Sunday 15 March 2009

Staying on the knee and instant sleep


Staying on the knee can be a tricky manoeuvre, and one which should be mastered if possible while you are still a tiny. Tinies are far more likely to be allowed long periods on the knee, and with any luck you'll subtly have grown up before your people realise that you've tricked them into letting you dictate knee time. There is no warmer, strokier place than this, so be sure to train your people well not to fidget whilst you're aboard.

A good way to ensure that your knee provider keeps still is to become suddenly alarmed at the slightest movement; the first time your place is rocked beneath you, be ready to jump and cry out, then hold your provider with a sad, steady eye. The eye is critical here. Perform this routine from as young an age as you can manage - preferably while very small - and all being well you will win an immediate ruffle and a future of steady knee time. Remember, if you do find yourself suddenly at the ground in the middle of enjoying the knee, stay very still - or even sway if you can manage it - as though you've sustained a nasty shock. And always give yourself a good shake here before moving unsteadily off.

Needless to say, the minute you find yourself knee bound, you must immediately fall 'asleep' (note the still I snapped of myself above for reference), remembering to roll, stretch or twitch every so often to ensure good stroke time. If you can mumble in your 'sleep', all the better. People have an eccentric attitude towards sleep, as though disturbing it were some kind of terrible evil, and are far less likely to oust you when your peepers are closed. (My providers have absurdly rigid sleep time and become quite irrational when disturbed; mercifully, they project this queerness onto me, so that I only have to curl up and close my eyes, generally, for them to leave me in peace.)

I may come back to this issue of sleep, so keep your ears up.

Wednesday 11 March 2009

Releasing wind

I'm afraid this is only really acceptable around other cats, or when alone. You will find small sympathy from your people, which I agree seems absurd considering their poor sense of sniff.

The only time I would recommend a release of wind would be next to a visitor who has hijacked your chair. If you can 'let out' without being seen, all the better - people are nervous of being blamed for sniffs, and are far more likely to exit the scene when they find no one available to point the whisker at.

Tuesday 10 March 2009

Aiming for pilchards and landing in milk

Having established a long term routine for myself which includes pilchards at dark time, a heated basket in cold spells and mercifully hazy etiquette when it comes to places of sleep, my providers know precisely what is required of them and when. I, too, know that I am not officially entitled to pilchards until dark time, making do with dry crunch during the light (which I must admit is good for the teeth).

A brief aside about pilchards - it shocks and saddens me to think that there may be some unfortunate cats out there who have never tasted them. There is no sleep more heartily engulfed and no water more sweetly sipped than those following a plate of pilchards (preferably in some kind of coloured sauce). Believe me - and I say this with boldness - it tastes better even than butter licked from the paw. Demand the best!

It is happily for me then that I have developed a clout sufficient to demand pilchards at dark time. This led me to an experiment: were there other times of light, perhaps, when my providers were at a weak ebb and could be persuaded to serve me a second helping? The answer was a wondrous yes. Here follows a list of moments in which requests for an extra meal are most likely to be given in to:

1. If you have recently had your tail or paw trodden on (we all know how to engineer this so I shan't elaborate here).

2. If your people are particularly tired, or ill - they will especially want you to be quiet (but beware - for this to succeed you may first have to establish the preconceived knowledge that if you're shut out, you will become noisier and indefinitely more problematic).

3. By the same token, if there is someone sleeping in the territory, especially a small person. Show your people that something tasty will soon quiet you.

4. If they've left you alone all day, or even better gone away for an extended period without you. This can be capitalised on for some time.

5. If one of your providers has been absent and is unaware that you've already dined.

6. If you've been in a fluff racket with a neighbouring cat.

7. If you've been tricked into being operated on.

And always remember that if you don't achieve a meal, you may be just nagging enough to win a saucer of milk or similar for your skills, which I would also argue is well worth the effort.

Monday 9 March 2009

The problem of walls and doors


Now that I have comprehensively introduced myself and my intentions, I should like to begin by addressing the issue of walls and doors, as these have recently become problems close to my confounded heart. Unless you were only born a very short time ago, you will know of course that doors open and walls are just there.

Having recently moved into new and unfamiliar territory, I have found myself in the embarrassing and buffoonish situation of sitting vocalising at a cornered wall, expecting to be let through - sometimes to the point of actually scratching to find a hinge. And I am no fool. My overriding sentiment here is to beware of possible losses of front, but not to panic. If this should happen to you, take solace in the fact that your people will probably find it endearing, however mortified you may be feeling. A quick thinker may even be able to turn a noisy request for passage into a cry for something other, pilchards perhaps, by running quickly from the scene towards the nearest food bowl. With luck, no one will be any the wiser.

A second issue I have encountered around doors also arose following my recent relocation. I would find that my providers would often enter a certain cupboard, lock it and fail to come out for sometimes entire days. I could not for the tail of me work out what the selfish things were doing in there, and felt offended, at best, not to be asked in. I later discovered, through a well-timed bolt on my part, that the cupboard was in reality the front outer door, and that they had in fact been leaving the territory entirely during prolonged absences. My own door opens out to the rear green, which to be fair I would far rather visit than the dangerous and more unpredictable front.

The point here is that if you find your people disappearing mysteriously into what seems like a cupboard for extended private sessions, don't bother scratching for admittance as they've probably gone out.

For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him. For he is of the tribe of Tiger.

Sixteen and three quarter years ago, a kitten with a high forehead and large ears, I spent much of my time finding sport in running up curtains and stationary people, and eating all kinds of fluff, and learning not to run into glass doors. I learned that grass is the best thing for inducing unpleasant but sometimes necessary vomiting, that bananas are noxious and that a life without pilchards is one only semi-lived.

At nearly seventeen I must weather the storm of hearing loss, which although does serve in eliminating otherwise ghastly episodes of inexplicable noise, unluckily means I startle easily when crept up on. It is owing to this that I have increasingly less patience with oafs.

Despite the hearing loss and a slight stiffness in the legs however, the years have left me with almost all of my faculties, and it is with these to help me that I have decided to begin a record of all I have learned as a cat among people (some of whom have been very kind and some a dreadful burden), to ensure some kind of legacy after I am gone. Perhaps my carefully chosen words will mean that one less hapless kitten falls into the pond, or one more achieves the golden routine of pilchards at dark time. If so, I will perhaps have done some good.

For cats and kittens of all origins, everywhere.

(The title of this is taken from a poem once read to me called 'For I will consider my cat Jeoffrey', which is quite interesting. I once lived with a cat by this name actually who was cross eyed, and whose attitude I couldn't abide.)