Settling in.

It’s very nice living here. We go in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out, driving the Humans crazy, they say. There’s a cat flap, a front door, a back door, two sets of French doors, and a window upstairs, accessed from the roof, and we love to use them all. Except that the cat flap is kept locked because of Erick, so we have to ask to be let in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out….





Sadness in the house tonight. There has been some crying.

The wild rough patch of garden where Hamish spent so much time is being cleared, and the people doing it told our neighbours that they had found the remains of a ginger cat.

That is all we know just now.

I’m cuddling up to Rachel; she needs a little furry purry comfort just now.

Goodbye, little brother.




Missing in Action


Hamish has disappeared.

He was found lying behind the sofa, crying, and the Humans thought he was injured, and tried to catch him. Hamish hasn’t been caught since he was tricked into a crate to move down here six years ago. He struggled and ran away with such force that they couldn’t catch him, and he ran away over the neighbour’s wall. He didn’t look injured at all, but terrified.

The Humans felt dreadful, they said. They’d been worrying about Hamish for a while, as he seemed frightened to go out through the cat flap at night, and they knew a big ginger bully cat was prowling round outside. They wondered if Hamish was being terrorised.

The neighbours spotted him the next day, hiding in a wild area near their garden, but he ran away from them too, although they were bringing him food. The Humans were away, Him at work, and Her in Glasgow visiting her sister.

Five days later, She came home, and started calling and leaving food out for him every day near his last hiding place. She glimpsed him once, looking at her from a wall before he jumped down out of sight. That was the last anyone saw of him. He has been gone for 4 weeks now, and the Humans are sad. They feel bad for trying to catch him, when they knew that was what he feared most of all in life.

We might know more, or we might not. We say nothing. We are cats, after all.


(The Humans want to add that everyone in the area, including the animal organisations and the vets, have been informed; the chances that anyone could catch Hamish are slim to non-existent, as he always retained a strong feral element and only really trusted The Gardener on occasion. Behind the houses lies Exmoor, woodland and farmland, and it is easier to think of Hamish, originally found in a woodland estate up North, as having gone back to the woods by choice than sick, injured or worse.)


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.