Nancy's Mog Blog

Why cats invented Christmas

2011-12-20T15:36:00.000Z

The Victorians are usually credited with the invention of Christmas as we know it: the decorations, the sending of cards, the carol-singing. I believe, however, that if historians dug a little deeper they would discover that the inventor of our Christmas traditions could have been one thing only. Feline.

Let’s start with the Christmas meal. A 15lb bird – large enough to feed a family of 6 for a week – is crammed into an oven barely big enough to accommodate it, left to cook for half a day, then served with so many accompaniments that even the heartiest family can barely make a dent in its flesh. What possible reason would a human have for devising such a wasteful, impractical menu? To a cat, on the other hand, the weeks of leftover turkey scraps would be not just a happy accident, but a crucial factor in the planning. For who else in the house can bear to eat any more turkey after the Christmas meal is over, but the family cat?

Similarly, why would a human want to stick a real six-foot tree in the middle of their living room, usually necessitating the rearrangement of furniture to make room for it? And let’s not forget the irritation of constantly-dropping pine needles all over the carpet from the moment the delicate Scandinavian evergreen comes into contact with your full-blast central heating. For a human, the tree is nothing but hassle. To a cat, however, it is a ready-made climbing frame and scratching post, replete with tantalising decorations and glittering baubles just waiting to be batted off their hooks.

Christmas morning itself, with its frenzy of gift-opening, undoubtedly has its rewards for humans. But have you ever stopped to consider how you package the gifts you give your loved ones? Endless cardboard boxes, perhaps full of shredded tissue or polystyrene pellets, all encased in crinkly paper… I think you can see where I’m going here.

The evidence is undeniable. All your Christmas traditions were devised by someone with a vested interest in leftover turkey, tree-based play, and cardboard boxes.

Thank you, Father Kitty-mas!

Too bad, Pip. I found it first!

What a difference a year makes

2011-12-16T12:05:00.000Z

Then

This time last year there was a thick covering of snow across Harpenden, and I spent the daylight hours in the park opposite Nancy HQ making merry with all the local sledgers.

A year on, we have only had a mere dusting of snow, and yet it is enough to send me scurrying to the nearest radiator for some winter comfort.

Now

Drifting in and out of sleep I wonder if I could be getting old. Do I exhibit any other signs of middle age? Certainly, I have taken to eating more in recent months, and combined with my lower energy levels this has resulted in a visible pot belly (which my owners delight in pointing out to me every time I pester them for food).

I also find it hard to stay awake, having to fight drooping eyelids even in mid-conversation, or while watching my favourite wildlife programmes on TV (is the fact that I enjoy wildlife programmes itself a sign of middle age?!)

Most worrying of all, I find myself sympathising with my step-cat Pip's grumpy moods. When he sulks because his favourite napping spot has been used to store Christmas presents, I feel his pain rather than sniggering behind his back. When he complains about the mud and ice in our back garden, I give a resigned nod rather than rolling my eyes.

Could the unthinkable be happening? Could I be... growing up?

I'll have to get back to you on that. Right now, I need a nap.

Pip - you've been prank'd!

2011-12-07T13:37:00.001Z

The wintry weather has arrived, so Pip and I have been forced to overcome our mutual dislike, and accept that we do in fact share the same living quarters. For the most part we are able to do so with at least a semblance of civility, but there are still occasional flashpoints.

Yesterday, for instance, saw me fall victim to a completely unprovoked physical assault by Pip, resulting in tufts of black fur (mine) being gouged out all over the living room carpet. As Pip is undeniably larger and stronger than me I was forced to concede defeat. However, like David to Pip's Goliath, I used my brain to come up with a payback plan.

As you will see from the photo below, I think justice has been served admirably, with the help of a tube of hair lightening cream, and some deft paw-work while Pip slept off his lunch.

As you can see from his face, Pip is thrilled to be a walking advertisement for my book, at least until he sheds his winter coat.

That'll teach him.

If cats went on strike...

2011-11-30T13:06:00.001Z

Today is Britain's first national strike day for decades, and I have been pondering the issue of democratic protest (from my vantage point on the wooden chest next to the radiator). The question no-one has yet asked: how should the country's feline population express dissatisfaction with its own working conditions? We have rights just like everyone else, and surely we are also entitled to express our views?

For the sake of argument, let's say a (hypothetical) cat was unhappy with the living conditions offered by her owner. What would her choices be?

Stirke days are all well and good for humans, but the 'down tools' approach presupposes that twelve hours of lying semi-comatose on a sofa does not, in fact, constitute a perfectly normal working day. If our dissatisfied hypothetical feline decided to spend, say, an extra hour of the day asleep, would her owners even notice?

More extreme methods may be called for, such as the tried and tested Hunger Strike. Our disaffected moggy could turn her nose up at all food offered by her owners for a 24 hour period (any longer would be craziness). I'm sure all my feline readers will recognise the feeling of power that comes from delivering the withering 'you call that food?' look as your owner squeezes some reconstituted gristle out of an own-brand pouch. To really ram the point home, it's best to sniff disconsolately at the mushy chunks before exiting swiftly through the cat flap. This technique works best in the summer months, when the piles of uneaten food will soon be swarming with bluebottles. This tactic's disadvantage, however, is that it does involve going hungry, or at the very least dragging yourself out of the house and going next door to eat their cat's food instead.

Protest marches, demonstrations, rallies - all make me shudder with the sheer amount of activity involved. And there's the rub, I suppose. Cats are simply not activists by nature. We are inactivists. We need a method of protest which doesn't involve going hungry, doesn't require planning and organisation, and definitely doesn't entail being outside for long periods in inclement weather.

So that's settled then. Unless anyone can come up with a better idea, we'll pee in your shoes.

What Tulisa's tattoo really says...

2011-11-22T13:16:00.001Z

Apparently X Factor judge Tulisa is in trouble with Ofcom regulators, who think the tattoo she displays on her forearm at the beginning of every show might be illegally promoting her new perfume.

However I can exclusively reveal, with the help of some very sophisticated imaging technology, that she is innocent of all charges. Tulisa is indeed sharing something dear to her heart with the British public, but it's got nothing to do with perfume...

We Need to Talk about Nancy...

2011-11-15T10:36:00.001Z

Now that I'm a bona-fide celebrity, I'd hate for my fans to think I no longer care about what you think of me. To that end I have compiled my very own survey about, well, me.

With a few clicks of the mouse you can make your voice heard, and let me know what it is you love most about me.

I promise to take on board all comments and suggestions (as long as I agree with them, of course).

Happy surveying!

http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/XNHXCYZ

Another day, another photo-shoot...

2011-11-07T13:41:00.000Z

I feel I should apologise for neglecting my mog blog of late. The truth is, what with Facebook and Twitter, there are so many 'petworking' platforms out there it's sometimes hard to keep on top of them all. And let's not forget, I am a cat, and therefore like to spend at least 60% of any given day asleep, leaving a mere 40% for other activities such as eating, hunting, and self-publicising.

