|The handsome Mr Harris|
We know that we have been mentioned in this blog. Blog- now that sounds like the word dog, non? Not happy about that. That - now that is a word that sounds like cat - much better. We cats are ace at abstract thinking.
Anyway, moving on, Phil and friends, Anna, Jon and Sue are looking after us whilst our real owners (Jo and Mick) are away sunning it up in New Zealand and Papua New Guinea. Envious us? Not a bit of it. Hiss! Spit!
Note to Jo and Mick: You'd better bring us something decent back or the furniture gets it bigtime and we would consider multiple peeing in the bath in order to express our ill feelings. Think on. And ... btw litter trays are for wussy kittens!!! Yeah!! Even in the snow! We is hard moggies who, nevertheless, like soft soil for our soiling not compact ice and savagely cold minus temperatures. Numbingly cold cat bums do not make us happy pussies.Ok, keep the litter tray situation for a bit please. It may be like an English Summer in NZ cobbers, but not here in below zero land.
|The inquisitive Miss Soufie|
So anyway readers, we are now getting used to titbits from our kindly neighbour Phil (neighbor- for those with English spelling difficulties in the USA). Unca Phil is unconditionally generous with food and gives us beaten raw egg and sumptous scraps from his roast pork joint plus warm chicken treats. We love it!
Sadly, the other day, in an unusually random moment, he 'tried us out' with cold Vietnamese river cobbler fish bits. Urgh!!!! Frankly we felt that packets of Sheba are much more preferable. Incidently, Philip, the tuna chunks you keep 'treating us with' are sooooo last year, don't ya know? Tuna is for losers.
When we come to visit Unca Phil and drag ourselves reluctantly away from our fab cat tv system with suround sound ( the new cat flap, next door) we love to cover Phil with our spare hairs and hang around his house looking cosmically trendy and interesting. He seems to like this, even when he drags himself home from work at 11pm on Thursday night. He may be knackered, can barely lift a beer bottle to his parched lips. but he still gives us a fuss and plays with us. One night he even let Harris stay over and sleep on his bed. Is there no end to his love and patience?
This morning we turned up, a deux. musically caterwauling and growling outside his front door at 5am. Well, no problem there as Phil was planning to go to work at 6am anyway and was just aching to stroke us as he woke up with his brandy and beer induced hangover. He is a star. Occasionally we cats like to scrap with each other for no particular reason. It's great to be vocally noisy, tussle and be a nuisance - purely in a festive feline way.
Tonight we have been chilling on his cat distressed furniture and taunting him with our 'not been fed for weeks' looks. We are both very accomplished at the wide eyed and pitiful gaze. All we really want is a firm chuckie under the chin and a roaring log fire to relax in front off. Both of us are really looking forward to Christmas and unexpectedly attacking Phil's bare feet in bed as a token of Festive joy.
Happy Catmuss and here's hoping for no fleas from Santa.Love and dribbles from Mr Harris and Miss Soufie.