Exercise class

Just after I finished my last post, I had a bit of a think. What if Rachel was right? What if I was portly, as she calls my sturdy build? Should I start taking regular exercise?

And I realised that I should, if only to tone up my lovely curves a little. So I’m going to run my own Bums and Tums class, several times a week. Each class will include exercise, a nutrition seminar (practical), rest and relaxation.

I’ve had two sessions so far.

For the first one, I went outside, and hopped up onto the wall.

I had a good look over into Next Door’s garden. They are the people who Hamish and Scooter spy on through the bedroom window.

And then I hopped down again. I have to ease myself into this; no point in straining myself.

I invited Scooter to join in. He’s curvaceous and gets called portly too.

Scooter said he wasn’t a body fascist like some. He’d stick with his lovely curves, he thought.

So I came indoors for the nutrition part of the class. I checked the dinner dish and went back upstairs for the rest and relaxation session.

The following day, I tried the other wall. First onto the wheelie bin. A promising start, I thought.

And then onto the wall.

I had a good look up and down the other Next Door’s drive. That’s the house where Millie’s Enemies live. She goes into their house to tell them that she is in charge of their drive.

I got a bit stuck under the weathervane thing. Rachel commented that Bums and Tums was just what I needed to focus on, and maybe reduce the nutrition class element. What nonsense.

I cooled down, hopped off the bin, and went inside.

I checked out the dinner dish as part of the nutrition seminar,and went back upstairs to relax.

I didn’t do anything today. This exercise lark is a bit boring and repetitive, is all I’m saying.

Maybe meditation is more my thing. I’m good at sitting still, just breathing…..

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Isn’t that ok?

Rachel thinks I don’t get enough exercise. She says I just sleep, eat, sleep, with naps in between.

Not true! I tell her. I also spend time thinking.

And washing. Then thinking some more.

Sometimes she carries me downstairs and dumps me in the garden.

I might stay there for a few minutes, and then come in through the cat flap.

I always check the dinner dish before I go upstairs to resume my nap.

What? What?

Going upstairs is exercise, isn’t it?

Hand-me-downs

When I was a kitten, this teddy was my favourite toy.

We talked.

We cuddled.

We wrestled.

We snoozed.

I’m all grown up now, and I don’t play with toys any more.

So Rachel gave my teddy to Flossie.

Rachel has to wash it more often now.

Flossie is thrilled to bits with her new teddy.

She says she’s going to start collecting orange toys.

Happy for you, Flossie.

Me, I’m waiting for Spring. Then I shall start collecting frogs again.

I don’t care what colour they are.

Animal exploitation

This happens a lot here.
It’s very strange. Why are those stupid enormous animals carrying humans up the hill? Can’t the humans walk by themselves?

I don’t understand, but I like to watch out for them.

But you wouldn’t see a cat letting itself be taken advantage of like that.

Big trouble

We are in deep disgrace.

First Rachel found a tiny black feather in the kitchen.

She said her heart sank. Humans are such dramatic creatures!

She investigated further.

Two more feathers in front of the sofa (and a lot of dog hair, we notice – she hasn’t hoovered for days. She says a) she’s ashamed, and b) she may get her eyes tested soon).

So she looked under the sofa….

….and lifted it up.

She removed our dead blackbird, and wrapped it up in paper. We think she is going to eat it later.

Then she took our pictures. For an Identity Parade, she says.

Tosca and Flossie are going to snitch, apparently.