Speaking of self-publicising, today Nancy HQ was visited by a journalist and photographer from the nation's premier feline publication Your Cat magazine.* They are writing a feature about me, my book, and my forthcoming appearance on Must Love Cats.

Their timing was not great as I had just settled down for my mid-morning nap, but I turned on the Nancy charm for them regardless. After the usual 'Nancy at home' photo shoot we headed off to one of my local pubs, the Gibraltar Castle, for some additional shots of me relaxing at the bar.

This PR business is getting to be second-nature for me and my owner now, and we have become quite a slick unit of feline/human co-operation: I do my bit in front of the camera while she leaps around like a lunatic behind the camera, sporadically flicking cat treats in my direction if I lose focus or look as if I might fall asleep.

Seeing the desperation in my owner's eyes as she tried to get me to follow the photographer's instructions today, I couldn't help wondering what's in it for her? Anyone would think it was her memoir we were promoting, rather than mine.

I suspect she might be a little delusional, kidding herself that my fame is, somehow, something to do with her. As we bade farewell to the journalist and photographer, I nearly reminded her that the magazine is called Your Cat, not Your Owner, but seeing the excited look on the face, I just didn't have the heart to spoil her fun.

*Nancy will appear in the January issue of Your Cat, out on Decemeber 15th.

Must Love Nancy

2011-10-01T17:34:00.000+01:00

It's been a big week for me. The UK launch of my memoir Sex and the Kitty took place on Thursday night. Neighbours, friends, fans - you name it - all turned up to celebrate at my favourite local pub, the Amble Inn.

I spent the day beforehand preparing in the best way known to cat: sleeping. To help get me in the right mindset for the night's celebration, I chose to nap in a box of my books. I like to think this added a personal touch to the copies which later went on sale at the launch: a tuft of fur here, a speck of flea dirt there. There can't be many authors who would go to such lengths for their readers.

As if the launch itself were not exciting enough, the whole event was filmed by a film crew from America for Must Love Cats on Animal Planet. As those of you who have read my book will know, this was not the first time I have dipped my paw into the world of showbusiness. You will not be surprised to hear I performed like a seasoned pro, executing several takes of the 'Nancy walking into pub' shot (motivated in part, I'll admit, by some strategic placing of smoked salmon on the floor just inside the door), and I did not betray even a flicker of annoyance when the show's host John Fulton woke me from my nap later in the evning to interview me. However I did draw the line when I escaped into the pub garden for a comfort break only to find a cameraman lurking in the bushes, hoping to film me answering the call of nature!

This breach of privacy aside, the film crew behaved professionally, and since I heard them utter the phrase 'pure gold' on several occasions, I can only assume they were happy with the evening too.

Friday saw me faced with another full day of filming for Must Love Cats, this time for the 'day in the life of Nancy' sequence, at my home and in some of my local hangouts.

Filming began with some straightforward requests: coming in and out of the cat flap, walking down to the local park, charming some small children in the playground. My UK readers will be aware, however, that we are currently experiencing an unseasonal heatwave, and I'm sure all my readers will know that if there's one thing cats like to do in a heatwave, it's sleep.

I fought against my natural urges as best I could, trying to do what was being asked of me with good grace. I wandered around the aisles of my corner shop. I trotted along the street chatting to neighbours. I hopped in the back of a taxi. But the sweltering heat combined with my sleep deprivation combined to cause somewhat of a sense of humour failure, and by 4pm I let it by known that Nancy was closed for business.

When we finally returned home for the final shot, of John Fulton serenading me with his specially-composed Nancy song, I had had enough. I turned my back to him, had a brief wash, and went to sleep.

Nancy will appear in the next season of Must Love Cats, on Animal Planet, early next year.

New York Kitty

2011-09-21T13:08:00.001+01:00

As my Facebook friends will already know, I have just got back from a promotional tour of the US (well, New York City). In spite of a somewhat uncomfortable journey over in my owner's luggage, sandwiched between the shoes and the hairdryer, I would say the trip overall was a big success.

As well as being wined and dined by my US publishers, I made something of a pilgrimage around the Manhattan branches of Barnes and Noble in order to see Sex and the Kitty on the shelves.

I'll admit I was disappointed at first not to find my memoir on either the 'Bestseller' or 'Recommended' tables, but I suppose it is a little too soon for that. For readers of mine based in the US, the 'Humor' section is where you will find me, sandwiched between books about Farts, Assholes, and other similaraly scatalogical subjects.

Contemplating the low-grade publications on either side of my slim but stylish volume, I came to the conclusion that the understated elegance of my book is in fact highlighted by the crassness of these rival offerings.

I'm sure that any customer searching for a book that will make them smile (and which they will not be ashamed to be seen reading in public) will have no hesitation in choosing Sex and the Kitty over a book about bodily functions.

Remember, a fart might be for Christmas, but a Kitty's for life.

If cats had apps...

2011-09-12T10:16:00.000+01:00

I've had a busy weekend. In addition to putting my film-making skills to good use with my new catcam (of which more later), I've also been working up a few Nancy merchandising concepts. Traditionally, celebrity cats tend to focus on 'old-school' merchandising lines: calendars, soft toys, yada yada yada.

However, as a multi-media-enabled, tech-savvy feline, I've decided to go for something more in tune with today's society...

The Nancy App.

Your chance to get the virtual Nancy experience, for just $1.99!

Another lovely review!

2011-09-07T14:29:00.003+01:00

I think I've found a new best friend.

Lovely Pauline who writes the Daily Mews (http://www.thedailymews.com/) has just written this fab review of my book, AND invited me to become a regular columnist for her Mewsletter!

http://www.thedailymews.com/bookproductreviews/sex_and_the_kitty.htm

Whisper it, but my owners could learn a thing or two from Pauline about how to treat a celebrity cat.

Follow the love, is all I'm saying.

They have been warned.

How to be a writer: Tips for Cats.

2011-09-06T10:06:00.001+01:00

Some say that ‘every cat has at least one book inside them’. I certainly did (my first book Sex and the Kitty is out now!) But what of all the other cats out there, who dream of literary success but wouldn’t know where to start? Is a posthumous, ghosted biography the best they can hope for?

Not necessarily.

As a published feline (and a ghost-free one, at that) I feel well-placed to advise aspiring literary cats on how to make it in the cut-throat world of 21st century publishing.

So listen up, kitties. You want to be a writer? Here’s the deal.

First, you need an idea. This sounds deceptively simple. Of course it helps if you are a compulsively extrovert cat with a thirst for self-publicity, like me. Not all cats are so blessed. Whatever your personality, you will need to find your USP. There are a lot of kitties out there wanting to get published. What have you got to say that other cats (and humans) will want to hear?

