Saturday, March 25, 2006

Planet baby calling!

She's going to have a baby! He's looking a bit unsure - lots of muttering about sleepless nights and a penniless retirement. Still that's what you get if you become a father at fifty. I heard him on the phone saying 'Once a woman's decided to have a baby there's bugger all you can do about it.'

I've heard all about babies from my mates. I suspect we'll get a bit of a bum deal when the baby comes - no more lying on the bed, jumping on and off the sofa. They'll probably forget all about us.

A cat called Alhambra

They have been away in Spain. Apparently they came across a cat called Alhambra, living in a palace, surrounded by fountains, gardens and lions - OK for some! While Alhambra basks in the sunshine, Starry and I are left all on our own. At least the lovely Stella came in and fed us twice a day. And of course we had the run of the house.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Getting up to speed

Can you believe it? One moment he's an un-reconstructed Luddite, he's knocking on fifty and he barely knows how to use a mobile phone. The next he's started a blog and got an iPod in the same weekend. I don't know, these humans and their gadgets. At least she bothers to read the instructions. God knows what would happen if he just had a 'play' - the whole system would probably grind to a halt.

Starry and I, we prefer the simple life. All we've got to worry about is that they remember our dinner and don't turn the heating down too low. Of course there is Starry's contribution to world politics, which she thinks I don't know about. Me, I stick to my football and my .birds - no not that sort but the ones that fly in and out of the garden.

It's only a game

Not that you'd think so the way he goes on about it. Been supporting Liverpool for nearly forty-five years apparently. Used to watch them from the Kop in the days when you could get in for two bob - whatever that is. Some Scottish bloke called Shankly was in charge then. Tells her he used to cry himself to sleep when they lost. Not much has changed there so far as I can see.

Still we got a result against City today, even if it wasn't exactly pretty. My chat with Rafa was obviously crucial as Kewell got on the scoresheet again. Even Crouch had a decent game by all accounts. So, that's put a smile on his face.

And they've just come back from the supermarket. With any luck I'll be able to blag some parma ham later - I caught him slipping it into the fridge when he thought I wasn't looking. They seem to think that Starry and I are stupid. They're the ones who have to go out to work and pay for things while we lie around and get waited on. Who's stupid now?

The cat's in the bag

You mustn't tell anyone this but my bag has some rather special properties. These drawstring cords aren't what they seem. I've actually a got a fully wired up communications hub that allows me to talk to all the world leaders. You'll see it when I publish my bag photo later. So while Charlie thinks he's being very clever talking to Rafa about silly old football, I'm on the blower to Bush, Blair and Putin et al trying to sort out world events. Everything from global warming to the Middle East. It's not easy being a girl you know...these macho men need sorting out before we all drown under melting icecaps or go up in smoke. Oops, Charlie's coming back got to run.

What Charlie doesn't know

Ha, Charlie thinks I don't know about this blogging stuff! But, then there's lots of things he doesn't know about me. We girls aren't as daft as he likes to think. I can do a lot more than just lying around and looking pretty you know. As well as lying around on the bed, I've got my own special bag. It's a funny blue thing with a fleecy lining, quite nice really. I climb in there and I can curl up or I can pad around scratching. Scratching...that's one of my favourite things along with jumping, sitting on him when he's lying in bed and sitting on the newspaper when he's trying to read it. Charlie doesn't have a bag, just a grubby old blanket on the back of an armchair - that's boys for you, no idea about domestic things.

Starlight becomes you

I'm not the only cat living here. I share with a girl called Starlight - aka known as Star or Starry. She's alright really - for a girl. Bit younger than me and she runs around and jumps a lot. She loves chasing after ping pong balls - typical girlie sort of thing to do. When she gets too lively I beat her up a bit just to remind her who's boss. Just cos I'm getting on a bit doesn't mean I can be ignored. Still she's no trouble most of the time and when they go out the two of us lie around on their bed and reflect on world events. When we're not doing that we're usually watching the blue tits or having scraps with the boys from next door. They're a tough bunch - Henri (bloody Arsenal!), Muffin and Wiltord - and it's quite a job patrolling the perimeter fences and ensuring they don't come in nicking our dinner.

On breakfast

We had to wait until 9am for breakfast this morning - same old tuna in disgusting jelly - it's enough to make you want to phone the RSPCA. Couldn't even get into the bedroom, cos they had shut the door. Anyone would think they own the place. During the week he gets up at 7 or so. First of all he sits cross-legged on a little stool for about ten minutes, just staring ahead and breathing. Then he does some strange looking stretching movements - doesn't half look daft - for another twenty minutes, before going into that little room at the end and pouring water all over himself. Very odd.

She eventually gets up and does something similar - the water not the exercises - then they get into the noisy, smelly, metal box and disappear for several hours. God knows what they get up to. When they get home they are all tired and grumpy and there's something called 'office politics' that they're always muttering about. Why they can't lie around and sleep all day like we do is beyond me.

Anyway, it's Man City at home today and I've been giving Rafa some tips. He really needs to make sure the ball goes in at the right end. Not like what happened against Benfica the other night. I think Rafa got my drift but with that funny Spanish accent you're never quite sure. Shame Robbie isn't playing - he's the only decent striker we've got.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

I'm the black one

My name's Charlie and I'm the ever so handsome and sleek panther-like creature pictured on the windowsill. I'm a bit of a Liverpool fan and I've got a special relationship with Rafa the gaffer. I advise him on tactics, transfers and team selection - not that that helped much against Benfica.

As well as football I love birds. Just watching you understand. Not catching them like those rough and tough cats next door. We've got lots of birds that come to the feeders, bird table and bird bath. They sit around in the old apple tree, adding a bit of colour to the garden. The other week I took part in the Big Garden Birdwatch - an hour of uninterrupted spotting and counting. Apparently hundreds of thousands of people all did the same.

I'm a bit timid actually. I hide away when strangers come round. Something to do with my disturbed childhood. I was living in an (empty) aquarium in a pet shop when she bought me - a tiny kitten all on my own, sob.

Wot's this internet thing then?

Mum and Dad have just come in all excited. Apparently we're on the internet! People all over the place can find out what we've been up to. Guess we need to start thinking of something interesting to say then.

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