Imprisoned

Alas, the rumours turned out to be true. Not long after the turn of the year, She Who Controls the Can Opener began to fill our home with boxes. It could mean only one thing - we were moving again. And sure enough, we did. I was not happy.

On moving day, I was shut into my taxi (travel box to you) and left there. It was freezing outside and snow lay on the ground. Fortunately, my taxi has a cosy lining otherwise I would surely have frozen to death while those men left the front door wide open as they emptied the house of everything. It was ghastly.

Worse was to come. I'd foolishly assumed the move would be nearby, like last time. A mere five minutes away. Try 40 miles. I was furious and made my displeasure clear to Her and Her driver all the way. I can outsing those 3 Tenors chaps any day...

We have now been here a whole fortnight and I am trapped indoors. Imprisoned, no less. I have not been out once since we installed ourselves here. She keeps insisting She is too busy with work to let me enjoy some fresh air and acquaint myself with the new neighbourhood. This is most unfair - I look out of the windows and see other felines (including what appears to be a most fit young queen) and there are squirrels too - I do enjoy my blood sports.. But no, I am stuck inside and most fed up. And worst of all I am forced to use the tray. Someone please start a petition to have me released. Ask no. 10. Otherwise I fear I may end up inside longer than Harry Roberts.