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......