April Showers
Winter is over at last, whot is a good thing cause I most abhere to have soggy paws all the time, whot is a result of having to venture out in the rain to adress those unfortunate nececities whot plague us all! The Old Fart of late is always on about April showers and May flowers or some such nonsence as raining cats and dogs, as if any cat be stupid enuff to get caught in the rain let alone get dumped out of the clouds with a load of mangey dumb dogs! The Old Fart should direct his failing wits to the maintenance of my litter box so I is precluded of the nececity for trips out in inclement weather. The fool's nose cannot work so well even tho the unpleasant odeurs of previous usages can hardly hav failed to alert him that it is 'high' time for a litter change! At some point it become impossible for me to dig any new hole without encountering a fowl deposit from some former day - what is trewly most disgusing and upsetting for a kultured cat of fine sensibilityes. So I am driven to the reluctant and most unpleasant alternative of repairing to the grate outdoors where I hav to dance akross soaking wet grass to garden plots in the vain hopes of discovering a dry patch of dirt in whot to dig a hole for my morning deposit. Thus those soggy and sometimes worser, even muddy paws! So as I earlier say already, thank God for spring and an end to endless rainy days and cold winds whot add even more tortur to a winter morning sortie!
Now the Old Fart sit on his broken down smelly couch watching drivel on his TV with the stench of that overfull litter box. Me - I will be outside in the fresh air napping on a south facing window sill in warm sun rays and when need arises I shall trot over to Mrs. Ruzniki's freshly tilled garden plot to continue our ongoing battle of the cat poop in the flower beds...har har! In all these years she not manage to catch me and in our battle of wits I always am coming out ahead, tho she live in hope of catching me in the act! Vain hope indeed as the old hag get slower every year and any attempt to plant a rubber boot up my arse probably result in her breaking a hip in the attempt. Still there is no doubt I is getting a tad slower as the years go by myself, and maybe this might be her year to get me - hah!! - fat chance!
Spring is in the air at last! Dry paws and torturing Mrs Ruzniki - could life get any sweeter?
A brief clarifikation
After reeding my Pyratical Days chapter from my best selling upcoming and most exciting bio-ography of my life and times, the bird is doing rolling of eyes and making beek noises what pass for "tsk, tsk, tsk" in bird. It occur to me that his most sckeptical reaction to my mostly trew story might be shared by my otherwise gullible and faithfull fans of me and so I paws here to assure all my readers of the veracity of my recountations! It is trew that most bio-ographys can be self indulgent packs of half baked trewths and even outrite lies, but unlike a legion of polotitians, movie stars and business tycoons, I can say tho I hav only exagerated a tad here or there - and perhaps spiced up the details a little, it was only to move the narrative along and hold the interest of my most devoted readers! So if I hav strayed from telling the whole trewth and the only trewth, it has for your sakes and so I can be forgiven an occassional exaggeration.
The bird is still looking at me most pekularly with cynical doubting and such, but be assurred that I will smack him about later and so stop his rude interuptions and end his interference with your continued injoyment of my life story. So suspend your disbelief and be assurred that the tale you here is mostly trew - mostly!
Stay tuned for my first days in Victoria as I was entrapped to a life of petty thievery by the most evil Fagan and......the bird is rolling his eyes agane and now groaning in disbelief so pardon me for a bit as I require to pummel him into silence and so proceed without any further unwelcome interventions.
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My Pyratical days
CHAPTER TWO
There hav been much supposition concern my earlier years specally those immediately after my abduction by pyrates! Certanely my memories of the time are a tad sketchy but recent revoveries of suppressed memory hav helped to piece together a bit of those days. It turned out that the evil pyrates had nabbed me in hopes of replacing the ships cat what had got run over by a gravel truck or some such. They themselves were not half so evil as was made out but found the notious reputation good for business and so made out to be more evil with multitudinous arr arr arrs and a grate whaling about with cutlasses and pistols most of which were unsharpened and unloaded! In any case I found myself treated most agreeably with 'here kitty kitty', bowls of fresh cream and much belly rubbing and scratches behind the ears. Of course I was expect to rid the ship of rats - creatures most dreddfull waht took heinous plezzure in ganging up on me in dark corners and threatening me with dire consequences if I dared to interfere with their business. Tho outnumbered by a grate multitude of these evil malefactors in a pyrate ship that was a maloderous rotting warren full of the filthy beasts, in time I grew most abundantly on fresh cream and kind pats and with my superior size and unbounded courage, I vanquished their superior numbers most effectively.
