Francis Goes For a Swim
Today was a gloriously sunny early summer afternoon here in deepest rural Norfolk. The sun shone, there was a light breeze and the garden looked distinctly overgrown. Especially the long grass on the banks of the
stream. Serious jungle down there, so Vernon and I donned the gardening clothes and went out to attack the undergrowth.
It was the sort of day the cats love to be out in the garden. Playing "Pounce on the hoomin" out of the long grass and the flowerbeds. As an unsuspecting human chances by, a feline leaps out, flying through the air, all four legs splayed wide trying its best to look
scary and give the unsuspecting "hoomin" a heart attack as this feline fright vision flies by several feet in the air in front of you. This is a favourite game of Francis, who, when the mood takes him, reverts to kittenhood. He zooms around the garden at ninety miles an hour before making a leap at the trunk of the willow tree and lands, hugging the tree about five feet off the ground, in best "eco-warrior" fashion.
Today was the day Vernon got his revenge on Francis for all of the times Francis has leapt out of the undergrowth at Vernon.
Francis was sat in what remained of the long grass on the banks of the stream. He was facing the water, eyes closed, soaking up the rays of the sun. Vernon quietly, quietly sneaked up behind him. Francis was oblivious
to Vernon, as he was engrossed in mellowing out in the sun. Vernon was about six inches behind Francis and said, "Hello Francis!" Ever seen a cat wake up in a nanosecond, leap six feet into the air and land in the stream amongst the trout? Who said travelling faster than the speed of light is impossible? Vernon and I just fell about laughing as Francis scrabbled back up the bank of the stream, not a shred of feline dignity left to him.
Francis looked at us with the "cat look of death" and proceeded to take up the "If in doubt, groom" position and licked his hurt pride. It was, I'm pleased to say, the only thing that was hurt, as the stream is only 12 inches deep at that point.
Vernon and I are now waiting to find out what revenge is going to be exacted on the "hoomins" for daring to laugh at him.
June 4, 2000 - All rights reserved.
What is it About Cat Innards...
... that allows them to produce
huge quantities of concentrated rocket fuel with an aroma that can be classified as an agent of biological warfare???? Dear Lord, Emma Cat
looks so sweet. She
looks angelic, she
is a very good cat mother. She has a
glorious purr that is melodious. Yet her rear end produces vast quantities of stuff that is
malodorous in the extreme!
I was in the library tonight, spending time with Emma and the kittens. I'd given Schroedinger his feed, seen to his peeing requirements, given all a cuddle and a fussing over and Nathan had filled Emma's bowl with delicious
food, which she happily tucked into. Then she had a break - a
wind break. This was quickly followed by a visit to the litter tray, which produced something so foul and so evil, that I'm sure it is wanted by scientists to develop as a new weapon.
Nathan exited the library, coughing and spluttering, and gasping for breath, whilst trying to stop his eyes streaming from the poison in the air that was rapidly entering his body. His lack of concern for his suffocating mother, who was, by now, retching on the library floor, was less than touching to behold. Remind me never to be on a sinking ship with him... The next thing I knew, through the fog that was my rapidly disappearing vision was Nathan's hand holding a plastic bag. I thought he was giving it to me so I could
stick my head in it to have blessed release from the fumes overwhelming me, but I heard a strangled cry of, "Get rid of that stuff NOW, Mum,
please!"
I managed to hold my breath whilst I deposited said offering of Emma Cat in the bag and promptly handed it to Nathan, gasping, "Now
you bin it!" Once the offering was gone and what was left was a lingering scent in the air, I managed to open the window to have some fresh air wafted in. I stood with
my nose next to the open window and breathed
deeply.
All the while this was going on, the kittens gambolled about the library floor, quite unperturbed by the proceedings. I want to have their immunity to the adverse effects of the smell of cat bowel movements!
To recover I sat on a chair and little Schroedinger climbed up my leg on to my lap, then climbed up the ample bosoms and stuck his head under my chin and purred. I think he felt sorry for me.
September 9, 2000 - All rights reserved.
Waffles, RCN
Yesterday my son, Nathan, was sent home from school as he had a very upset tummy. Drove home from school with him sticking his head out of the window, decorating the paintwork of the car with recycled breakfast...
Last night, Waffles went into best RCN mode. She spent the night snuggling Nathan, on duty as a Registered Cat Nurse, curled up next to Nathan, on his [illow. She was "guarding" him too, as she was watching the bedroom door the entire night. As I walked past, two green eyes were staring out of the dark. As a result of her TLC, Nathan woke this morning, fighting fit and raring to go.
Love that cat!
December 2, 2000 - All rights reserved.
Mission Impossible
This morning I got a call from a neighbour in the village who was having problems with the Internet, so I agreed to go over and help him if I could.
I got the car out of the garage and Francis decided to sit on the bonnet of the car at that particular instant. So I "shooed" him off the car, telling him that he could sit on the bonnet on my return, when the engine was nice and warm, so he could warm his bits. This is a favourite occupation of all three Simmons' moggies - the cats sit on a warm car bonnet in the sun, soaking up the rays and warming the nether regions at the same time. It also explains why my nice white car has a semi-permanent pattern of cats' paws tracking all over it in a delicate shade of dirt gray...
