I think we should set some ground rules for playtime.
Claws are for toys, prey and scratching posts, not for hands, feet or indeed any part of me. Times of play are to be decided by me and I will signal when this is to commence by fetching a toy, some string or something and wiggling it around in front of you. Just walking past you does not constitute a game and is in no way an invitation to attack my feet. When I signal the start of a game it is important that join in a little sooner rather than later, you are not to leave me hanging for minutes, stood there wiggling a piece of string like a buffoon before condescending to join in.
I think if we can both agree to these rulesit will make playtime a more enjoyable experience for the both of us.
Love from Crispin
Further to my recent correspondence on places to sit and our recent discussions on how you might be less of an annoyance let us talk briefly on your fetish for bags. I am convinced that no cat in the history of things has ever held such a fascination to anything in the world as you do with carrier bags, if I come in with one and place it down there you are, all over it like nobody’s business rolling about and making a terrible fuss. This practise, though rather undignified shall only permitted to continue if you can at the very least wait the two minutes until I have removed the shopping from within.
All the best, Crispin
Just a quick note to summerise the key points from our recent visit to Ms. Spencer the Vet:
You are ‘drastically overweight’ (her words not mine).
You weigh in at 4.2kg; the absolute maximum healthy weight for a cat of your skeletal proportions is 3.7kg. By my calculations (of 4.2 minus 3.7 to give the actual overweight of .5 expressed as a percentage or ratio or otherwise, something something…) leads us in no position but to accept to accept that you are indeed: far too fat. Yet again you have proved yourself incapable of self regulation and so you leave me no choice but to begin the imposition of a strict rationing from first thing tomorrow morning. Under the new regime (and as the instructions on the packet clearly state) you will be allowed 65 – 85g PER DAY, half at breakfast and half again at supper-time.
We will of course be commencing the operation at the top end of this scale in order to minimise the inevitable trauma and tantrums.
All the best and good luck.
I would like to return once again to appropriate places to sit. I am talking in particular reference to your passion for getting into boxes. Now, size of box should be the absolute vanguard of any factors influencing choice here. Indeed at the very least you would do well to consider if you are, in fact, bigger than the box you are about to get into.
Incidentally, if your initial estimates should prove to be wrong there really is no need to stay in the box. I am not one to judge.
Also, just for your information and reference: all pots and pans in the kitchen, as well as every single piece of crockery I posses including the fruit bowl, are most definitely smaller than you are.
All my love and good luck with the boxes, Crispin
A mutual acquaintance has brought to my attention a website, advertising Valentines Day cards both for and from pets.
Now I’m sure you’ll agree this is absurd. First and foremost, as a cat you lack the necessary motor skills and financial backing to make the purchase yourself, so I can only assume the responsibility would fall on me. Which brings me to my second point; if I bought (and signed) a card from my only pet to myself, it would not take the deductive powers of great detectives to discern who the card was from.
Furthermore, I refuse to have the validity and nature of our relationship marred through enforced consumerism.
That being said, you may notice that your cat biscuits are arranged in a heart shape this morning, as a cursory nod to the occasion. There also appears to be a handmade card addressed to you by your basket in the living room, but I can’t think who would have put it there.
All the best.
Under no circumstances are you ever to lick my eyeball again. I am willing to admit that I may have inadvertently encouraged you by continuing to pet you as you purred in my face but I never expected you to actually lick my eyeball. It sent shivers down my spine as if a hundred people were scratching blackboards and now every time I close my right eye it looks like it is raining.
I hope to goodness there is no permanent damage or there will be hell to pay.
Please understand that this lampshade thing that Mr. Veterinarian gave me to put on you is for your own good and no amount of glaring or sulking will persuade me to remove it until the two weeks prescribed has passed. I can assure you that it is fastened quite securely and you will not be able to do away with it simply by walking slowly backwards. It may well be possible to kick it off with your back legs but rest assured the victory will be short lived as I shall replace it immediately.
It is now two days into your sentence so I think we can put a stop to this farce of crashing into every possible obstacle, making a fuss in the middle of the stairs and squawking at your dinner.
I hope I have made my position clear on the matter.
P.S. Meals will be easier if you get the collar on the outside of the bowl rather than trying to use it as a spoon to get the biscuits out.
I don’t mean to imply humbug (or that you are some sort of Scrooge or Grinch) but I fear that your composed demeanour, whilst elegant and reserved could be misinterpreted by some as a general lack of Christmas spirit ~ and we wouldn’t want any of our guests to be mistaken now would we?
Additionally, let me extend to you my immense gratitude that the Christmas tree and decorations remain relatively intact and everyone’s presents, including your own, show no signs of claw damage or overenthusiastic investigation.
With that said let us break out the mulled wine and mince pies and make a toast to peace on earth and goodwill to men (and cats).
Lots of love from
I really am so pleased with your progression at the sport of fly killing. I think it’s safe to say we are now both fully convinced that paws and claws (more so than eyes, as previously discussed) are better suited to the task in hand. However, I do still feel that there is slight room for improvement in your technique ~ you see ideally what we are looking for here is a clean quick kill, one in common with/demonstrative of a benevolent and merciful assassin, the likes of which I am sure we can both agree you aspire to be. I would like to remind you that there is no place for torture in our house, we are civilised decent people and I really would like for you to try, at least, to bear that in mind.
In other words, what I am pushing for, is for you to refrain from just biting their wings off and leaving them to spin about the floor like fitting raisins until I come in, the ‘clean up man’, to chase them about with a tissue.
P.S. Please do not allow my criticism to detract from my praise.
Catnip. There, I said it.
This wont of yours is something we rarely discuss – or should really. However, whilst I fully appreciate that our vices are our own business, I feel it not only necessary but in good nature to point out that recent weeks have seen your little habit increase to an alarming level. Let us call last night to our attention. When Wicker and I returned from the pub we discovered you sitting on the shelf gurning your face off, tongue hanging out, eyes pointing different directions with barely half a smile offsetting your whiskers. And this is not by any means an isolated occurrence – to be frank I don’t think I could hope to count the number of times in recent weeks that you have been quietly ‘off your face’ in my company …and this appears to be accelerating.
We don’t want a repeat of that ‘incident’ years ago do we? The time you did a 25 gram bag in one go and couldn’t close your mouth or stop looking at the ceiling for a week?
All my love,
I have it on good authority that while I was away last week you were caught three times by Wicker ‘Baking Brownies’ on the living room rug. Now these dirty protests MUST STOP. You are not in prison, you are not maltreated, you are not a rescue cat, you have a litter box and it is always clean.
I am at my wits end and furious beyond measure. I swear, as God is my witness, if you drop tuppence on the rug one more time i shall shave your tail and put your toys in the cupboard forever.
I strongly advise you to take heed as this truly is your final warning.
Your adoring friend
I have reached the end of my tether with regards to your continued and steadfast insistence of staring at the wall. You may notice that I have pinned photocopies of poems by Keats, cummings and Larkin as well as couple of Shakespeare’s sonnets around the flat just above the skirting.
I am not trying to force poetry upon you, but I am aware of how difficult it is for you to turn pages.
Love from Crispin