Parish Church of St Ann, Belfield

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.

Parish Church of St Ann, Belfield

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