Frill exposure

It is well known that thousands of years ago cats were worshipped as gods. I have not forgotten this. In my quest to find a minion worthy of caring for my every need, I sought out one that venerated not only the feline species but the highest caste within said species - the Ginger.

Since choosing her as my minion seven years ago we have formed a strong bond, she as my disciple and I am her familiar. The Chief MInion is diligent in her duties, she will do even the less pleasant tasks without complaint (litter tray cleaning, removal of vomited hair balls and, when I was ill - bottom cleaning with warm moist toilet paper). She is kind, caring, attentive and loving at all times but, oh my goodness, she is not very intelligent. 

When relaxing on my pouffe, and this is something all cats do, I can reach a state of near nirvana, a blissful zen like experience where I am chilled out without a care in the world. I roll onto my back exposing my magnificent frill and revel in the warmth and safety I feel in my chosen home. The Chief Minion gets very excited when I do this and often comes to worship at the frill altar. She calls me her 'cuddly teddy bear' and gently kisses my head. I put up with display of affection as it seems to be important to the minion to express her love in this way.  Not content with this the minion will start stroking my exposed white bib and chest and then working her way down to the frill. Mine is rather splendid, even if I say so myself. Our cousins, the lions, have their awesome manes and I have my frill of epic proportions. Her hand strokes the baby soft fur as she coos endearments however, the frill is extremely sensitive. It is very near my tom bits and, as every male knows, these need to be protected at all times. I allow her a few strokes hoping she will stop, but no. She never learns. Always one stroke to many and I have to teach her a lesson (again). In an instant all twenty claws unsheath and my four limbs enclose around her hand, like a ginger Venus Flytrap her hand is caught in a terrifying vice like grip of fur, claws and fangs. Her reflexes are fast, but not fast enough. I manage to get my fangs into  her soft flesh just before she snatches her hand away, moaning and complaining before sloping off to attend to her wounds. I resume my nap immediately, mulling over the fact that this happens everytime the frill is revealed.

Pigeons learn faster than her.

Good vibrations

One of my favourite places for a nap is on the pouffe. It's just the right distance from the fire and I can survey the garden for intruders and any unfortunate prey that may dare to trespass on my territory. It has a soft woolly covering that I have coated in my fur and alluring aroma. The Chief Minion often leaves her detritus strewn carelessly on my coveted spot which gets on my frill. However, this doesn't deter me from sneaking 40 winks if required. Last night, I had settled myself on top of a couple of opened letters delivered that morning, the square plastic things she wears on her eyes and the small plastic box that she spends a lot of time talking to and prodding with her finger. The Chief Minion was upstairs zipping herself into the strange faux giraffe fur she seems to like wearing in the evening when something strange happened. My frill started to vibrate. This was highly unusual and strangely unsettling (but bizarrely not unpleasant). My ears pressed themselves flat against my head in alarm and then I heard........frogs........croaking. I cast my mind back to what I had done that day - nope, I definitely have not been on the catnip so I double check that I am not dreaming. I look down. The frill was shaking, all the fur moving and rippling like a field of wheat caught in the wind. The Chief Minion pranced down the stairs and groped beneath my frill - how rude!! Her hand grasped the small plastic box, she jabs at it with her pointy digit and lifted it to her ear.

I heard her say 'hello?'...

Cheeky mare

I am dozing in a comfy nest of weeds by the myriad of recycling containers (why so many are needed is quite unfathomable to me) as the Chief Minion returns home. Her eyes light up as she sees me lolling in the grass and she bends to stroke my head and give my ears a ruffle. I follow her into the house and watch with interest as she unpacks her shopping. Things are put away in the cold cupboard and then she holds aloft a packet or sachet of food. It's new she tells me, marketed as "cheeky chunks in gravy". The contents are decanted into my special bowl and served. I creep towards it, uncertain. The aroma is meaty, i sniff the air, breathing in the piquant scent of....now, let me think....yes.... It is pterodactyl in some sort of sauce. I edge closer to the bowl, my neck extended about three inches longer than usual as I approach this diversion from the standard menu with caution. I look at the offering - the chunks are in uniform cubes, obviously formed by a machine, not like the usual food I have which is presented in delicious meaty strips, coated in a broth mixed with wild rice. I sit and look at the Chief Minion. She's got to be joking - I can't eat this inferior slop. I stalk away in disgust and vent my displeasure on the corner of the sofa, my claws rasping through the pile on the fabric, so satisfying.

