones by tormenting the House Bitch of Doom. I've had a few good scraps with her lately and I always win. It's only to expected, given my superior class - she's only a Heinz 57 after all...