Treacle's diary. Extracts from the blog of a feline secret agent.
| Friday, July 31. 15.00 - 17.00 hours | |
| Hunter-Gatherers | |
| Let's face it. Humans are rotten hunters. Have you seen female junior staff trying to catch a mouse? My point exactly. Yet give them credit, they are persistent. Male junior staff sets out from the house every morning, and almost invariably comes back empty-handed. Even I, who leave hunting to those who have to do it, bring back a bird or disembowelled rodent more frequently. Female junior staff is more succesful on average, but then, how much skill does it take to track down and capture a white plastic bag? Sometimes when female staff goes out hunting she comes back with something practical in the bag, like ham, or cream (mmmm...). Sometimes she is selfish and only gets muck that humans eat, such as bread or lettuce. On occasion she triumphantly returns with something absolutely pointless such as a block of paper with printing on it. This makes a kitty litter of last resort, but its hardly worth a hunting trip for. It's all pretty pathetic, to be honest. But, once a week on average, they hit the jackpot. They return laden with plastic bags and scurry proudly about the kitchen putting things in the fridge and cupboards. I always check to make sure they have found a few pouches of my favourite food and a treat or two, and I've got to say,they manage this with reassuring regularity. It does not seem to have dawned on them that Friday evenings are almost the only time they score a major kill in the white plastic bag department. The rest of the week they might as well stay at home. The late-night expeditions they groom so for so carefully yeild almost nothing. And they generally return in such a tired and emotional state afterwards. | |
| Wendesday, July 15. 7.00 - 23.00 hours | |
| Extreme sanction | |
| Yes, it's difficult, but in the course of time I've managed to get some basic instructions drilled into the junior staff. Yes, they squawk and protest, but deep down they know its for their own good. I hate to get nasty with such well-meaning but clumsy and frankly dim-witted individuals, but tough love is still love, and sometimes you have to show the iron fist in the velvet paw. For example: This is my house. You may have guests, on sufferance, occasionally. I have my ways of letting you know if I don't like them. Let them consider a pee-soaked pillow as a hint. If I walk determinedly towards a door, try to get that door open by the time I get there. You know I'll eventually shred my way through the wood otherwise. If the padding has been chewed out of an underwired bra, its time to increase the frequency of mealtimes. More roughage is also advisable. Feel free to disturb me when I'm sleeping in the sun on my favourite chair. Your wounds will heal eventually. It's time to ignore the TV and pay attention to me. Especially when I pad through the china figurines on the mantlepiece. Climbing the curtains is my way of signalling I wish to be taken outside. You take me to the vet, I crap in your shoes. What's hard to understand? Remember, humans have simple needs. They need to be told when to feed you, when to open doors and when to keep out of your way. Apart from that, they practically run themselves. With a bit of patience and firmness you can have your household running perfectly smoothly in a matter of months. Never let anyone tell you that humans are impossible to train. | |
| Munday 29 June. 10.00-20.00 hours | |
| Famine conditions | |
| It's a good basic rule to eat all you can whenever you can. In this uncertain world, you can never be certain that the next meal will be coming along as scheduled. I, with my training in these matters am well ahead of the game in contrast to my human staff. So, now that the going has got tough, I'm better prepared to cope than they. I noticed that they were looking concerned a week or two back when I waddled into the room for nineses. (That's the snack that comes between the after-breakfast snack and elevenses.) Sure enough, there's a food shortage. I've noticed that my portions are both smaller and less nutritious than before. But whereas I have taken the precaution of adding a substantial layer of fat to my ribs, the staff are totally unprepared. The other day I was sitting by the table whilst they were eating supper. Just as it happens. Well, perhaps being helpful, in that I might clean up any food that inadvertently might fall, but certainly not, under any circumstances, begging. I wasn't even interested in food just then, to be honest. Hadn't crossed my mind that female staff might take a forkful of what she was eating and put it on the floor beside me with the comment 'It's tofu, you won't like it.' Like it? I gave it one disgusted sniff, and turned and mimed kicking dirt over it. I thought I had it tough right now. The humans are really suffering. | |
| Tuesday June 1. 4.00 hours | |
| Bonding with the staff | |
| Dawn is just beginning to break as I slide from the sofa in the lounge and pad down the morning-grey corridor to the bedroom. Junior staff, in their bone-idle way, are still both deeply asleep. I hop on to the bed, and snuggle up next to female junior staff. Without waking up, she obligingly moves back a bit to make room for me. I snuggle closer, and begin to purr. For a while nothing happens, except that male staff begins to snore in harmony. I move until junior female staff and I are almost nose to nose, and up the purr a few more decibels. In response female staff moves back some more, and there's a crash as male staff gets pushed off his side of the bed. Muttering under his breath, he makes his way around to my side of the bed and climbs in. He gives a look at the alarm clock, decides to sleep a bit more and closes his eyes. I settle back on the bed. Male staff breathes in and gets a mouthful of fur and my second intercostal rib, as I have inadvertently lain down over his breathing apparatus. All he does is roll over and resignedly pull the pillow over his head, so he can't even hear my purring. Contentedly I walk down his backbone, and start kneading the sheets with my paws. Male staff gives a howl of pain and leaps from the bed. I regard him with bland apology. Oh, yes. I had my claws out, and your buttocks were under the sheet, weren't they? My bad. But since you are up, how about getting my breakfast? | |
| Sunday 25 May. 15.00-17.00 hours | |
| Bone idle | |
| Cats are clean. My job demands that I look suave and superior at all times. In fact I would go so far as to claim that looking suave and superior is, to a large extent, my job. So imagine my anguish and indignation when I got up from an afternoon snoozing on the window sill and discovered that one entire flank was covered with a thick layer of dust. Junior female staff was cleaning this room just the other day. I know because at the time I was lying under the coffee table with all four legs in the air in what we feline professionals call the 'vulture bait' position. At the time I thought she did not disturb me there out of consideration, but taking the undusted window sill into account, I realize that it was just idleness. And he's just as bad. I've sat on the sofa for hours on a Saturday afternoon watching him staring at that flickering box, and only stirring now and again to get himself a beer and the occasional snack for me. The other day I saw him give up weeding the herbaceous border after half an hour, claiming the sun was too hot. Now I'm sorry, but I was sunbathing on the wall right next to him, and I know for a fact that the sun was just moderately warm. Just yesterday afternoon I found that I had fallen asleep whilst doing a stake-out on the garage roof. As this evidently meant that I was seriously undernourished, I went indoors to refuel. Do you know, it took a solid minute of nagging before that idle woman stopped cooking her own supper and fed me? This despite my exhaustion being so extreme that I went on to the end of the bed upstairs and slept for the rest of the evening. I'm going to have to be stricter with the staff. I can't stand laziness. | |
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