How to bankrupt your Human


Get a bit thin, thinner than usual, moult a lot, and then let your Human look in your mouth to see how your remaining teeth are doing. Watch Human recoil in horror on discovering that many of the remaining teeth seem to have disappeared.

Human will then google “my cat’s teeth are disappearing” or something intelligent like that, and read a terrifying article about tooth resorption and its dangers, and promptly take you to the vet.

The vet is a Hateful Brute who pretends to be nice. Humans like him, and say he’s excellent with cats. That’s what they think. Out of their sight, he will stick needles in you, he will pull some of your teeth out, lock you in a cage, and refuse to let you go home with your Human for ages.

This time the Hateful Brute seems not to be bothered about the missing teeth, but he tells the Human to leave you with him, to carry out blood tests. The Human falls for this yet again, and goes home without you. Later, the Hateful Brute phones the Human to say it’s not a thyroid problem as first thought, but diabetes, and that you must now be kept prisoner overnight until you produce a urine sample to test.

The next day, Hateful Brute and Human talk. You haven’t got full-blown diabetes, but your blood sugar level is higher than normal. You must be monitored, whatever that means, but for now, are being released.

The Humans come to take you home, and you follow them around all day, crying and acting all pitiful, just to make your point. The Humans say they don’t need any points being made, thank you; they say they have just shelled out almost £200 and don’t you think you’ll be getting Christmas this year. Oh no.

Seems that sympathy is index-linked round here.



This is me, washing. I’m fastidious about keeping clean.



The kitchen is very clean too, because of me; apparently I’m in Deep Disgrace.

My human known as The Gardener got into a terrible flap after he spotted something (just a bit of regurgitated food) in the kitchen and rushed off to tell Her, our other human who never flaps about vomit or indeed evidence of any other bodily function. He thought it involved a stolen bit of apple and blackberry crumble; He went on about it for rather a long time.

She didn’t flap at all, but cleaned it up very neatly, and disinfected the worktop. She was pretty sure that the cat who left that particular deposit was me, as I am the one who likes to leap up onto work surfaces – well, you never know if someone might leave the lid off the butter dish, or leave some of their cheese sandwich lying around, waiting to be found, do you? But I’m admitting nothing; safest that way.

She says he should be grateful that it hadn’t been deposited in his shoes.

What She didn’t tell Him was that the bit of regurgitated apple and blackberry crumble was in fact something much nicer (to me, at least); she knew what it was because of the little bit of mouse fur it contained. And she suspects that I hadn’t touched the crumble – I don’t enjoy fruit as much as I love butter or cheese, anyway.

I suppose I’m lucky in that I have one human who understands.