Posts Tagged ‘cat story’

As many will know we have 10 cats. They are all British Shorthairs, among the ten are three toms, one despite his large size is a little cowardly but the other two are large, confident, bold and personable cats.

Leo in hiding

Being cats they know how to manipulate their humans in order to gain food, attention and by and large anything else they want. All cats have these innate skills and have reached their position of power in households across the world by deploying these skills with great mental acuity. Numerous sayings have developed over the years from ‘Dogs have masters, cats have staff’ , “You can keep a dog; but it is the cat who keeps people, because cats find humans useful domestic animals,’ to Churchill’s famous ‘I like pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.’ But the coolness, control, superiority and decorum of our cats was visibly shattered this week. Other cat lovers confirm our findings that the cool, elegant and at times imperious nature of these creatures disappears when confronted by small humans.

This week we had two of our grandkids over, two children, one aged 16 mths and the other 5 yrs of age who proved to be too much for ten cats. Within five minutes not a cat was to be found, a whole battalion of mice could have wandered through the house, followed by flocks of budgerigars, sparrows and finches, flights of butterflies and flutters of moths. The offer of such bounty would not have brought the cats out of their various hidey-holes so long as the little people were present. Large male cats, even our overweight female queen ignored the whisker test and squeezed their bodies into holes that even the mice would have given some thought to before crawling through.

Cleanest, but maybe not the cleverest hiding spot

The stand down was maintained for a couple of hours; one cat thinking that the grandkids had left, carried out a brief scouting mission only to realise that the kids were in the back garden. He quickly turned about lowered his chest and stomach to the floor, halving his height, and skulked at pace back from whence he came.

Eventually, the kids went home and one by one the cats started to reappear and assert their authority once again. Order was once again restored and the cries for food, attention and anything else they wanted resumed as if nothing had happened.

Yes, the cat may well be superior to us, but perhaps only when we are at a stage where our minds have developed sufficiently for the cat to exercise control. Mini-people represent a challenge best left for mum. If mum, and it is a debatable point, can knock off the rough edges and provide the basic skillls the cat can then work on the rest. Until then, I’m afraid the little terrors (oops children) hold the upper hand.



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The title of this blog is borrowed from the title of a song by one of my favourite bands, James. As I struggled to load material to Cafepress last night the words of the song came to mind. This last week has been full of frustrations; Bernie Bolts Bergen is still awaiting its Amazon listing; the web page that we designed for my other half’s business has to wait 24-48 hours before all the links go live; due to work load I have been unable to find time to write my blog or develop the new book idea and/or even finalise the promotional aspects of Bernie’s book because of the Amazon thing and I am now way off plan. I even struggled to find time to tweet. Just to prove the point my internet connection crashed in the middle of writing this blog.

‘All this frustration
I can’t meet all my desires
Strange conversation
Self-control has just expired’

I could have thrown a tantrum but my days of tantrums are gone now; I could have thrown things at the TV, but that would cost too much; I could have shouted at the cat but that would have required a decision as to which cat to shout at, bearing in mind we have 10. Costa, one of our Toms, would have thought that the shout was a form of affection and would have run towards me; the other boys would have probably looked at me in disgust, the girls may have slowly raised their bodies off the sofa and the bed and then slowly walked away, while old Torsay might have raised her head or, more likely, a single whisker. In any case when you are bottom of the pecking order behind 10 cats there doesn’t seem much point in throwing a tantrum

A little clip of a young Bernie expressing his frustration.

‘Stop stop talkin ’bout who’s to blame
When all that counts is how to change’

The promotional plan for Bernie Bolts Bergen has to be reworked. Meantime I’m off for another beer before this network of mine crashes once more.

Frustrated Purrs


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