When you’ve nailed your idea, you need to get an agent. And by agent, I don’t mean an owner with a house covered in cat hair who thinks the sun shines out of your litter tray. I mean a proper agent. One who knows how to harness your literary talents and, most importantly, what’s going to sell. She doesn’t need to be a cat lover, but she does need to know how to pitch your idea, and who to pitch it to.

Once you’ve got an agent behind you, it’s time to start writing. Brace yourselves, this is the tricky part. Now I know what you’re thinking: how hard can it be for a cat to knock out 60,000-odd words of literary genius? But trust me, it’s not as easy as it sounds.

First things first, if you want to write, you need to establish a routine. Unnatural as it is for a cat, you must discipline yourself. You need to resist the continual feline urge to nap, at least until a rough draft of a chapter is on paper. If writer’s block strikes (and it happens to the best of us), I recommend heading outdoors for a hunting session. It’s amazing how slaughtering wildlife can get the creative juices flowing.

If you set your mind to it, you should be able to write two chapters a week. Reach your target, and you can reward yourself with a treat: an extra long wash/nap combo in a sunbeam, or some quality time with a fresh pouch of lamb chunks in gravy. Keep up this level of productivity and you should have a first draft to deliver to your publisher in twelve weeks.

One final thing: for goodness sake, learn to spell. Yes, I know the LOLcats get away with the phonetic mis-spelling conceit. A photo of ‘cyoot kittehs’ with an amusing caption might be enough on the internet, but, take my word for it, it won’t cut the mustard with publishing professionals. No excuses, kitties, You can haz Spellcheck.

I can’t write your book for you, but follow my simple rules and you too could be a published cat. Good luck!

Letter to Anna Wintour

2011-08-12T18:48:00.003+01:00

Dear Ms Wintour,

Much as it saddens me to do so, I am writing to complain about the profile of me which ran in July's issue of Vogue.

http://www.vogue.com/magazine/article/sarah-jessica-parker-show-and-tell/

It's not just that most of the article is, inexplicably, padded with an unnecessary (and dare I say, gushing) interview with Sarah Jessica Parker (who she?) More worrying (and unprofessional) than that, when your journalist does finally get around to the topic du jour, my forthcoming memoir Sex and the Kitty - a celebrity Meowmoir, she makes two grave factual inaccuracies.

Firstly, she erroneously describes my lifetime's chef d'oeuvre as a 'novelty book'.

As if that were not crushing enough, she then perversely insists on attributing the work to my owner. Surely a journalist of a high enough calibre to write for American Vogue should understand that the word 'memoir'* generally implies that a book was written by its subject? Not by its subject's owner.

Ms Wintour, how would you feel if your cat tried to pass itself off as editor of Vogue? A little peeved, perhaps? Somewhat chagrined? Maybe even 'the full Nuclear'?

Now you know how I felt upon reading that my 'novelty' memoir was apparently not even written by me.

I will let it pass on this occasion, but next time I might not be so understanding.

You have been warned.

Nancy (the Cat)

*ok so it actually says 'meowmoir' but you get my point.

Only 274,778 places to go...

2011-07-07T10:43:00.003+01:00

Pre-publicity for my memoirs (titled Sex and the Kitty - in case it has escaped your attention) has got underway this week. Two local newspapers dutifully covered news of my book deal, and cat blog Catster also ran the story. http://http://blogs.catster.com/kitty-news-network/2011/07/04/british-glamor-puss-lands-book-deal/

The immediate effect has been lots of new followers for me on Facebook and Twitter, and a growing (and possibly unhealthy) obsession with my Amazon sales graph. How the rankings are calculated remains a mystery, especially given the book is not even on sale yet. But there seems to be have a definite spike in my position this week, so I can only assume that pre-orders have been placed! I am now soaring at the giddy heights of #274,779 in the UK rankings (out of over 5,000,000 books, I should add).

Some of my longstanding facebook friends have expressed a concern that I might become big-headed as my fame continues to grow. To them, I would like to offer reassurance, with the utmost sincerity, that this will not be the case.

I was already big-headed.

Letter to Larry

2011-06-29T11:30:00.003+01:00

Dear Larry,

I have followed your progress as Mouser-in-Chief at No 10 with interest, and, to be blunt, I feel you could do with some help. Admittedly, your charm offensive on the press has worked thus far (with the exception of the ITN reporter, but the less said about her the better), but I can't help noticing widespread suspicion that you are failing to deliver your brief.

I believe your owner said in a recent speech "We have obligations beyond our front door, beyond our street". Larry - he's onto you! Take my advice, you need to up your game or your days as the nation's First Cat could be numbered.

Fortunately for you, I have a solution in mind: you and I could form the world's first cat coalition. Before you dismiss the idea, remember that an unlikely coalition managed to get your owner into No 10 against the odds, and what's good enough for the Prime Minister is, surely, good enough for the Prime Minister's Cat.

I too am a cat with a career, a cat who is going places. Like you, I am familiar with the workings of the press, often having to defend my behaviour under the spotlight of public scrutiny. But please be reassured that under our coalition arrangement I would not steal your limelight. You are the feline face of No 10, and you would still get all the glory. I would simply be the power behind your throne... Peter Mandelson to your Gordon Brown, if you will.

Our mission statment could be Putting Cats at the Heart of the Big Society. That would be right up your owner's street, no?

In brief, here's how I see our manifesto:

A clampdown on illegal rodent immigration. Any rodent will have to demonstrate a minimum standard of English before being granted residency on British streets.

No-fly zones for birds in residential areas during cat nap-times.

One cat, one vote (on what should be served for dinner).

An immediate ban on the barbaric use of rectal thermometers on cats.

Simple, but effective, and I'm sure you'll agree Larry, that these are not just feline values, but universal values. I believe that, individually, we are great, but together, we are stronger. Our relationship would thrive because it advances our common interests and shared values. It is a perfect alignment of what we both need and what we both believe. Ours is not just a special relationship, it is an essential relationship - for us and for the world. *

A cat coalition, Larry. You know it makes sense.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts but in the meantime, remember, those mice won't catch themselves!

Kindest regards,

Nancy (the cat)

*I believe your owner borrowed my words for a speech when Obama popped in to No 10 for a barbecue. Power behind the throne, you see...

If I had my own magazine...

2011-06-20T16:23:00.003+01:00

Nancy on wheels

2011-06-13T12:10:00.010+01:00

The weather's turned rainy recently but, like a true pro, I have stoically continued with my punishing schedule of promotional activities around town. There have been times, however, when damp-induced physical discomfort has almost got the better of me.

