Lonesome pterodactyl

Another pterodactyl is missing.....

Esther was scooped up into my basket never to be seen again. Where is she? The Chief minion has been sad since she returned with the empty basket. The remaining pterodactyl has been spoilt today, being fed fresh cucumber and radish all chopped up on a wooden board. I think she is secretly pleased that she didn't have to share it with Esther. I'm not getting in that basket - never, never, never. So far I have always returned safe and sound from the v-e-t but I'm not chancing it again. Wherever the pterodactyls have gone I don't want to join them, I like it here with my minion and Jasper (even if he does get right on my frill occasionally). Next time I see that basket the fight is on.....

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...

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...