Well, I Know My Place...
Well, a certain Psycho Cat From Hell, a.k.a. Meowseur Herk Yewl Purroit, the famous Cat Defektif, I mean Detective, a.k.a. Marble...makes sure I know my place.
In our downstairs loo, there is a wash hand basin next to it. The cats find a strategically placed human shoulder whilst the human is sitting performing what comes naturally, is an ideal launch pad to leap on to the wash hand basin, have the human turn the tap on and the feline can take a drink of fresh tap water...
.
Well, I was in there the other day when a small stripey paw worked its way around the door, quickly followed by the rest of Marble. Marble duly clawed, I mean climbed up my back (all the while I'm doing something, well,
basic out my rear end) and sat on my shoulder. Marble then leapt over on to the wash hand basin. Well, all I can say is that turning on the water tap was not my highest priority at this stage. I'd eaten a very spicy
curry the night before and the effects were being felt, so to speak...
Marble looked at me whilst I was making groaning noises, feeling as if I was about to die. This did not bother Marble - he wanted the tap turned on for a drink. So Marble leapt back on to my shoulder and proceeded to
slap me about the head with his paw. He leapt to the sink - I continued groaning at my terminal Delhi Belly Syndrome and didn't take the hint about the tap. Marble leapt back on to my shoulder and resumed batting me about the head with his paw.
This time I took the hint and turned the tap on for him, whereupon Marble jumped off my shoulder and started drinking from the tap.
Finally, I was left alone to resume moaning about the after effects of a very spicy curry on my innards. I know my place.
February 3, 2000 - All rights reserved.
A Misunderstanding...
The grounds of Chateau Simmons have a problem...
The garden is being disfigured. A mole is running rampant underground and as a result the surface of the lawn resembles a cross between the surface of the moon and the Himalayas with molehills appearing by the minute.
This morning is a
glorious Spring morning in deepest rural Norfolk and the cats couldn't wait to get out into the sunshine. As I let them out, I said to Francis, "Go earn your keep, my boy, and fetch me that mole. Dead or alive, there's a reward - cat crunchies - all you can eat!" Francis zoomed off in best bounty hunter mode.
Half an hour later I'm out in the garden watering the potted plants and I spotted Francis taking an intense interest in a clump of grass on the bank of the stream. I wandered over and said, "What's that, Francis, got the mole?" Next thing I know Francis pounces into the undergrowth, lots of squeaking goes on and Francis emerges into the sunlight, jaws wrapped around...a vole, a water vole.
"No!" I shouted. "Leave that alone! Wrong animal! Water voles are
nice! I said
MOLE not
VOLE!"
Francis ignored me and looked very pleased with himself.
"Give the nice vole to Mummy, Francis."
Francis looked on in disgust and ran off under the conifers, still clasping the water vole in his jaws. I then did my eclipse-forming manoeuvre by bending over (thus obliterating the sun from view), and crawled under after him. I managed to scruff Francis and he dropped the vole into my free hand. Sadly, at this point the vole gasped its last breath and expired.
I then gave the vole a sort of Viking send-off by returning him to the stream. He floated off to be eaten by the first pike that sees him float by. As I did this, Francis sat by me on the bank of the stream and I
swear his face said, "What a waste of good food." I then returned indoors to get on with some work at the computer. Five minutes later I hear Nathan say, "Mummy! Francis has another one!" So I go out and there on my kitchen floor is the very same vole whose funeral rite (Viking style) had been uttered only a few minutes before.
Seems Francis was intent on performing his task of the day. Pity his hearing isn't what it should be. Meanwhile underground, a mole chortles and gets on with his task of reducing my lawn to an accurate copy of the surface of the moon.
April 7, 2000 - All rights reserved.
Guilty Conscience
I was at the kitchen sink, looking out over the back garden from behind all of the pot plants on my kitchen windowsill. The work of a woman is never done - I was slaving away, cleaning the dishes and bemoaning my lot.
My view beyond the potted plants is the lawn, with one of the weeping willow trees at the end of the garden and beyond that, my neighbour's paddock and then the fields of the local farms. It makes doing the dishes less of a chore being able to look out over my little bit of heaven on earth.
High up in the weeping willow I have a bird feeder, full of peanuts. It's high enough up so the cats can't pounce and get a bird, but let it not be said that my cats, Marble in particular, are feint-hearted.
A blue tit arrived on the feeder and was helping itself to the nuts therein. Marble was in the long grass at the base of the tree and he pounced up the trunk, landing a long way from the feeder, but he was making the effort. Now, this particular bird had its fair share of brain cells and just hopped further up the tree, out of harm's way and crapped on Marble's head. At this point I almost peed myself laughing.
At the same time as the blue tit let Marble know of what he thought of him, my voice boomed out through the kitchen window, "Marble! Get down! Leave that bird alone! You're a
bad cat!" If there's one thing I can do, it is shout loudly. My Dad was a sergeant major in the army and I think I've inherited his vocal chords. Needless to say, the effect on the offending feline was instantaneous and Marble dropped like a stone from the tree trunk. He looked somewhat abashed and started looking around for the "hoomin from hell" who was berating him.
He couldn't see me. So he leapt up the tree trunk again.
"MARBLE! You BAD cat!" I yelled again.
This was too much for Marble who dropped like a stone once more. He was wide eyed, looking all around but he just could not see where the voice of his conscience was coming from.
He started to walk back to the tree.
"MARBLE!"
That was it, Marble stood still, unmoving. He still hadn't worked out where the voice was coming from. He slowly tucked his tail between his legs and slunk back round to the open back door and came in through the cat flap. Of course I said, "Poor boy! Did that nasty bird crap on you and not let you eat it?" To add insult to injury, I then bathed him free of bird shit.