Last night, for instance, I returned home after an evening's tour of duty whereupon my owners were kind enough to remark that I 'looked like a drowned rat'. I felt like shouting 'let's not forget which member of this household has the book deal and is therefore paying the bills!' But instead I opted for the passive-aggressive response, and tracked muddy pawprints across every dry/clean/soft surface I could find, finishing with a full-body twist'n'shake in front of the TV screen.

Their comment got me thinking, however, that there must be a more comfortable way of raising my profile: one that doesn't involve pounding the streets on all fours, in all weathers.

And then it hit me. I need a Nancymobile! That way I can be driven around, like the Pope, in a manner befitting my stature and gravitas, protected from the elements but on full view to my adoring public. A megaphone could be used to alert people to my imminent arrival ('Nancy's coming. Lock the dog in the kitchen and open the tuna.') I would be able to increase the range of my personal appearances to the other side of town, and beyond! And my fans will no longer feel obliged to drive me home themselves, as they will know my chauffeur (owner) is on hand for the return journey.

This is, surely, what they call a 'no-brainer'?

I shall tell my owners the good news tonight.

Don't call me fat...

2011-06-07T17:33:00.006+01:00

As my book publication date approaches, I'm getting used to my owners being summoned to various meetings about my burgeoning career. Last week, it was a publicity meeting with my publishers. This week, it was the accountant's turn.

Apparently, as a feline-mogul-in-waiting I should have my own limited company. Partly for complicated (and, frankly, boring) tax reasons, but mostly to safeguard my financial affairs (ie keep my assets safe from the grasping hands of my owners). Naturally, I was delighted when my owners conveyed the news to me that I am to become a Director of Nancy, Inc.

To my mind, this company could mark the beginning of brand Nancy. I'm picturing merchandising, sponsorship deals, super-injunctions...

All things considered, I'm rather looking forward to being a Fat Cat.

Nancy the Movie

2011-05-18T11:08:00.004+01:00

As the publication date for my memoir approaches, my time is increasingly taken up with demands of a marketing nature. My excellent US publishers are orchestrating a multimedia publicity campaign, once facet of which is a promotional video starring, of course, me. Film actress is one of the few strings still lacking from my professional bow, so I jumped at the chance to star in my very own biopic.

Let me tell you, being a movie star is not as easy as it looks. Finding my motivation was the easy part. It was the production team (my owners), and the technology which let me down. Several of my 'artistic visions' had to be disregarded due to budgetary constraints (I tried telling them that you get what you pay for, but to no avail). Apparently casts of thousands, elaborate special effects and state-of-the-art post production techniques are out of the question. Ditto a soundtrack featuring copyrighted music. Ditto CGI animation. Ditto professional on-set catering. You get the picture.

What I do have is a laptop, my imagination, and two owners who claim they want to help but seem to spend most of their time telling me what I can't do. If I'm honest with you, the atmosphere at Nancy HQ is starting to get somewhat tense. Having done my bit and produced a simple but effective storyboard, I left the humans to get to grips with the minutiae of the editing software. How hard can that be, right? Judging by the looks on their faces when I returned home at the end of the night, they had failed dismally to fulfil their end of the bargain.

Now they're driving me mad with their incessant demands - to sit in certain places, to pull certain facial expressions, to be awake when they decide to shout 'action'. They have no idea how to handle 'talent'. One of them had the cheek to say working with me is like working with Charlie Sheen. They should be careful what they wish for: I've got quite a rant brewing inside me, and it would only take one ill-timed 'can we just try that again?' for me to unleash my own violent torpedo of truth.

I've had enough. I slipped out of the house yesterday during a break in filming and have not been home since. I'll go back when they've calmed down and are able to conduct themselves in a professional manner. Right now, I need to be alone.

Nancy TV

2011-04-27T13:57:00.002+01:00

I spent last week incarcerated at the cattery (sharing a hutch with Pip. Say no more.) In between the usual cattery pastimes (yowling at the staff, sleeping, yowling at the other cat inmates, sleeping, just yowling) I found a new way to while away the time: devising reality TV formats for cats. As something of a connoisseur of the human reality TV genre, I am convinced that many shows would benefit from feline reversioning.

Here are some of my favourites:

Pimp my Pride
Feline stylist Nan-C (me) helps a tom-cat whose alpha status is at risk because his pride of females is looking frumpy. I work some makeover magic - a little back-combing here, a mani/pedi there - and voila! the ladies are smokin' hot and rockin' da hood again. Alpha status restored.*

Jersey Paws
Observational documentary series about the notoriously brash cats of Jersey Shore, New York. Featuring big fur, big muscles, big personalities, and accents you could strip walls with. Not for the faint-hearted.

Nancy's New BFF
Feline socialite Nancy (you guessed it) travels the country looking for a new 'best feline friend' in the ultimate feline friendship test. The 16 candidates have to prove they can party but also that they have taste and class. Game on, bitches!

My Big Cat Gypsy Wedding
Lions and tigers from a travelling circus tie the knot in a frenzy of fake tan and pink taffetta.

How to Lick Cod Naked
Pretty self-explanatory, this one. A vital life-skill for any gourmet feline.

Five strong ideas, I'm sure you'll agree. I can't wait to hear back from the TV networks I have sent them to.

Now I just need to get the cattery to install a 40 inch flat-screen in my hutch and I'll be happy to book in for another week. Even Pip can come, as long as he brings the popcorn.

*OK I know this is not the most politically correct format, but that never stopped anyone from watching a reality show, right?

Feline bete noir: the cat flap

2011-03-16T11:28:00.010Z

I sometimes think humans don't appreciate how tough life can be for us cats. You think all we do all day is sleep, eat, and kill things and, by and large, you are right, but you fail to appreciate the many irritants, inadequacies and shortcomings which we tolerate on a daily basis.

As a writer, my requirements are simple. I need access to the computer, I need comfortable sleeping quarters, and I need to be able to get outside quickly to answer the call of nature (or if I have seen a juicy wren or blackbird boucing across the lawn).

There is only one thing standing between me and aforesaid avian snack, and it has nothing to do with my hunting prowess. It is the cat flap.

Could someone please tell me who invented this device, because I would like to send them a sharply worded email.

Can you imagine an episode of Dragons' Den in which some wide-eyed inventor turns up with a human equivalent of the cat flap: a hinged plastic window which you have to force open with your head?

The Dragons wouldn't even give it the time of day.

A method of entering and exiting in which the plastic flap either swings back and hits you on the nose on your way out, or catches the tip of your tail on your way in - is that really the best design humankind could come up with?

Would it be impossible to invent a device, say, with sliding doors which sense your approach and slide open in readiness for you? Perhaps with an accompanying announcement for human owners: 'Attention! Incoming feline! Prepare bowl of cat crunchies!'

Now that's an invention I would invest in. But until then, to quote the Dragons, 'I'm out' (with a sore tail and bruised nose).

I'm back!

2011-02-14T11:54:00.002Z

Have you missed me?

