Winston on ‘Puss in Boots’One of the things I find most irritating about people in general (and my two in particular) is that they think they have an answer for everything. Even more galling is the fact that they usually do. Because if they can’t find an answer in their head, they will almost certainly find one on that Intertwit thing of theirs.See, I have this problem. It is an age-related thing. My two call it Arthur Itis (whoever he is). I call it a pain in the backside. Well not so much in the backside, perhaps, as in the hips. Either way, I now find it hurts like hell whenever I get down to a spot of grooming. Which means that I can no longer give it as much attention as I used to. Poor grooming, as every feline knows, leads to knotted fur, which is both uncomfortable and unsightly. In order to prevent this happening, my two have started combing me.I am not a dog. I am, according to all the books I have read, a wild animal; and one of the problems with being a wild animal is that when something hurts you, you have this built-in reflex to strike back. Which is unfortunate. Because it makes having knotted fur combed out not only a painful experience for me, but for them too. They inadvertently hurt me – so I lash out and hurt one of them. All very distressing, not to mention being seriously, politically incorrect.To me this was an unsurmountable problem. For them there is no such thing. Onto the Intertwit they went, from where they obtained a set of feline wellie boots (see my new picture above). These things fit over my feet and claws, and are velcroed into place around my ankles. They are not uncomfortable. They do not remove the hassle of having knots combed out, but they do save me the embarrassment – and them the pain – of having the skin removed from the back of their hands whilst this ritual is under way. There is one snag. These wellie-boots do not cover my teeth. Hence the considerable lump of flesh removed from his thumb, the first time we tried them out. But he’ll learn.Speak soon, kittens.I spoke too soon about holidays. Or lack of. I just learned I have been booked in for my annual cat flu jab. This means I will soon be heading for the dubious pleasure of the cattery, whilst they are off enjoying themselves. Next time around, I am coming back as a person. They may be unbelievably useless, but they know how to have fun.
I have done this quiz on a rainy Saturday afternoonThis is a numbers quiz every question or answer hasa number in it. , it’s very mixed, some are easy andsome a bit harder. NUMBERS QUIZ-- ------------------------NO 1 What is the third largest of the Canary IslandsNo2 What did Edward11, Richard11 and EdwardV111? do when they were all Monarchs NO3 How many sides has 20p piece (no looking)N0 4 What was the name of the oil tanker that went aground in 1956N0 5 Which was the first of the 13 original states in the USAN06 Who wrote the music for the threepenny opera?N07 Under which name was Erich Weiss 1874-1926N08 Who was crowned Holy Roman Emperor in AD800?N09 How many films did James Dean appear in?N010 The names of British Racehorses are limited to how many letters N011 What is the 3rd letter of the Greek Alphabet?N012 In which year did the M1 Motorway Open?N013 How many times did Charlie Chaplin Marry?N014 Which DJ was the first voice on Radio 1?N015 How many counters are on a backgammon game at the start? of playN016 Which pub in Bromley, built in1930 is said to b e the largest? in the countryN017 Which indoor game was invented by British Army Officers in India in 1875N018 1n 1919 which pianist was elected Prime Minister of PolandN019 Which 3 coniferous trees are native to Britain?N020 Which duo has a hit with Would I Lie to You? That's all folks Compiled by D.Parkinson
Winston Grass! If there is any one word that encompasses the tortured mentality of the human psyche, it is the word grass. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? It’s green, has been around since Adam was in short pants, and you eat it when you are feeling pukey to bring up whatever it was you swallowed that you shouldn’t have swallowed in the first place. That’s the stuff. Grass.I was sitting on the doorstep the other day, waiting for my third breakfast, when she arrived. ’About time’ I thought, licking my lips in anticipation. But did she let me into the house and feed me? No, she did not. Instead she made a beeline for something that had caught her eye. Sticking up from between the block paving were two tiny slivers of grass. Barely enough to cure a worm’s belly ache. But like an eagle she swooped down, gripped the offending plant between finger and thumb and pulled it kicking and screaming, from the sand.Now come on! This is grass, right? Wherever there is open ground, gaps between stones or cracks in the concrete, grass will appear. It was doing this when people were swinging from trees, and will no doubt still be doing it when there is no one left to play the last post. So, you would think by now they would have learned to live with it, right? Wrong. Because whenever grass tries to raise its head, be it on someone’s garden path or vegetable plot etc. they rip it out, or dose it with poison, as if it could not possibly be allowed to exist in the same universe as them. And yet – and this is the crazy bit – these same people lay down huge swathes of the stuff, all around their houses. Then they meticulously cut it to shape. Encourage it to grow, using all manner of dressings, fertilisers, and other magic potions. And then, and I kid you not, when the poor grass has dutifully ingested all this chemic and grown as high as a kite (which it would, wouldn’t it?) they attack it with their noisy machines, and cut it back down again.Where is the logic in this? I mean, if I had a garden (which I don’t, because the concept is totally alien to me) but if I did have one, and objected to the said garden being covered in tall grass, why would I be stupid enough to plant the stuff there in the first place? Why not just cover the ground with green paint? They are keen enough to cover everything else with paint. Honestly, I despair.Speak soon kittens.They gave me some of their fish the other day. I ignored it. If they think I’m going to eat their leftovers, they can think again. Do I expect them to eat mine?
Winston Let me state plainly, forcefully, categorically, and any other word that ends with ly and fits the narrative, that it was not my idea to parade all over the interweb the other Sunday morning, wearing that ridiculous pointy hat. Can you believe these people? I let them into my house. Award them privileges like stroking me, feeding me, and caring for me. I work 24/7 to keep vermin down –have you ever seen a rat within fifty yards of this bungalow? A mouse? – no you have not! Then there I am having a quiet nap, after the Rev Gill’s online spot, and what do they do? They wake me up, stick that stupid hat on my head, and display me in front of the camera like some poncey poodle. Honestly, I have never been so embarrassed in my life! If they ever do that again they are history! The pair of them! I have reported them to the authorities, of course. Strongly worded letters have gone out to the RSPCA, and the Cats Protection Society. I have also sent a written letter of complaint to the Albino Squirrel Preservation Society – just to give them something to open. I mean, how much correspondence are they likely to get on any given day? And it must be so boring just sitting there, waiting for someone to abuse a white albino squirrel. Talking squirrels, we get them here, of course, in the garden. Not the white albino type. More your ratty grey variety. When I was young, I used to chase them. It was great fun. They are so quick and so agile, and they give you a great run for your money. I actually caught one once. He sank his teeth into my neck (have you seen those teeth? Who the hell needs teeth that size?) What a mess he made. I didn’t know I had so much blood in me? When I came out of hospital, I decided that the pain of catching squirrels tended to outweigh the pleasure of chasing them. So I gave it up. Switched to birds. Little ones, of course – some of those big ones are so scary they must be on steroids.They’ve been talking the D-word again. Caught them watching a compilation of Crufts memorable moments, the other night. Personally, I’d rather sit and watch paint dry, but that’s just me. We used to have a dog (pardon my French). Jack, he was called. He was alright as dogs go, but then I had him well trained. I expect they’ll bring another one home before too long. I just hope they don’t expect me to be happy about it. I have my image to think about.Speak soon, kittens.I notice he’s got the water feature up and running again, in the garden. We must be having visitors. Not seen any of those around for a while.