Anyhow, Francis was duly "shooed" off the car and I got in and drove off along the driveway and turned out on to the road through the village. I had gone about 300 yards when I heard a pathetic "Me-ow!" The noise came from the direction of the back window and I looked in the rear view mirror. To my utter and complete horror, I saw Francis hanging on to the rear wash-wipe! Good God! He had jumped back on to the car as I got in and I hadn't seen this! He looked all the world like a feline Tom Cruise hanging on to a vehicle determined to stop the baddie getting away.
Thankfully, the road through the village is quiet - particularly on a Sunday morning, so there was nothing else on the road in terms of vehicles. So I slowly and gently brought the car to a halt at the side of the road and got out to rescue Francis &qupt;call me Tom - I do my own stunts - Cruise" from the rear wash wipe. Said moggie looked at me as if to say, "You got a problem with me being here?" as I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and put him
inside the car. I then turned round and drove home with Francis on the front passenger seat happily gazing out of the side window.
When I pulled back into Chateau Simmons' Francis rolled over on the passenger seat, purred and bared his belly in order for it to be rubbed. I, on the other hand, staggered back into the house, scared stiff of
what might have happened and needed to lie down in a darkened room for half-an-hour.
Mind you, I saw Waffles on the front step, lounging in a director's chair, meowing "CUT!" to Marble who was carrying a cat sized film camera on his shoulder...
January 29, 2001 - All rights reserved.
This Time He Goes Too Far
Francis is a real character. This time he's gone too far... Francis has an annoying habit. He bites cardboard and paper. He doesn't actually eat it, but if he sees a cardboard box, for example, he will start biting bits off it and spitting them out. If you imagine how a shoal of piranha can strip a man to the bone in 30 seconds..... Francis has the same effect on cardboard boxes, reducing them to a pile of cat bite sized pieces
in a matter of minutes.
On the top of a filing cabinet in the office, is an archive box which contains various important documents, such as bank statements. Unknown to either Vernon or I, sometime over the last few days, Francis has got into
said box and shredded
everything in there. Sigh...... My bank statements and tax returns are reduced to a slightly damp heap of bite sized chunks.
January 30, 2001 - All rights reserved.
Stand-off at the OK Catflap
Picture it...
In my kitchen, there's a catflap in the door between the kitchen and the utility room. The cat food, water bowls, etc. are all in the utility room. The cats have unlimited access to and fro via the catflap. Problem, one door, one cat flap, three cats. It's showdown time.
Waffles, Queen Of All She Surveys, Annie Oakley Is A Wimp Compared To This Feline, is guarding the catflap on the kitchen side. On the other side is Francis, Really I'll Go Quietly Just Don't Hurt Me, Wimp Of The Century.
The sound of "The good the bad and the ugly" is in the air. It's the OK catflap stand-off.
It's claws drawn at ten paces...
Francis put one paw through the cat flap. Mistake. Big mistake.
Waffles immediately drew all claws, all glinting like polished razors in the light. Fangs bared. Waffles immediately fluffed up to three times her size, with the fur on her spine sticking up vertically from her back, and all the fur on her tail sticking out, so she resembled a demented bottle brush.
Marble came running out from under the kitchen table, wearing an undertaker's hat and carrying a tape measure. He zoomed through the cat flap and measured up Francis for a coffin in less than ten seconds. Marble then zoomed back through the cat flap, nodding to Waffles as he went by and began to build a Francis sized coffin under the kitchen table. Funnily enough it bore a strange resemblance to those wooden pencil cases so beloved of woodwork teachers in the 1970's...
The western music grew louder. Francis put his head through the cat flap. Even bigger mistake. Waffles pounced, all claws and fangs in deadly co-ordination. Poor Francis - he lived, but he is minus a few whiskers and he looks a tad dishevelled.
Waffles blew the smoke from the end of her claws and wandered off into the sunset of the living room to take pride of place curled up on
the warm spot under the radiator.
Tuff Girl Cats rool, Wimpy Boy Cats drool.
March 8, 2001 - All rights reserved.
Mothers' Day Tomorrow and I've Got my Presents Already...
Here in the UK, tomorrow is Mothers' Day.
This morning Vernon and Nathan went out shopping and came back with lovely things for me. Some pink, long stemmed roses (my favourite colour rose), some chocolates, a bottle of bubbly to have tomorrow and also a new CD. Lucky me! Vernon has also promised to cook Sunday lunch!
Not to be left out, Waffles has got me an early Mother's Day present too. She was out and about in the back garden and when I popped my head out of the lounge window, she came running to me, carrying my present. She jumped up and came in the open window and dropped my present in my hand immediately - a nice fat, freshly killed shrew. What more could any feline "Meowmie" ask for!
Of course I told her what a clever lady cat she is, and proceeded to give her lots of ear scritches and we exchanged purrs and headrubs. She purred contentedly as I made the scarifical offering of the gift to the altar of Bast (the kitchen waste bin).
March 24, 2001 - All rights reserved.
Vernon's Present
Today is my best beloved's birthday. He's 29 (and a bit) today.
The cats have, of course, got their "Paw" a "Purrday" present. They have got him some chocolate mousies and frogs, all gift wrapped in a golden box, from Digby's of Holt. Digby's produces the most wonderful chocolates - quite scrummy.
In addition, Paw got another present this morning - a
fresh one - a
damp one. What was this wonderful gift? Was it a shrew, as I got for a Mothers' Day present? No. Was it a mousie or a vole or even a rat?
No.
So what was this delightful fresh and damp present?
It was a steaming pile of fresh cat vomit.
Don't I have such caring felines!
March 27, 2001 - All rights reserved.