In case you were unaware, I have spent the last few months toiling away on my memoirs, due for publication this year.*

The book is nearly finished - I'm just doing final edits with the help of my long-suffering editor in the US. She's learning fast, for a human.
I won't give too much away but I'm confident there's something in it for everyone - tears, laughter, romance, hairballs...

Meanwhile, I have decided to make an early start on my marketing strategy, and have set up a Fan page for myself on Facebook (under 'Nancy the Cat'). I rather like the idea of having 'fans', I think it sets a good precedent for the future. I struggled with which category to select, though. So many of them seemed to apply: public figure, writer, comedian, entertainer. I opted for 'writer' in the end, although I was rather tempted by 'monarch'.

So with a bit of luck the book will be finished and off to the printers soon, and I will have more time on my paws for my blog. I must say it is liberating to be able to write what I like without having to run it past an editor first, and see it come back with comments in the margin saying 'I don't get it. Is this meant to be funny?'

I joke of course. It's all funny!

Prepare yourselves for the onslaught of my publicity campaign. It's coming soon...

*Sex and the Kitty, available in all good book stores, Autumn 2011

New Kid on the Blog

2010-09-21T18:29:00.005+01:00

Whilst working on the first chapters of my memoirs, I have found it difficult to resist the temptation to check out my competition in the cat blogger market. I naively thought this would be a helpful part of my 'research and development' phase, but as any as-yet-unpublished author will tell you, there is nothing more likely to awaken your own insecurities as a writer than reading the work of your rivals.

Rather alarmingly, I have discovered that being a cat who writes is not, in fact, unusual. In the blogosphere, it seems that there is hardly a cat out there who does NOT write. Who knew there was so much literary talent among the cat population? I certainly didn't.

A fact that I am unable to ignore is that most of these cats live in the US. Maybe it's something they put in the water over there, but these cats know a thing or two about self-publicity. They don't just have cats with blogs, they have award ceremonies for cats with blogs: http://dogtime.com/sparkle-cat-petties-best-cat-blog-winner-interview.html
And they have weekend conferences for cats with blogs, where cats can discuss the merits of different blog layouts, or share tips on how to get published: http://www.catwriters.org/annual-info.html

What have we got here in the UK for ambitious cat writers like myself? Anwers on a postcard, if you can think of any. I can't.

Of course the most elite band within the cat blogging community (the Kitterati, you could say) are the cats who have achieved the elusive status of published author. It goes without saying that this is the holy grail for most cat bloggers. But what is it that sets the bona-fide authors apart the amateur cat bloggers? While I write my own memoirs this is the million-dollar question I must keep in mind.

These published cats fill their blog posts with updates about their hectic schedules involving book signings, awards ceremonies, and positions on bestseller lists. Not for them the blogs posts about the mundanities of everyday life in a small town. Their (thousands of) followers would expect more than details of who they met at the park, where they spent the night, or what they had for breakfast.

Another alarming trend I have noticed among the Kitterati is that they all seem to have some special talent or skill (in addition to their aptitude for writing, of course). They are supermodels, or actors, or have special healing powers. Some of them have overcome the adversity of a physical disability. How can a common-or-garden moggy such as myself compete with cats like these?

But then maybe this is my innate English reserve speaking. Perhaps I need to find some of that famous American 'can-do' spirit. As someone once said, your only obstacle to success is yourself (or something like that, I can't be bothered to google it for accuracy. Let's just attribute it to Oprah - it sounds like something she might say).

The simple fact of the matter is that, in order to achieve the global media domination I crave, I am going to have to do what the Spice Girls never managed: I am going to have to crack the US market. And for me that means playing those American cats at their own game. Or perhaps more accurately, holding onto their (coat-)tails and hoping that some of their success rubs off on me.

So, for now, my marketing strategy is to make nice with the Americans. I will have to hope that some of my self-deprecating English charm can be conveyed through my writing (and all Americans love an English accent, right?) I will be like the Ricky Gervais of the cat world - you'll think I'm a bit kooky, but loveable and funny nonetheless, and before you know it I'll have taken over your airwaves and you'll be sick of the sight of me.

Sounds like a plan to me.

Nancy No-Mates

2010-08-03T13:36:00.003+01:00

Right, listen up, everyone. This is an appeal for help.

As you may know I will shortly be embarking on stage two of my media campaign, and the success of this may depend, in part, on me being able to prove my existing popularity. In this day and age, as I'm sure you already know, the scientific measure of popularity is number of Facebook friends.

Currently my friends tally is a modest 80, which is probably less than an acne-ridden teenager with halitosis could muster. I need to be aiming for at least 3 figures, if not 4. To give you an idea, that bloody dancing dog off Britain's Got Talent has got over 9,000. How can I compete with that?!

Now obviously there is an argument to say that quality is more important than quantity, which in some circumstances might be true, but, to be frank, in my situation is completely irrelevant. To a big-shot publisher wondering whether my memoirs would sell, quantity is all that matters. (Besides which it's not as if I've been particularly picky about who I've become friends with so far - without naming names we all know there are a few oddballs in my gang.)

So think of this as being a bit like one of those mawkish charity ad appeals you see on daytime TV. Picture me, looking miserable, hunched over my laptop, waiting for someone to befriend me (cue stirring orchestral background music). "Could you spare 30 seconds to help Nancy? No-one loves her. She's only got 80 friends on facebook. Her media career is over before it's even started." Cut to: me looking up excitedly as a 'friend request' message pops up on screen. "All you need to do is suggest Nancy as a friend to your friends, and you might just rescue this poor cat from the oblivion of anonymity." Fade out over wide shot of me typing happily away, chatting to all my new friends. On-screen caption reads: HELP FIND FRIENDS FOR NANCY.

The really great thing about my appeal is that you don't have to sign up to a monthly direct debit, and you won't get an annoying quarterly newsletter updating you on my progress, which is actually a thinly-veiled request for more money. So you get all the smug satisfaction of knowing that you've done your bit to help the animal(s), without any of the pain of having to spend money to do so.

So please, (cue rousing orchestral music again) think about your friends. If any of them like cats, or live in the area, or have a sense of humour (or even none of the above - like I said, I'm not fussy), send them a friend suggestion for me. Then when I'm on the red carpet at some awards ceremony they can feel the warm glow of satisfaction as they tell all their friends 'I helped that cat get to where she is now'.

PS In case anyone's reading this who isn't already a friend, you can find me on FB under Nancy Smalltown-Cat.

Teenage Kicks

2010-07-29T09:59:00.003+01:00

Writing is, believe it or not, a tiring activity, and can also be emotionally draining. So having finally completed the first chapter of my memoires, I felt I owed myself a little R&R.