The pyrate Captain was most plezzed but wrack by gilt that he had abduct me from my princly home. Hard to know from which kingdom my young self had come but he finaly do the right thing and leave me off at the next port of call. The pyrates most sad to see me go and so cry and wail when I am going down the gangplank. It was a most piteous site what brought tears to my eyes for I had come to grately luv the fresh cream and multitudinous pats and scratches from the scurvy crew. Still I set about the continuing adventure of my life as the pyrates waved goodbye and sailed off to pillage and plunder elsewhere. Turning my tail on a life of pyratsy I trod off with a stout heart into the dark - dangerous and most evilist streets of Old Victoria!
Another Nightmare Before Christmas
It was the night before Christmas
down at our house.......
Not a peep coud be heard
cause I killed every mouse.
Except for the old Fart
asleep in his bed.............
Farting farts loud enough
to awake the dead!
Suddenly from the roof came
a crash and a bang.
Causing me to fear intrusion
from some home invasion gang!
I leaps from the couch to the hearth
in a single bound.........
As down from the chimney
came a shuffling sound...........
To await by the fireplace
as the first thief came down-
Claws sharpened and ready
to shred up the clown!
Then as his dark shiny boots slowly
came into view...........
I dug in those claws and
he knew he was through!
He screamed and he begged, but I was
a cat without pity..............
His worst nightmare come true,
a psychotic fat kitty!
In only a few moments
you could tell of a glance,
The jolly fat intruder had never
stood a chance.
Little was left but bones and
a shredded red rag.
Plus all of the boodle
he'd packed in his bag!
Chalk up another victim
to the deadly watch cat......
But thank him for the presents
and the jaunty red hat!
So as I crawled back on the couch
and turned out the light,
I wished everyone Merry Christmas
and to all a good night!
Punkin Murduring Daze
Halloween is nearly upon us and as all chilrens are keenly aware punkin murduring time is here - so round up the choppers, loppers and stabbers for slicing and dicing the punkins skulls!
At our house the Old Fart long ago give up decorating for the big day and hav left the dreadfull task of punkin murdur to the bird and me. Just as well since he so clumsy he might hav cut himself most dreadfully and so is lucky to hav survived years worth of halloweens with all his fingers intact! Also most fortunate he leave the job to us cause the resulting punkin faces a grate improvement over his sorry efforts of recent years! Still he manages to drag home a few choice punkins and we will perform the delicate surgeries what transform them into trewly frightening vegetables for the scare all the littlist chilrens, then be made into pies afterwards most deliciously!
As in any sucessfull crime carefull preperation most important and the whole kitchen floor should be covered by old newspapers to catch all the gore and copious gobs of punkin branes when the carnage begins! Place the unwary punkins in the middle of the newspapers, then chose your murdur weapon and hiding it behind your back approach the wary punkin lolling it into a false sense of security with pretty words like 'How are you today Mr Punkin' or 'Grate weather for the time of year' or such. Then catching them unwares leap upon them plunging in the top of their skulls with the dagger while screaming "Die Die punkin demon from Hell! While sawing out a big hole in the top of the punkins head, if there are any highly impressionable young tykes witnessing the horror for first time, you can liten the mood by telling them how all vegetables screem in agony while dying but that can only be herd by special designed scientific instruements for detecting punkin screams! Besides tears and blubbering at the mounting horrors, with luck the little monsters will be disuaded from ever eating their veggies agane Har Har! Now plunging both paws through the gaping hole what you have just concluded sawing in the top of the punkin skull, squish the slippery slimey punkin branes between your digits and pulling out grate gobs of branes, splatter the appalling gorey mess all over the newspapers already most carefully prepared! This most enjoyable and mounts horror upon horror for all the little ones watching the murder with mounting trepidations for the coming festivities!
A large spoon may be employed in the final work of gouging out the last of the branes so the work of perforating punkin eyes, noses, and wide grimacing mouthes can begin! This bit can be triky and nasty cuts can be earned by the unwary and also good artists are also most handy to draw designs of wincing contorted punkin death masks, usefull later in attracting all the ghost and goulies on Halloween eve!
All joking aside, these operations in trewth not trewly murduring the punkins at all, tho I can imagine they wake up with a splitting headache afterwards, but with no more branes they cannot remember their former lives and look forward most fondly to be made into pies later! Besides - such is the lot of all punkins!
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Lyons tigers and Bares - Oh My!
