Nelson's Column

It's a cat's life...

30 April 2007

Books, broadness and two bejailings

It has been drawn to my attention that my aunt thinks I ought to write a book. This isn't my real aunt, you understand. As far as I know, she is roaming the hills of Limburg. No, I'm talking about the sister of She Who Controls the Can Opener. Apparently, Aunty Wales thinks I have real literary talent. Hmm... perhaps I should get myself an agent, although at this rate it will take me 10 years to complete a manuscript. And I'll only do it if I get a decent advance. The usual sort of terms - a 10-year supply of Whiskas premium chunks, a personal manicurist to trim my claws and my own desk. I've had enough of sharing the PC with Her.

I've met Aunty Wales a few times. She had the nerve to call me fat. Not once, but several times. I'll never understand why humans think cats don't understand anything they say. I was extremely offended. It's perfectly obvious I'm not fat. I have a broad back - solid proof of my pedigree heritage. We Shorthairs are renowned for our stocky build and soft fur. I have so much fur, I suppose the truly ignorant could be mistaken into thinking I'm a few ounces overweight, but I am NOT fat. I'm well built. I swear I will scratch out the eyes of the next chav that says I'm fat.

That aside, the aunt is ok - she let me sleep on the bed with her when she stayed here and she gave me tummy tickles, so I guess she'll do.

I got locked in twice today. I've been really good too - I haven't put a paw out of line since the last debacle. But first The Boss shut me into the spare room this morning. It was entirely his fault. Honest. I only nipped in for a nose around. And he really should have checked before closing the door behind him. To my horror, I discovered the House Bitch of Doom had sneaked in as well. We were trapped together. I couldn't think of a worse situation to be in (well, I could - I wouldn't fancy my chances against the pitbull belonging to the junkie in the next street). I staked my territory on the bed so the House Bitch was forced to sleep on the floor.

The French Maid who does the cleaning let us out a couple of hours later. I was starving, so I rushed off to the dish for a large snack then strolled up to Her bedroom for a snooze on Her duvet. I spent a pleasant couple of hours dreaming of chasing butterflies and torturing the House Bitch of Doom. When I awoke and strolled back downstairs in search of fresh air and cuddles, I discovered I was locked in again. That French Maid has been told so many times not to shut doors without checking for my presence. I may have to nip him on the ankle when he returns. He may be French but I have far more droit de seigneur than he imagines even the Sun King had...

Breeding will always out.

What an exhausting day I have had. Time for my bed, I think.