I started the evening by popping into the Marquis to find out who was around, and see if anyone was up for a big one. I ran into the usual Crabtree Lane suspects: Murphy (my on/off boyfriend), Blackie, and Molly. One thing led to another and before we knew it word had got round and we had something of an impromptu street party going on. One of the cats had the house to himself as his owners were away* so we all piled in through his cat flap and raided his kitchen. I think it's safe to say that a good time was had by all (his owners always keep a well-stocked larder).

You know there's a point on any night out, when the evening could go either way? Kind of like a 'Sliding Doors' scenario where in one version everyone goes home to bed and wakes up fresh as a daisy the next morning, but in another version a collective decision is made to take the party to the next level? Well that happened to us last night, and let's just say we didn't decide to call it a night. Instead, some bright spark (it could well have been me) suggested that we do a 'house crawl' along Crabtree Lane to see if we could pick up any more cats, and possibly more munchies en route. Molly the tabby started moaning that we might get caught and decided to stay put - she's all fur coat and no knickers that one - but the rest of us set off in pursuit of good times.

As usual, I was de facto leader, so I slipped in through the conservatory door of Murphy's next door neighbour Kim. I've been in Kim's house loads of times before, and I know where she keeps the refreshments, so I headed straight for the kitchen. I turned round expecting to see my gang right behind me, but instead I realised (too late) that the door had been shut behind me and I was trapped. Not only that, but Kim was picking up the phone to call my owners (or the police, or possibly both).

I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid! Molly's words of caution were ringing in my ears, but yet again I'd let my heart rule my head, and now I was going to pay the price for it. I spent the next 10 minutes yowling in the kitchen, trying to warn my gang (who I knew were waiting for me outside) to leg it, but I also knew they probably couldn't hear me. Meanwhile I tried not to think about how much trouble I was going to be in with my owners. I was aware that I had not been home for a while (OK, two and a half days) and that they'd been trying to contact me. Anticipation of the inevitable telling-off, combined with the humiliation factor of having the party broken up by my owners, meant that this was not shaping up to be quite the evening I'd had planned.

Sure enough, before long I heard a car pulling up outside, followed by a knock on the door. I could hear my owner's voice thanking the Kim for calling, and apologising for my behaviour (slightly unnecessary, I thought - no one got hurt!). Next thing I knew the kitchen door was open and Kim was picking me up to hand me over to my owner. Obviously I did what any self-respecting party-cat would do and exploded into a frenzy of claws to try and escape. The shock of my reaction succeeded in loosening her grasp long enough for me to jump. If I'm honest I didn't really have a long-term plan, other than somehow to make my escape and then lie low until the dust settled. The plan didn't work though (damn those slippery tiled floors!) and I soon felt my owner's hands around my middle.

As predicted, all the gang were waiting outside the front door, to witness my final humiliation of being carried like a baby to my owner's car. Murphy made a futile show of solidarity by following us to the car (even sitting in front of the wheels by way of protest). Molly on the other hand was unbearably smug (as usual), observing proceedings with a look of 'I told you so' written all over her face. I let out an audible growl in her direction just to let her know I had noticed, but even this earned me a rebuke from my owner.

I was thrown, rather unceremoniously, into the back seat of the car, where I pressed my paws against the window as we drove off, watching the desolate faces of my friends disappear into the distance.

In my Sliding Doors alternative life, I am probably lying in a sunbeam right now, wondering what to do with myself today -who to visit, what adventures to have. Instead I am in the proverbial dog house, being told to get on with my writing and not cause any more mischief.

I know where I'd rather be.

*I'll preserve his anonymity so he doesn't get into trouble

Writer's block

2010-07-22T18:17:00.003+01:00

I have recently begun writing my memoirs. As Harpenden's premier celebrity cat I felt it was only right and proper, and I have made at least 3 advance book sales to Facebook friends alone.

However, I have discovered that the path to literary greatness is not an easy one. It's a lot more challenging than writing a status update, or even a blog (about 70,000 words more challenging, to be precise). The good news is that my agent tells me that what my book needs is 'a journey'. You've come to the right cat, I told her, journeys are my speciality. One time I even got as far as Wheathampstead. Turns out this wasn't quite the sort of journey she had in mind, but it's a start.

The main problem I'm facing at the moment is the perennial scourge of the author: writer's block. It's not so much that I don't know what to write, it's just that there are so many - dare I say it - more exciting things I could be doing with my time (all in the name of research, of course).

For instance, I started writing a chapter about my favourite Harpenden pub, when I suddenly realised I couldn't remember the exact layout of seating options there, and nor could I recall precisely the cupboard in the kitchen where the chef keeps the tuna. Among writers this is known as the 'tyranny of detail', and of course it meant that I had to pop down to aforesaid pub and sample both the seating and the tuna in order to be able to continue writing the chapter. If you can imagine this scene multiplied by a thousand, you will have some understanding of my current dilemma.

There are also the numerous distractions of writing at home to be overcome. My desk overlooks the back garden, which at this time of year is positively buzzing with activity: cats passing through, wildlife taunting me, sunbeams just waiting to be napped in. Plus I have to cope with the added distraction of the little people in the house who, when they are not trying to distract me with their toys, are pestering to use my computer themselves.

I am trying to console myself with the fact that JK Rowling managed to write Harry Potter during her baby daughter's naps. Clearly, where there's a will there's a way (although did JK also have a facebook page and a blog to maintain at the same time? I doubt it). But if JK can do it, so can I.

First, though, I think it's time for a nap.

Cat Haiku

2010-06-09T09:11:00.004+01:00

Knowing what a cultured bunch my readers are, I have decided to put my life to verse, using the ancient Japanese form of haiku....

Lady with buggy

Talking to me in playground.

Will follow you home.

******************

Watching and waiting,

Tom-cat seems keen to impress.

What's that funny smell?

******************

If you don't want me

To jump on your bed at night,

Why have a cat flap?

******************

Not sure where I am.

Must meow till door opens.

Come on, let me in.

***************

Street needs new road sign:

'Give way to oncoming cats'

Drivers need to learn.

*************

Dogs are so stupid,

Barking at me, high in tree.

Can't reach me here, fools!

*************

Heading home for night,

Hear laughter from the Marquis.

Time for a swift one.

**************

You will be amazed

How long I can make myself,

Stretched out on your bed.

**************

Next up, Nancy: The Sonnets.

The Rules (for Cats)

2010-06-07T10:18:00.002+01:00

I've been doing some research on what the experts have to say on the subject of dating etiquette (a subject close to my heart, as you know), and I stumbled across a copy of 'The Rules: Time-Tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr.Right'. Now this sounds like my kind of book!

I've had a quick flick through the chapters and think I can safely say that, without even knowing it, I am indeed a 'rules girl'.

Here's a few examples:

Be a 'Creature' Unlike Any Other
I think it goes without saying that this sentence could have been written about me.

Don't Talk to a Man First
As you all know, I let the men do the yowling.

