BBC HomeExplore the BBC
This page has been archived and is no longer updated. Find out more about page archiving.

16 October 2014

Flying Cat - June 2006


BBC Homepage
Scotland
» Island Blogging
Northern Isles

Orkney
Burray & South Ronaldsay
Eday
Flotta
Graemsay
Hoy
North Ronaldsay
Papa Westray
Rousay, Egilsay and Wyre
Sanday
Shapinsay
Stronsay
The Mainland
Westray

Shetland
Bressay
Burra
Fair Isle
Fetlar
Foula
Muckle Roe
Papa Stour
Skerries
The Mainland
Trondra
Unst
Whalsay
Yell

Argyll & Clyde Islands
Western Isles

Contribute
House Rules

From the BBC
I.B.H.Q.
 

Contact Us

CAT-INNA-POOTS

I, Flying Cat, am posting this on 2/6/06. I am writing in anger, because my last post was 31/5/06 and, by some miracle of steam-powered crap, it has not yet appeared. I am a miffed moggy. A pissed-off pussy. A f****d-up feline. Grrrraaarr!!! And, also, I want to register my undying admiration for Peigi, Seonag, Anna and the indomitable Dolly Joan, without whom the Community Garden at Shawbost would have been as nowt. Watching on the Big Shiny Box, the fpu did think, for the first 10 minutes or so, that we had been transported to an unseasonally but welcomely wet African landscape, where the sturdy wimmin (probably of the SWRI) did all the hard graft, and the Rab C men sat under the banyan tree chewing the fat. However, the Lewisian equivalent of Orkney Builders appeared, and the hunky gneissy firemen and others - although Young Peeps were mostly conspicuous by their absence - leading to comments about the feebleness of human yoof today etc (after all, if they are not breeding as required, what the heck ARE they doing?) - and, in the end, a very happy and hopefully, inclusive (as in inclusive of incomers - as a scholar recently remarked that minority languages/dialects/accents are EXCLUSIVE not inclusive) band of workers were shown celebrating the culmination of all their hard graft. Good on you gurrrls........and boys. Meanwhile, I would be such a happy Catapuss, if only nice Uncle Graham could keep on top of our multifarious bloggings. Because, in the end of the day, to quote so many of our darling semi-literate pollytitians, my parental units, like many others of you islandbloggers, pay the licence fee to Auntie Beeb, and do not expect to be treated as third-class citz. Et voila, c'est moi, Loki, qui parle! Ignore me at your peril, ye mere humans. I'm off out into the Rolling Acres to get soggy in the gentle January precipitation. Shame it's June.
Posted on Flying Cat at 21:50



Technical Canoodlings from Afar

Meeeewheeeeeaaaaaoww! Lookit that up thar on the right. Lookit meeee! After all this time, it happens like magic, my gorgeous image for all to see and wonder at. Baby Biped1 has got his paws on some magic software which means he can see what the parental units are up to on screen and make them Do the Right Things. Maybe if they ask him very very nicely, he might get other pics on the blog. Me and my pals cavorting in the Garden of Earthy Delights, half mangled voles, me up a tree...........I'm going all weak at the knees at the thought. Not sure where a feline's knees are come to think of it. Things have gone a bit quieter on the Stranger Cat front, but not before one of them bit my foot and it swole up like a pingpong ball. Thank goodness my impeccable immune system coped and a visit to the v.e.t. was averted. Half a kilo of Davy's Best Steak MInce probably helped. Pussychologically at least. Marmalade and B&W didn't even get a sniff as it was all for meeeeeee. Such lovely sunny days we have been having: the Rolling Acres are a-burgeoning with growth and colour and nearly-colour. Bottom Bed has the Blues in a big way - forget-me-nots, columbine, geranium Johnsons Blue, comfrey, punctuated by pale pink mini bottlebrushes of persicaria bistorta superba and scarlet geum. The rowans and whitebeams are laden with just-opening blossom: they smell different. Rowan is earthier, whitebeam more delicate and fugitive. But nothing beats the whiff of a freshly unzipped vole. Must hop accross to the field-with-the-burn for some Serious Stalking. Stranger Cat1 has been seen there, he better just keep outa my way, bits or no bits. (Its all very well for you to talk mjc, of course I'm pussychologically scarred - wouldn't you be?) There's only one cloud on my low-slung horizon, the nasssssty plasssstic basssketsess is coming down out of the shed-in-the-roof again. Oh not ANOTHER visit to Big Cage????? Meeep.
Posted on Flying Cat at 10:48



The Fleeting Nature of Spring, Liff & Everything

In such a short time so many lovely things burst forth into liff and then wither and die. Give me a crunchy pill oh Mighty Whiskas that will slow the whole clamjamfrey to a wormcrawl, that I may pretend that Death on his pale horse called Binky is but a phantasm, a mere mental bagatelle, a fiddlestyx! Already the glorious clotted-cream froth of blossom is browning; the million baby-blue stars of forget-me-not fade; the furry feline pussy-willows shrivel and fall - tout lasse, tout casse, tout passe. Or something like that, I'm not a linguistically talented tigger........ Anyway, the bipeds came and collected us from Big Cage on Wednesday and we have been revelling in the dry windless halcyon day which followed, even though Dopplecat and Tyhlvester are dogging our ways........damn them! I wish the constabulary would burst in on them and unceremoniously bundle them into custody, for they are truly terrorists on my patch guv and no mistake. Fat chance. Seemingly the bipeds were on another island called Man (for passing strange are the ways of humanoids) and the Visit was to mark another tempus fugitive moment, a retirement do. Whatever that is..... For we cats do not retire but merely die in harness, mangling voles and frogs and baby birds unto the very end, until our eyes mist over, our limbs stiffen and the very breath of liff stills in our delicate wee noses. Sigh. so that's me for now then, so it is but.
Posted on Flying Cat at 23:15



Pusscatly Premonitions

My small fat irritating B&W housemate is no more. He has ceased to be. He is an ex-cat. He tried to argue with the Four-wheeled Thunder that Roars and it won tyres down. Instantaneously wiped off the face of the earth and carried ignominiously back to the Rolling Acres in a Somerfield bag and buried behind Stone Circle and somewhat to the right of what the bipeds insist on calling a cat-pee plant, otherwise a flowering currant. The total of buried felines in the Rolling Acres is now 7: two to tempus fugit; four to thunder-that-roars and one to BIzarrely Big Ball of String. The bipeds are a bit miserable and I am trying to cheer them up by being terribly cute and cuddly. The fur had only just started to grow over his unzipped-by-intruder bit. RIP B&W.
Posted on Flying Cat at 00:26





About the BBC | Help | Terms of Use | Privacy & Cookies Policy