Crinkle Octopus and myself have had enough. I have had enough of the noise and Crinkle has had enough of the biting. Chicken, on the other hand, cannot get enough of either. I called a meeting today to discuss the return of Ugly Cat but Chicken refused to attend unless Crinkle be allowed to sit in. I’m not convinced that she was giving me her full attention.
Ugly Cat disappeared a while ago and resurfaced months later looking rather worse for wear. He spoke to me in confidence, saying he had been on a secret fact-finding mission to Brussels; his remit being to gather information about what is happening with Brexit. Apparently, he came away a pauper and had to make his own way back home, travelling by night and hunting for his food. This explains his dishevelled appearance and drastic weight loss.
He suggested that he and I form a top secret organisation with the purpose of gathering our own information about what is going on in political circles here. I told him that I would seriously consider it, but that I felt it to be a tall order. If he couldn’t find out what was going on from Brussels, how was he expecting to find out from Downing Street? I’m not even sure that any information exists.
For the time being, I have decided not to tell Chicken about Ugly Cat’s secret mission. She will find it hard enough dealing with the return of Ugly Cat, without adding the additional trauma of Brexit.
At the meeting, I told her that Ugly Cat had been living feral for a long time, but was learning once more to live in a house. I hoped this would result in her showing a little more kindness towards him than she has in the past.
All is well in the world of Monty. Chicken has relocated to the settee with a rather sick looking Fairy, so I am back in my big bed with Ellie the Elephant.
Back where I belong.
You may also notice my lovely new Christmas blanket which Grandma and Grandad gave me for Christmas. Chicken also has one which should mean she won’t steal mine.
Chicken opening her Christmas blanket.
I am expecting a little ‘Chicken respite’ over the next few days as Chicken has a new boyfriend. His name is Crinkle Octopus, and to be honest, I think he has far too much to say for himself. I am hearing his crinkly voice in my sleep.
Can you spot the deliberate mistake?
What’s wrong? What’s wrong? I shall tell you. There are two beds: one large, one small. There are two greyhounds: one large, one small. There are two greyhound brains: one large, one small. How did it happen that the small greyhound with the small brain ended up in the large bed? The large greyhound is rather perturbed. To say the least.
Putting that business aside, I am in an excellent mood preparing for Father Christmas. He is expected at my house before dawn tomorrow and I have already layed out a range of suitable refreshments for him and his reindeer. Chicken does not fully support the notion of rewarding the reindeer as she has not yet forgiven Rudolf for something that he didn’t do two years ago. Or some such nonsense.
We have had a bit of a rollercoaster ride over the last few months involving, amongst other things, general anesthetics, but we are now back on the horse so to speak. Chicken is beside herself with excitement and refusing to go to sleep so I’m anticipating a very long night. Until tomorrow then my friends……….
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL
Monty The Great
The practice of displaying clothes in the garden for the neighbours to admire has continued all summer. There have been a few days recently when it has rained, and The Fairy has not taken her clothes outside, thus perpetuating Chicken’s belief that rain is dangerous. I have tried to reason with her by explaining that The Fairy is still willing to go for walks during rainfall but, as usual, Chicken won’t listen to me.
How to fold a Chicken
Last week, The Fairy was so determined that the neighbours see as many clothes as possible, that she had an outlandish number of articles hanging on the line throughout the day. This inevitably led to a large amount of folding being required.
In a lapse of concentration, The Fairy folded up Chicken by mistake. I offered my assistance to Chicken, stating clearly that I could unfold her in a jiffy but Chicken declined, saying she was quite comfortable and pleased that The Fairy had included her in the demonstration.
I cannot wait to see her walk with those.
It was a few days later when I walked into the living room that I noticed Chicken’s back legs had grown to an unnatural length. I do not yet know whether this unprecedented growth spurt is due to the folding up process, but I am keeping a fair distance from The Fairy, lest she attempts the same with me. My legs are perfect. I intend for them to stay that way.
I am in the process of writing a report about the cats on my estate after some quite remarkable developments. I will publish my findings shortly, once I have discussed them with Chicken Long Legs.
Chicken’s tenth birthday was on the 19th of July. My tenth birthday was three weeks later. The Fairy forgot Chicken’s birthday. She suddenly realised her mistake a few weeks later, apologised, and promised to have a joint party for both of us on my birthday.
My birthday came and went without acknowledgment. I had cleared my diary for the purpose of celebrating in style, only to find absolutely no evidence at all of any kind of social event, gift giving ceremony or newspaper announcement.
Thank goodness for Arky and Grandma. Arky provided Chicken and I with a stunning selection of steaks. I ate mine – Chicken just sucked hers down all in one go. Chew your food I tell her – you’ll enjoy it more.
Then came the creme de la creme of presents: The Desperate Dan Cow Pie. It also contained pork and green beans. This wonderful invention was delivered to us by Grandma and Grandad. Grandma had baked this pie because she loves us, but also because she felt sorry for us, as the one who takes care of us had completely forgotten.
The Fairy is trying to get back into our good books and has offered an array of excuses, none of which compensate for her total lack of good owner credentials.
The Desperate Dan Cow Pie
I cannot help feeling that I have taken my eye off the ball with regards to on-going owner training. I shall have to start a new training programme, with a view to kicking her back into shape.