Don't Stare at Men or Talk Too Much
See above (although I do perhaps need to work on the staring part - I have been known to deliver the occasional Medusa stare across the garden).

Don't Meet Him Halfway or Go Dutch on a Date
We always meet in my garden, naturally. As far as I know neither of us has ever paid on a date.

Don't Accept a Saturday Night Date after Wednesday
This one's a bit of a sticking point as I have been known to think it's still Saturday on Wednesday, but I've never knowingly broken this rule.

Stop Dating Him if He Doesn't Buy You a Romantic Gift for Your Birthday of Valentine's Day
As I explained in my last blog, a healthy tomcat spray around the hallway counts as a romantic gift for cats, so I think this one's covered.

Don't See Him More than Once or Twice a Week
I try to make a habit of not seeing ANYONE (human or cat) more than once or twice a week, so not a problem.

Let Him Take the Lead
Hmm. I'm not a dog, you know.

Be Honest but Mysterious
Check. To both.

Slowly Involve Him in Your Family
Well, he's had a few stand-offs with Pip in the back garden. Same thing.

Love Only Those Who Love You
Easy - EVERYONE loves me!

Sex and the Kitty

2010-06-01T20:53:00.007+01:00

This week has seen me reach two major milestones - my first birthday and my first romantic entanglement.

The man in question (a Mr Big to my Carrie Bradshaw, if you like) is a rather attractive tabby and white tom. He started hanging around my garden last week, culminating in a night-long declaration of his affections in the form of yowling outside my bedroom window. Always a sucker for a good singing voice, and giving him credit for persistence, we hooked up.

Unfortunately, my Mr Big proved to be about as reliable as his namesake, and after a whirlwind 48 hour romance he vanished, leaving me feeling used and humiliated.

Having sought solace from my friends (sadly not over a Manhattan brunch, but on Facebook) I decided the loss was all his and that I was too good for him anyway.

As is so often the case, the effect of this was like catnip, and sure enough he was back a couple of nights later, taking up his old position at the bottom of the garden, waiting till we were all in bed before starting to serenade me.

Coming downstairs the following morning we found that, in addition to the singing, he had been in through the catflap and sprayed the downstairs hallway. (I tried to explain to my People that this is the feline equivalent of a dozen red roses, but they weren't having any of it.)

But this time I'm playing it cool. After all, I am still in my first flush of youth (you can draw your own comparison with Carrie Bradshaw here - enough Botox already, girlfriend!) and there may be a whole town of potential suitors out there just waiting to fall under my spell.

And of course I have to think of you, my readers. What would you all do if I traded my celebrity lifestyle for a life of boring domesticity?

So, sorry Mr Big, but no can do. I have dipped my paw in the pool of romance, but it is not for me. Yet.

Nancy on the couch

2010-05-26T18:25:00.003+01:00

I fear my hectic celebrity lifestyle might be starting to catch up with me.

In this week alone I have played cricket and baseball in the park, been flour-bombed by scouts, and chased up a tree by a dog with an inferiority complex. Add my all-night socialising, singing practice, and regular rounds of the local pubs into the mix and I think I might be on course for a Lindsey Lohan-style attack of 'exhaustion'.

After a bout of sneezing yesterday I decided to spend the night at home, only to be woken by one of my cat posse yowling underneath the bedroom window all night in an effort to get me to come out. Everyone wants a piece of me, and sometimes there just isn't enough to go round.

Like a true celebrity I blame the demands of my working schedule, and of course the pressures of media scrutiny. I've started therapy to help me deal with my issues of low self-esteem and my constant need to please, and am considering a trip to the Priory to de-tox and de-stress.

My therapist says I must listen to my inner kitten in order to heal my emotional self. I will have to reassess my relationships and cut out toxic influences on my life. It won't be an easy journey, but then when has an easy journey ever been a worthwhile journey (apart from the journey to the pub, perhaps)?

Who knows, perhaps in time I might be able to write my own self-help guide - 'The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Cats'.

If that fails, there's always prozac.

How to solve a problem like Nancy.

2010-05-13T10:55:00.002+01:00

Having completed the cover design for my debut album, I was suddenly struck by an idea so staggering in its simplicity that I can't believe I wasted so much time dabbling in politics: Nancy the Musical.

Andrew Lloyd-Webber has proved that he's not averse to milking - sorry, reviving - his early hits such as Phantom, so now surely the time has come for a sequel to Cats!

And of course there would be the inevitable spin-off TV talent-show hosted by Graham Norton to audition potential co-stars for me.

I will take my rightful place on my own judging throne next to Lord L-W, and pass judgment on the performances in a wry yet insightful manner, to the delight and amusement of the viewers at home.

I can see it now - cat-fights in the dressing room, the fur flying, tears every week as a contestant leaves with their tail between their legs, having missed out by a whisker.

Damn, I'm good. Someone get me Lloyd-Webber's phone number please!

A guaranteed number 1?

2010-05-11T18:49:00.001+01:00

Here's my proposed debut album cover. What do you think?

Virtuoso Nancy

2010-05-09T18:12:00.004+01:00

Whilst surfing the cat blogosphere earlier this week, my attention was caught by the website of Nora, a moggy pianist from the US:

http://www.ravenswingstudio.com/NoraWeb/docs/theVideos.html

The cynic in me wanted to point out that Nora appears only to have one performance piece in her repertoire, but who am I to criticise a cat who has managed to build an international media profile on the back of a few tapped piano keys? (She even has her own line of merchandise. Respect.)

So, drawing strength from the saying that politics is showbusiness for the ugly, I have decided that my talents (and looks) are in fact much better suited to a career in showbiz than politics.

And like a true diva, music is my first love (although depending on how things go it might not be my last).

Given the absence of a piano in my house, I decided singing would have to be my instrument of choice, and went out onto the streets of Harpenden in the early hours of this morning to flex my vocal cords.

Readers, I do believe my impromptu open-air concert was a hit.

Certainly, the lady on Ox Lane whom I serenaded remarked that she'd 'never heard meowing like it', although admittedly she did eventually call my People to come and collect me. (I guess I still need to the learn the art of leaving them wanting more.)

So where do I go from here? I suppose I could enter Britain's Got Talent. There can be no doubt that I've got more talent in my little toe than most of the pond-life who get up on that stage. But I've never liked the look of that shifty Cowell fellow, and don't even get me started on the other two.

I think perhaps I would be wise to follow Nora's example and start with YouTube. I reckon a 30 second film of my singing at full throttle would have the internet at melt-down, and from then on all I'll need to do is sit back and wait for Oprah to call.

I'll go and get the camcorder.

As one door closes...

2010-05-07T11:03:00.003+01:00

So there we have it. The British people have spoken, and although no-one's quite sure what they said, it is clear that they didn't say 'Let's give that plucky cat from Marquis Lane a chance'.