Later, when she is putting the pterodactyls to bed I slope into the kitchen hoping that something else has materialised from the cupboard of delights. No such luck. I watch as she coaxes Marni and Esther into the run - I quickly lick all the gravy from the chunks of meat and dash back to the pouffe to lie down. I hope for the posh nosh in the morning.

Rise of the pterodactyls

I hate pigeons. Everything about them annoys me; the way their heads bob as they walk, their beady eyes and the fact that two of them have the cheek to come into my territory and eat the pterodactyls food. Morning and evening, come rain or shine there they are. Scoffing. Greedy blighters. It really gets on my frill and I curse out loud to vent my displeasure through the patio doors. My language is not pretty as I swear and curse, my whiskers twitching rapidly and my claws unsheath involuntarily.

There are only two pterodactyls now, one black and one brown known as Marni and Esther. They hate the pigeons too and often chase them away from the food trough, their large ungainly bodies wobbling on spindly legs with gigantic talons churning up the earth as they move. The pigeons are always one step ahead and take flight to the safety of the trees behind the garden. They wait patiently until the pterodactyls are otherwise occupied pecking and scratching in part of their enclosure away from the food before returning to the free feast.

I am lounging on the pouffe having a well deserved 40 winks when, out of the corner of my eye I see a fast moving black object in the garden. It's Marni, she is galloping towards the food trough where the two greedy pigeons are filling their beaks, scattering the grain onto the floor to make it easier to peck. One pigeon looks up and takes flight, sounding the alarm to the other, more gormless one of the pair. As it turns it must only be able to see the formidable form of Marni bearing down on her prey, wings flapping and beak open emitting hostile clucks. There is suddenly a cacophony of shrieking pigeon and triumphant pterodactyl cries as Marni seizes the small grey body; feathers fly into the air as both beak and talons engage with the target. After what seems like an age but was perhaps only five seconds the pigeon manages to take to the air, a few small feathers floating down, its tail all ragged and it flies to the safety of the tree and its waiting mate.

Oh how I laughed...

Nap time

After our Ginger studies session I return home for a well deserved siesta. I hoover up a few delicious meaty biscuits on my way to choose the best spot for an afternoon nap. I have several favourites based on the following criteria:

Sun

If there is a sliver of sun coming through the window I will lie in it… until I get too hot. I will then lie outstretched on the cool laminate floor with the frill fully exposed in all its glory. This allows the air to circulate freely, ruffle my fur and reach the optimum amount of skin allowing me to reduce my temperature to a comfortable level.

Fire

This is as unpredictable as the sun. Sometimes it’s there, sometimes not. Again, I will lie on the pouffe in front of the toasty flames until I get too hot. I then repeat the cooling technique as described above.

On or at top of the stairs

I have found that the width of a stair is the same as my girth and accommodates my body very comfortably. I often lie snoozing on the 3^rd or 4^th stair down; a large ginger trip hazard for the Chief Minion to have to suddenly negotiate whilst carrying a pile of her temporary ‘fur’ to put in the noisy cleaning machine in the kitchen.

If I lie at the top the Chief Minion has to take a large step over me thus allowing me easy access to “play” with her ankle as it hovers temptingly above my head. This usually elicits a shriek as my unsheathed claws hook into any fur she is wearing, (or an even louder protest if she is furless).

In the wardrobe

I scratch at the antique wardrobe door until it opens and then slink in between the hanging fur belonging to the Chief Minion. It smells of her and I find it oddly comforting and soothing even though I have to sleep on top of her many, many shoe boxes.

