What a week! It started so well, with my trip on the Severn Valley Railway to the 7th annual p?t? festival. Chicken liver, without the disagreeable texture! The wonders of human culinary exploits will never cease to amaze me. After a wonderful start, the week quickly degenerated into the usual monotony as Ashley, my dim-witted retainer, was mostly vacant; off no doubt on some quest to procure even greater delicacies for my enjoyment. To make things worse, the accursed weather should have left me imprisoned in my home with that damnable mother of mine. But no, my vexatious early morning antics aimed at the elders ensured I was free by sunrise, early cat catches the bird; pleasant until the storms rolled in.


After reassertion of my status by continual thwarting of their attempts to imprison me for the night, I finally settle in on the sofa. "Come on Kitten" they call in that juvenile tone, pathetic. Fraiser was on the image box, a season 3 repeat, nonetheless I bed my claws into the arm of the chair and proceed with the daily groom. Fifthteen minutes I spent, fifthteen minutes before that girl appeared. "Kitty!" she squealed, before whisking me from my sofa-groove and starting what they euphemistically refer to as 'cuddling'.

Later that week, during a midnight stare from the bay window I notice Graeme, a scurrilous brute who I can only imagine crawled from the depths of filth and distaste. Needless to say I have nothing but contempt for the fellow and he stands as my greatest rival around these parts. What has not escaped my attention is the gall of the elders who insist on feeding that thing; fragile human morality, never ceases to amaze.