Just like Nick Clegg, I was unable to translate my popularity in the polls into votes.

I stayed at home to watch the election coverage last night but realising things were not looking good I went for a late night walk, ending in a protest sit-in on the doorstep of a house in Stewart Road in the early hours of this morning. But I found cold comfort there and at 7.30am they called my people to come and take me home.

Politics is a cruel business.

But do not despair, Nancy fans. So my route to celebrity will not be via 10 Downing Street, but that does not mean I am at the end of the road in my quest for fame!

The options before me are endless - newspaper columnist, agony aunt, tv pundit, restaurant critic. The world is my proverbial oyster (or at least, pouch of oyster flavoured chunks in jelly).

Watch this space, friends. In the words of the Terminator, I'll be back!

PS Dave, if you do need the support of the Independents to form a coalition just give me a call - I am of course happy to sacrifice all my principles and policies in the pursuit of power.

2010-05-06T09:48:00.002+01:00

Vote for change. Vote for Nancy.

2010-05-03T20:34:00.006+01:00

As phase one of my quest for infamy I have spent much of the bank holiday weekend pressing the flesh in Harpenden. Tiring, yes. Cold and sometimes wet, yes again. But I'm confident that I've been on more doorsteps and met more 'real people' than either Bella, the tortoishell from next door, or the large ginger tom with the attitude who sprays all the gardens in my street.

Focus groups tell me that the Marquis Lane / Crabtree Lane areas are predominantly safe seats of Nancy-supporters, however the area to the west of Station Road is looking dangerously marginal.

So off I headed on Sunday in the direction of Sir John Lawes school, to meet some of the floaters.

It was not until I reached West Way that I could get a punter to invite me in, and even then she was reluctant, leaving me waiting on her doorstep for a good 20 minutes before finally opening up. Of course my charm offensive worked its usual magic and by the time I hit her with my proposed Working Cats Credit she was eating out of my paw.

Friends, there is much work still to be done, many people still to meet. But with your support I know that universal Nancy-awareness (in Harpenden North) is achievable!

Don't be fooled by the other cats. They're all style over substance.

Use your vote wisely - vote Nancy!

The celebrity has landed

2010-05-02T10:55:00.006+01:00

People often ask me 'What's it like to be a famous cat, Nancy?' Well, to be honest with you, it's the hardest job in the world sometimes. What with 24 hour news channels and tele-photo lenses it's easy to feel like you're never off duty.

To give you an example, earlier this week I was having a wash in the 'privacy' of my own back garden when, unknown to me, one of my People took a photo of me, posted it on the internet, and before I knew it a discussion was underway about the size of my rear end (size 0, in case you're wondering). Later I popped into a couple of my local pubs for a consolatory drink, just to find that my whereabouts were being monitored on Facebook.

Such is the price of fame, you might say. And you'd be right.

So, I've decided, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Clearly, there is a vacancy for a celebrity cat. The people want me. And what the people want, the people get. From now on I'm on a mission for maximum self-publicity.

If you ask me what I've done to deserve my fame you can talk to the paw, 'cause the face ain't listening. We all know you don't need to 'do' anything to be a celebrity these days. Just think of me as a feline version of Jordan.

Spread the word, Nancy fans - I've arrived!

This is what Spring's all about

2010-03-23T15:36:00.002Z

Sunday afternoons in the park - can't beat it. Found loads of little people to play with this weekend - a bit of football, a bit of follow-my-leader (with me as the leader, natch), lots of messing around in the playground. Tried to introduce some of them to my favourite game: cat and mouse. They seemed up for playing until I actually caught the mouse, at which point they lost interest. Some of them even ran away. Spoilsports.

Had a hectic night on Monday too - stayed out all night. So tired by Tuesday morning I couldn't be bothered to walk home, so I found a convenient house on Granby Avenue, sat outside the front door and meowed till they let me in. Then spent the morning sleeping on their sofa until my Person arrived with the car to take me home. Taking it easy now, chilling at home. Life is good.

All this blogging is making me sleepy...

2010-03-19T18:11:00.002Z

(By the way I'm not as big as I look in this photo. The camera adds 5lbs, don't you know.)

How many People does it take to read a name tag?

2010-03-19T15:57:00.000Z

Surely only one, I hear you say. Apparently not.

Yesterday morning I was out in the park after a fun night's exploring, waiting for someone to phone my People to come and collect me. A lady with a dog walked past so I meowed and began to follow them, as per usual. The lady looked like she was going to do the honours but said something about not wanting to get too close to me to read my name tag in case her dog attacked me (I would like to have seen it try - the phrase 'attack dog' didn't exactly spring to mind. I could have taken him in a fight, no question).

So we all stood around making pleasantries and waiting for another (dogless) Person to walk past. The next man to arrive declined to help because he was scared of cats (!) and then a lady walked past who wanted to help but didn't have her glasses so couldn't read my tag. I was wondering if now was the time to mention that we were in fact standing about 100 yards from my house and that it probably would have been easier for me to just walk home, but it seemed a shame to spoil their fun.

Finally someone came past in possession of perfect eyesight, and without either canine companion or cat phobia, who read my tag and told the dog lady my People's phone number. When the lady phoned I heard her say was worried about my odd behaviour and thought I might be lost and disorientated. I'm fairly certain I heard laughter coming from the phone at this point.

Anway, job done, my Person arrived to carry me home and I ate breakfast and slept for 7 hours straight, before heading over to the Gibraltar Castle. But that's another entry.

here goes...

2010-03-18T13:30:00.000Z

Am I the first cat in Harpenden with my own blog? I think I might be. Anyway, my People have got fed up with constantly being asked what I'm up to, so they've asked me to start blogging (the phrase 'anything to keep that bloody cat indoors' cropped up).

This week is registering about a 6 out of 10 on my 'fun' scale so far. On Monday night I found my way in to a house on Marquis Lane (well it had a catflap, so what did they expect?) and onto the bed of a lovely (sleeping) pair of People. I had to walk over them several times and jump onto their computer before they woke up, and then they seemed to freak out a little - something about their own cat not liking other cats (?!)

We then played a great game where they carried me downstairs and put me outside, and I came back in through the catflap and went upstairs again, and so this went on, to our mutual amusement, for some time. Then they got bored and decided to make the game more fun by barricading their catflap. However their barricade was somewhat flimsy and it only took me a few minutes to get through it. At this point the People put me in their car and drove me home, leaving me on my doorstep. I thought this was an interesting development in the rules of play, so of course ran straight back to their house and through their catflap to tell them how much I liked this new twist.

It would seem that 2.45am is the time at which most People stop wanting to have fun and suddenly decide that they really should be in bed, so at this point they phoned my People to ask them to come and get me. A shame, in my view - I could have carried on playing that game all night. Still, there's always tonight...