On the chaise lounge

This is a prime position to keep one eye out for intruders that may enter my territory. Especially pigeons… I hate them.

Under the bed

This is my cat cave. I do all my important musing here.

In the garden trough

In the summer the Chief Minion makes me a lovely, soft bed of colourful flowers in a stone trough. It is at the back near the fence and is an excellent sun trap. I trample all the pretty plants so they are flat and comfortable to lie on and can easily while away a whole afternoon snoozing here.

I like napping don’t I.

Bed wars

The Chief Minion was up late this morning. She wasn't happy last night   - we were up late which is unusual and she had laid out a little banquet of cheese and mini cheddars (I am fond of both these delights) and some foul smelling liquid that looked like water but had bubbles and smelled vaguely of cucumbers. She refers to this as her naughty tipple -gin and tonic. I would never drink it -smells like poison to my sensitive nose. I stared longingly at her until she broke a bit off a cheddar and put it in front of me to scoff. She then moaned and groaned at the moving pictures of tiny men in shorts moving a ball with their feet. Most strange. Anyway, after releasing the pterodactyls and serving my breakfast she scuttles back to her nest with a cup of tea - I follow and nestle in my spot on the bed. She has tried many times to make me sleep on the inferior side of the bed but I'm not having any of it. My side is nearest the door for ease of access and also near my glass of water which is on the floor by the door (the floor!!). This makes me laugh because what she doesn't know is that I regularly climb on the nightstand and gently lap the water from her posh glass that is kept near the light and the talking box that starts early in the morning most days. Sometimes she will move me to the other side but I immediately claw my way back and squash my body in whatever space is available on the right side. I stay here squashed on a sliver of bed until eventually she gives in, she moves to the inferior side with a sigh and I'm back in the best spot. I stretch out all my limbs and make sure the frill is hanging loose. Time for a power nap I think...

Mammoth moggy at Battersea

Feeling quite svelte today…

http://www.bbc.co.uk/newsbeat/27793775

My basket is placed on the table and the grill is opened. The Chief Minion encourages me to come out – nope, not on your nelly. I squash myself at the far end and wait ready to bite any hapless hands that may be inserted inside my refuge. Eventually the basket is upended and I slide onto the table, my paws leaving sweaty prints on the shiny black surface. The V-E-T strokes my back whilst they chat inanely amongst themselves. I hear the words diet – dreamies – faeces encrusted anus – sore bottom among others.  I take a moment to survey the room; it looks familiar with lots of equipment and has a strange, medicinal smell. I am scooped up and carried over to a metal tray – the V-E-T is pretending to not be able to carry me inferring that I am perhaps over my ideal weight. They both laugh but the Chief Minion looks on anxiously as my weight is recorded, 7.2kg – same as last time and she looks relieved. I have not had any Dreamies for months now, I feel as though I am practically fading away without my quota of delicious treats. He holds my head firmly and peels my lips back to look at my teeth, I show him my fangs – all three of them but I am unable to put them to much use as he has me in a vice-like headlock. He moves away and picks up a long, pencil shaped object from the side. Without as much as a by your leave this is inserted where the sun don’t shine – how rude!! The Chief Minion looks slightly embarrassed on my behalf and gives me a kiss on my temple telling me what a good boy I am; I repay her with a venomous spit. I am most unimpressed so far and I eye the door hoping for it all to be over as soon as possible. I hear a kerfuffle behind me and something sharp sticks in neck – luckily I have a most impressive scruff, almost lion-like so I am not unduly perturbed by this and the V-E-T gives me a ruffle looking pleased with himself. The basket appears and I dive in, the door is placed back on and we head out into the waiting room. Whilst the Chief Minion pays I survey the other poor creatures who must be waiting to see the V-E-T. A snooty grey Persian looks beseechingly at me and I give her a sympathetic chirrup for encouragement whilst all the stupid dogs bounce around looking gormless. Canines are a far inferior species. Relieve washes over me when we get home and I prance my way to the kitchen, sitting by my dining table – surely now I will be served my tea. I yowl loudly as the dish is presented – TUNA, a rare treat indeed, almost makes going to the V-E-T worth it (but don’t tell the Chief Minion I said that)…