Once he works out what really happened, he'll probably pee on my duvet.
April 8, 2000 - All rights reserved.
Gone Man, Solid Gone...
Last night as I went off to bed, Marble went through his usual routine of running upstairs after me, meowing all the way and purring at the same time. Very unusual ability as he seems to be able to meow and purr
simultaneously. Every night Marble graciously allows me to occupy a small section of my bed whilst he takes up the vast majority of the space. It doesn't occur to him that as I am considerable larger than he is, I may just need more of the bed. Marble assures me that quality is more important than quantity...
I got into bed and Marble leaped on to the duvet after me. Normally he snuggles down on the duvet at the foot of the bed, but last night, for reasons known only to him he decided to stretch out along side me. You
know cats - they don't think they have to give a reason to vary their hangouts.
I was sat upright in bed with my legs stretched out in front of me under the duvet and Marble was stretched out full length, all four legs extended. He was lying on his side, eyes closed, purring loudly.
I gently got a hold of him by all four paws and picked him up and laid him, stretched out, belly up, on my lap on top of the duvet. Marble decided to get comfortable as I had obviously disturbed him and decided to do this by practising his Cat Zen meditation. Have you ever seen the position cats use to Zen meditate??? Let me explain.
Marble lay on his back, belly up to the ceiling. He lay his head back over my knees so his throat was exposed, mouth half open, eyes rolling up and said throat purrs so loud it vibrates. Front legs are stretched out over the head to expose the feline "armpits" to the world - at least his "pits" smell better than his other end usually does. Back legs are then spread wide apart, stretched out as long as they can be and then hooked up and over so his back paws touch his ears... This allows the belly to be in the most comfortable position for any nearby human to give it a good rubbing
which leads to even louder purrs.
Marble stayed in that position for a good half hour, whilst "Muggins" here did what any human is supposed to do, refrain from lying down and going to sleep after a long hard day at work suffering from yet another off the scale migraine attack until said feline has had his fill of belly rubs to reach Nirvana during meditation.
That cat has me metaphorically dangling off the end of his little claw!
May 17, 2000 - All rights reserved.
Flying Cat...
I sat in the lounge the other day, next to the bay window that overlooks my back garden. I had a splitting migraine and felt awful.
Then I saw it.
Was it a bird?
Was it a plane?
It was faster than a speeding bullet...
It was Waffles the Flying Cat.
Waffles jumped out of my bedroom window, which is first floor above my lunge bay window. She'd spotted a pheasant in the back garden and jumped down onto the lawn to chase it...
Needless to say at the time of her leap I immediately ran out into the garden after her - the pheasant ran away - I don't think she's forgiven me for that. I picked her up and gave her a good check over and she was fine. I'm just thankful she jumped on to a damp and therefore soft lawn.
She's asked me to run her up a little red cape with SC written on it.
May 17, 2000 - All rights reserved.
Psycho Cat Strikes in the Night
you know how i said my cats all had their own personalities?
you know how i said that marble is fondly referred to as "psycho cat from hell"???
well, it's past midnight here in old blighty. i am sitting here typing with one hand - hence the bad spelling and punctuation. in my other hand sits a frog. i heard marble "up to no good" - the sort of scuffle come play sounds that i now instantly recognise as "what's he up to now???" alarm bells being set off...
i wandered into the library and there is marble harrassing the living daylights out of a small green frog. thankfully froggie has enough sense to play dead. he is breathing. marble must have brought him into the house earlier today so he's been in a dry inside for hours. that, or the flash flood of yesterday's thunderstorm was more severe than i first thought... a dry atmosphere is not condusive to amphibian
well-being.
so i have sprinkled some water over froggie and am cradling him in my left palm to slowly warm him up. marble is not going to develop a taste for frog's legs tonight!
aggh.
froggie has warmed up and is starting to wriggle. time to put froggie in a safe inside damp bowl for the night. no way i'm settling him out by the stream tonight - i'll fall in - it's way too dark out there.
froggie says "gribbit." if i give him a book to read, he'll say "reddit."
i'll take him down to the stream tomorrow.
now, where to keep a frog safe overnight from a certain psycho cat...
(sorry for the punctuatin - one handed typing is not my forte.)
"Love us, love ower hoomin..."
May 17, 2000 - All rights reserved.
Cat on a Spring
Whilst Francis was having a swim earlier today, our neighbour, Bill, was cutting down some of the long grass in his field which is directly adjacent to us at one end of the garden. Bill has planted a couple of chestnut tree saplings in there, in memory of certain members of his family, and the saplings are lovingly tended. The field is mainly used to grow grass for hay, and as such, is left to grow quite long before it is cut. The saplings looked as if they were getting swamped, so Bill went out and scythed down a good area around each sapling, so the grass would not take all the nutrients from the soil before the saplings got a chance to get any.
Bill's scything disturbed the many small rodents that live in the field. Cat heaven! Rodents on the run! Marble could not believe his luck and dashed into the field as soon as Bill left. The grass in the field is
about eighteen inches high and just at the height where it starts to move like the sea when the wind ripples across its surface. Hiding in the field was one small tabby cat, known as Psycho Cat From Hell, or Marble for short.
Marble had a whale of a time, he didn't know which way to turn, there were so many little voles and shrews running about. Every few seconds, a flying cat would appear above the grass. He seemed to keep going across the field, just like a slinky spring keeps going - boing, boing, boing, across the field. Reminded me of another striped cat, one that sings a song. "The wonderful thing about Tiggers... Their tops are made out of rubber, their bottoms are made out of springs..."
Marble was out there for
hours just having fun being a "Tigger".
June 4, 2000 - All rights reserved.
