Flying Cat - may 2006

Hooray! Tra-laaaaaa! Freeeeedom! Well paint ma face blue&white and call me Braveheart, we is free, free from BIg Cage in Orphir, free from foreign cats at whom one cannot get because there is wire mesh in between, free to follow our natural instincts. Errrrm, most of them. Some natural instincts a de-bitted cat cannot follow no matter what. Such is liff. Next time I demand not to be shoved into Big Basket with B&W. Most stressful. Marmalade is ok, he's ma main man, but that other THING? No way José. The ponds are hoaching with tadpoles, cowslips are in full bloom, the Tree Circle is encircled by daffodowndillies, purple and white fritillaries are in full bloom and the forget-me-nots are not-quite-but-nearly and, best of all, there is a haze of green on most of the trees, except the young ash with their elfin grey stems and black buds. It could be said they have more sense than the others. I am a happy kitkat because mia from her sunbeam likes my pome (even if Graham wouldn't know a haiku from a handsaw). And, being a cat, I have no prior knowledge of any future visits to BIg Cage. Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

There's an old Chinese curse - 'may you live in interesting times' - which seems to have been visited upon me and my companions. Yesterday evening B&W had his side unzipped by Stranger Cat2, a thort of thuffering thuccotash Thylvester lookalike with a mean disposition: £68:54 to the v.e.t. and seven stitches to B&W. The parental units are thinking of getting one of these high velocity pump-action water pistols, because, unlike the sadist who shot poor Tigger in the legs (Shetland Times 5/5), they don't want to harm the invaders, just scare them off. Meanwhile, out on the Rolling Acres, pondliff has ratcheted up several notches (and possibly, noches, but I'm locked in the Sunroom of Eternity then, so can't say for sure) and the male sticklebricks, in full breeding plumage, (scaleage?) patrol their watery caves, hoping to lure gravid females in for some quick hoochmagandie. The males have decreased in size from the original 7of9 and one female is a very odd diarrhoetic yellow - up 'til now they were all blotchy brown - perhaps this has to do with it being a genetically closed community. Hmmmmmm Amish fishes! Caddisfly larvae are numerous - as dressed by Vivienne Westwood in her punk heyday, some sporting snazzy limegreen leafy numbers, others more severe in bundles of cut rush (reminiscent of our Wee Pretendy Parliament). Canadian pondweed has finally ousted Curly, after a tussle of several years duration and waterboatmen, beetles, snails and pondskaters abound. I a-bounded on a bonny yellow and black frog today, but fpu grabbed me by the scruff (I wish she wouldn't DO THAT!) and it got away. Grrrrrrachoo! Small consolation that she nearly overbalanced into Pond1 during the stramash.
Did anyone see the incomparable Kate Rusby duetting with the indistinguishable Ronan Keating on that dire dancey thing compéred by Graham-I-sooo-need-the-money Norton at the weekend? Nearly as depressing as losing la frog.
I would like to think that this posting is, in it's random inconsequentiality, humbly worthy of the great godwin, whose latest letter to last week's ST was, alas, but a shadow of previous offerings, having but two paragraphs and ONE SUBJECT. We must ask ourselves, was it a genuine godwinian epistle, or has the revered writer been invaded by aliens? I think we should be told.

Sunday was a most satisfactory day. I got me a frog! Yaaaaaayyyyyy. Someone tried to thwart me, but I was unthwartable and gave great entertainment to 75% of Those Next Door North by galloping accross their lawn with four froggy leggies dangling from my mouth. I was chuffed. This happy state was not to last, for dopplecat caught me unawares and nearly got my tail as I flew through the Catflap of Doom; therefore I had to go into puss-poots mode until the next day. It doesn't help that B&W tries to follow me everywhere like a fat shadow - how I hatesssss it! It is getting its zipper stitches out tomorrow and I hope it hurts!
The Rolling Acres are awash with all kinds of primulas and ferns are beginning to uncurl and stretch. The Swedish whitebeams will soon loose that early tender pistachio green and even ash are bursting a bud here and there and there's a heap of daffs lying under a sack in the Flying Shed, free to a good home. Mpu has just had a go at dopplecat with the garden hose, but he won't take a telling and nearly got in the kitchen window - suppose we'll all have to suffocate instead of having fresh air. I try not to be gloomy........ After all I did get away with a frog. On the other paw, B&W got two just-fledged blackbirds from a neighbour's garden and I haven't had a birdie yet this year. Mpu tried to save both, but one was rather chewed and he found the other one again. If only Next Door West would give up strim-and-burn, the fledgelings would have more hidey places. I'm just a jealous guy. Imagine!

Strange bipeds invaded the Rolling Acres last week. (Of course, 'last week' could be meaningless, depending when this gets posted by Uncle Graham...... ) Tuesday before Folk Festival was VI Day. Frantic preparations in the kitchen; obsessive cleaning; pu's room evacuated; fpu's alleged 'studio' transformed into temporary bedroom; interior of fridge given bi-annual scrub with various Jurassic items binned; major disruption of lifestyle. Well, I did my best to be hospitable, looking cute, prowling slinkily, winding round legs etc, but, to be brutally honest (and I know this will shock some of you) I don't think they were Cat People!!!! Beyond belief innit? Also, less shocking to me as I'm not sure what a Folk Festival is, they seemed not to be FF People either. Nor interested in old stones&bones. But perfectly nice in a human sort of way. And no-one could expect them to be over-thrilled as the annoying B&W one sank his claws into their furless legs. They needs lessons in grrrrrrrowling at the nassssty little thing, yesssssss. I could've shown 'em. But nobody ever asks me....... AD (after departure) Fpu brought home a truly magnificent card from down the village. I just know it's for me. 'The Cat of Glory' it says above a depiction of a halo'ed cat, and below, 'And there shall come amongst them a CAT of such GREAT GLORY that all who see it will be SORE AMAZED and MARVEL at its SPLENDOUR.' So who else could it realistically be? Unless it's ma mia. In which case I could be purrsuaded to share the halo and the glory. Oh blush, I feel a haiku comin' on (not as good as 'da pressit muse' but then, I'm only a cat). *ma mia in a / log pile as lovely as a / blue-smoke-cloud in June* Sigh. Must find a sunny spot under the Big Warty Rhubarb where I can teacosy down and think poetic thoughts. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.