Caught unawares

I am basking in the late afternoon sunshine sprawled across the bench in the front garden. I often lie here and wait for the Chief Minion to return home ready to start her duties, these are many but one of the most important is feeding me my tea. High tea is richly anticipated, I mostly start asking to be served my meal before she has even had time to remove her coat. I let out small plaintive mews, winding my body around her legs, my tail bent into the feline greeting shaped like a walking stick at the top. The mewing slowly becomes louder the longer she takes, each meow sounding more pitiful than the last as I paw at the cupboard of delights until the tasty meal is served on my dining table.

Tonight something is different. Food is not forthcoming.

I ponder on this turn of events as I stare through the patio doors at the two remaining pterodactyls.

Suddenly I am grabbed from behind, my chest is squeezed forcing the air in my lungs to be expelled with a sigh. I quickly appraise the situation – I am being carried towards the basket that was left in the corner of the room after Gloria’s mysterious disappearance. I immediately unsheathe my claws and make like a surf board – my whole body rigid and unyielding. Much wrestling ensues; unkind words are said on both sides until she manages to pin my front paws together and shove me unceremoniously head first into the plastic basket. She quickly fastens the grill on the front with a triumphant look on her face before inspecting her arms and hands for bleeding wounds. She then says the dreaded words that sometimes turn my bowels to water – we are going to the V-E-T. My basket is bundled into the car and we set off. I am not happy. I let out long protracted howls, each one getting longer as I take deeper breaths to vent my displeasure. The Chief Minion is looking all red and sweaty – seems to me that she should be seeking medical advice for herself rather than inflicting it on me. I push at the grill with my forehead, the four catches bend and strain but hold fast – there is no escape. We arrive and we enter the waiting room which smells of wee and disinfectant. The Chief Minion sits down and turns the basket to face her. She looks at me lovingly and pokes her fingers through the mesh to stroke my chin, I stare back malevolently, carefully biding my time before sinking my one remaining top fang into her index finger causing her to retract her digit sharply, cursing me. That’ll teach her. The door slowly opens and I hear my name being called. Maximus Maxipuss, you can go in now…

One of our dinosaurs is missing

I think I am unique amongst the local felines to have three dinosaurs living in my territory. The Chief Minion brought them here in my basket a few years ago, where she got them from I do not know. They have an orange house and a fenced area in which to roam during daylight. They are very strange creatures indeed, they scratch in the dirt and have wings but they do not fly. Most days they make a clucking sound and an misshapen orb appears from their rear end - the Chief Minion collects these with the utmost care, carrying the orbs as if prized possessions into the kitchen where she keeps them in the cold cupboard. I am perplexed by this behaviour; when I leave her the occasional treat from my rear end there is much tutting and it is hastily scooped into a bag and taken outside, a distasteful look on her face, never to be seen again.

The Chief Minion is anxious, one of the pterodactyl-esque creatures named Gloria is looking unwell. She returns to the house and reappears with my basket. PANIC! I'm not going to the V-E-T, no way, no more poking about in my nether regions, absolutely not. I skulk behind the hedgehog house and observe. Relieve washes over me, It appears the basket is not for me, the pterodactyl is kissed and gently placed inside. The other dinosaurs are squawking and the Chief Minion soothes them by stroking and scattering grain for them to peck. She leaves carrying the basket...

I hear the Chief Minion return. I greet her in the hall and she gives me a ruffle behind the ear placing the basket down near me. I look in the basket, it is empty. The Chief Minion is making herself a cup of tea, I hear a small sob. She is sad. She carries her tea and plops onto the sofa, I jump up and butt my head against hers, tears fall onto my whiskers, captured there shining, like small drops of dew. I push myself onto her lap, purring loudly and kneading that lovely soft jumper of hers. She strokes my back and becomes calmer, I'm pleased, a good job done.

It appears that Gloria has gone to the big Jurassic Park in the sky...