Monty The Great
Over the winter months I always have a good view of my garden. I like to perform a few perimeter checks on foot during the day, but for most of the time a quick glance out of the patio door suffices. In recent weeks however, I have found my view obscured by clothes. I have no idea why people insist on hanging their clothes up in the garden during the summer and can only assume they are displaying them for the neighbours. The neighbours may well appreciate it, but I do not. I have no interest at all in ladies unmentionables flapping about in my line of vision.
Think you’re waterproof? We’ll see.
Not only am I subjected to ladies unmentionables, I now also have to suffer the presence of a large plastic contraption in my garden. The Fairy seems very pleased with it, but I am outraged. When the wind blows, it makes noise. That’s right people – The Fairy has brought a noise-making item into my garden. She spent all yesterday messing about with pots and soil and the watering can. Chicken helped, and the pair of them had a fabulous time.
Who grows soil nowadays?
I remain suspicious, however. The Fairy says it is waterproof but that makes no sense at all. Why would she want something that prevents me watering the plants? Surely she must recognise this as a design fault. I intend to assess its waterproofing credentials later, as I would hate to have anything in my unit which does not comply with current Trading Standards regulations.
Tomatoes are my specialty.
It also concerned me that she hadn’t applied for planning permission from the Council. I’m in the process of locating the home phone number of Bob from the Council.
I know it’s Sunday, and a Bank Holiday weekend to boot, but I do believe he has a civic duty and will not mind at all if I ring him at dinner time with a legitimate enquiry.
I often feel that the word remarkable is overused. As a case in point, I would draw your attention to my previous statement when I referred to my recovery from a serious foot infection as remarkable. It turned out to be anything but. In fact, the recovery was noticeable by its absence. I remained on antibiotics for 21 days, until another infection (located in a rather delicate area of my anatomy which shall remain anonymous) kindly took up the gauntlet and ran with it, necessitating a different set of tablets. Woe is me. I do not like to complain as you know, but I have requested an official enquiry.
The Chicken And The Toad
Chicken has been extra kind to me during this time, and has greatly reduced the amount of noise she makes. She is still twittering on about her ghost cat and seems to be making new acquaintances on her evening walks. So far she has mentioned a German Shepherd puppy, an Akita puppy, a Pug, a Jack Russell and a toad. None of whom she likes.
Due to my confinement, I missed the opportunity to put myself forward for the Home Secretary vacancy which became available last week. I am always at home and I could very easily acquire a secretary, so feel I would have been the ideal candidate. Chicken said she would rather enjoy being my secretary, which would make her the Secretary’s secretary. We have put our plans on hold for the time being but remain hopeful, as it is not beyond the realms of possibility that the position become available again quite quickly. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about British politics, it’s that you cannot afford to blink.
Tomorrow I am overseeing some work in the garden which may involve the use of seeds. I am on standby to do any watering that may be required.
Fear not people. I have made a miraculous recovery. This is to be expected given my thoroughbred, Irish lineage. We are made of steel. The Fairy was particularly impressed with the way I ran through the house upon my return, straight out into the back garden to take care of business. I am not sure if she was impressed with the running, or with the fact that I didn’t do anything inappropriate on the living room floor.
Upon returning to my office, Chicken began a programme of nursing which I am sure was well intentioned. Be that as it may, I still had to ask for help after a couple of hours. There is only so much inane, incessant chatter that one dog can listen to without becoming desperate. Especially in a state of semi-consciousness. I have no idea why, but I had nightmares about horses playing violins made of sausages.
Due to my remarkable recovery, I am now in a position to deal with the most pressing issues facing my unit. These range from phantom cats and dangerous cats, to garden vandalism. I am planning on drawing up some action plans in the near future.
Feeling like my old self again.
I am beginning to think that I am living in a zoo. Enquiries so far have revealed the presence of mice, birds, hedgehogs, cats, ghost cats, foxes, frogs, polar bears and now horses. Not all of these animals have been given clearance so I am having to devote a lot of my time to paperwork at the moment. This suits me, as my foot is once again being somewhat troublesome.
Chicken has put in a request to be at the top of any tower of musicians, as she quite rightly points out that the one at the top is traditionally a rooster. A Chicken, she says, is close enough.
My letter from the House Of Commons turned out to be a communication from a government cat which lives in Downing Street. He has informed me that a suspicious cat had been loitering in his territory and upon being chased off, mentioned that he was heading to my unit.
A warning from Downing Street
Apparently, he mentioned me by name and the Downing Street cat felt it prudent to warn me as said cat was deemed to be dangerous as well as suspicious. The letter was originally sent a number of weeks ago and nothing has happened yet, so whilst I will take all necessary precautions, I am not too worried.
I am too busy supervising Chicken’s attempts at balancing on top of small things in preparation for her tower of screaming animals.
Give me strength.
I have told Chicken that she needs to relax a little. She is so springy that she is beginning to see things that are not there. I can perhaps accept that a scruffy cat has been seen, but she is now also insisting that she is being followed by horses. I co-ordinate the night time walks from my office so cannot verify these sightings, but I do not believe for one moment that she is being followed on a residential estate by large horses.
I have heard that yoga is good for relaxation so have recommended the practice to Chicken.