Jedi Gingers

His pace slows as we lock eyes across the cul-de-sac. He appeared around 18 months ago, a poor excuse of a ging-er,  the runt of the litter I imagine, scrawny, all bones and no frill to speak of. He lives with his two minions in the house opposite. His abode is inferior as it lacks the door of plastic so he has to summon his minions by mewing to open their flap so he can enter and exit. Most inconvenient. Sometimes his minions refuse to do his bidding and he has to hide under the rabbit hutch in the rain waiting...  I on the other paw can curl up on the soft comfy cream sofa; leaving a tell tale trail of muddy prints in my wake from flap to blanket for the Chief Minion to tut about and wipe away when she arrives home.

I do not know why the one known as Jasper (aka Jazzer) has been sent but I feel it is my duty to instruct him into the ways of the Ginger and uphold our fine traditions of not being as other, inferior felines such as the tabby or, a black and whitey (oh, the horror)...

My unexpected incarceration has left Jazzer behind in his studies and we have much to do today.  I am Yoda to his Luke. I call him and he slopes towards me, his head bowed in reverence and respect. I turn and the 'Phantom Menace' follows me at the required three paces behind as we head to the tunnel under the road that leads to the dark side...

May the force be with us.

Through the flap

I fill my frill to capacity with the posh nosh, licking the bowl clean as it travels across the kitchen floor, scraping along the tiled floor before finally coming to rest butted up against the fridge. After a few laps of water I move away from the dining table into the hallway and give myself a quick wash and brush up. I need to look my best before venturing outside.

I move to the door and peer through the clear perspex flap - that pesky young upstart Jazzer better not be waiting outside for me. I nudge the door with my nose and push my front paws through the flap. I am concerned that the door seems to be inexplicably shrinking each time I use it, it used to be be much bigger when the Chief Minion first installed it. My shoulders are out and I drag the rest of my body through the narrow opening - my sides constricting as I force my rotund torso through the tunnel. Finally I'm out, the door closes softly on my lingering tail and I give it a flourish to set it free. I glance around quickly to make sure that my undignified exit hasn't been observed.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of orange, I turn and see a skinny, boney body sloping towards me. It's that little runt Jazzer... 

The hunger games

I give the Chief Minion a doleful look. The plan is working, her face registers concern and she pauses for a moment, her hand on her hip. She turns and rummages in the cupboard of delights, looking triumphant she opens another pouch.

Another favourite,  Applaws tuna with cheese is decanted into a small bowl. She walks towards me making encouraging sounds and proffers the delicious morsels for my perusal. I want the food very much. She gently nudges me towards the gourmet spread but I sit tight, unmoving. I watch in horror as a large globule of saliva falls from my mouth, it seems to travel in slow motion and then explodes as it makes contact with the floor, the stain of shame spreads on the laminate wood - my wanting revealed in all it's glory.

The hunger strike is over.

In my defence, it did last for at least 5 minutes.

Non nom nom..........

Homeward bound

The Chief Minion spoke in soothing tones as we journeyed home. I stared resolutely the other way, thinking of my love left behind, all alone in the catprisonery. I will never feel the tickle from those magnificent whiskers again as I did when we touched our cold wet noses through the mesh.

The Chief Minion looks the same but different. I study her for a moment, she needs a jolly good lick all over it seems. Her furless skin is a darker colour and appears to be coming off in some places, maybe she has contracted leprosy on her far flung travels. I hope she gets better soon, she is the main food supply source although I do have a back up supplier through the tunnel under the road on the other housing estate.

We arrive home. My box is open so I stroll out and immediately set about rubbing my scent on the sofa, I need to make sure that everything is marked as mine. The Chief Minion clatters in the kitchen delivering biscuits and water to my dining table. She dishes up one of my favourites, Applaws chicken with wild rice - I am torn, I want to guzzle it down as the food in the catprisonery was of a most inferior standard but I sit away from the plate, aloof. I need to register my dissatisfaction at my latest incarceration which has been much longer than the last time. 

The hunger strike commences......