They say that an Englishman’s home is his castle. In my case, my own home is not my castle. It belongs to my three black cats.
Regular readers will know that three of these creatures rule my house.
The lord and master is Jasper, a fat furry blimp who spends most of his time asleep, only waking up to eat. He has a sixth sense that wakes him up whenever we go into the kitchen. He is a greedy moggy who eats for Britain. I also call him Fatty, Lardarse and, my current favourite, Monster.
|Jasper in his usual position!|
|Poppy about to flee from the great beast with mad hair - i.e. ME!!|
|Move - or I will kill you!|
Of course, Mrs PM dotes on them like they are children, when the reality is that they are black killing machines from which no tiny creature is safe.
Recently, Jasper has become very vocal, howling after every meal and every time we walk past him. It’s not just a silent miaow; it’s a deep almost growling noise that is reminiscent of one of his larger African cousins.
“I wonder why he does that?” I’ve asked Mrs PM.
“He’s probably just letting everyone know that he is king of the house, “ she says.
She’s probably right – and it’s has got my weird brain thinking about what he really is saying.
Here are my speculative guesses:
“All hail me, King of all I survey. Bow before my magnificence!”
“You! Slave! Prepare my dinner immediately, lest I bite your feet.”
“I have just produced a most disgusting crap and the smell offends me. By the way, I missed the litter tray because it was so big. Dispose of it immediately!”
“Do not touch me! I am preparing for my pre-sleep nap.”
“If you touch me again, I shall remove your face with my claws!”
“Oh yes – down a bit – up a bit – now scratch! Aaaahhh – that’s better. Now I can sleep.”
Poppy, the coward, might just be saying:
“Oh God! Here comes that ugly monster with the weird hair. Please help me!”
“You call that food? A mouse tastes much better – get me one!”
“What’s that? A shadow? AARRRRGGHHHHH!!!”
“Yes I know it’s 3 o’clock in the morning – but I’m hungry!”
“I feel sick. Where shall I vomit? Ah – just here outside the big blonde oaf’s bedroom door.”
Liquorice might just say:
“I’m comfortable on your knee. Move one muscle and I shall tear your limbs from your torso and feed them to next door’s dog.”
“I need something to attack. Ah! Here comes the blond punchbag – claws at the ready …”
“Decisions! Decisions! Shall I rub up against him or attack his bare leg? Decision made – claws at the ready …”
“There’s a killer on the loose again – and it’s ME!!”
“I want cat treats now – THIS INSTANT! You have five seconds before I rip your throat out. Oh thanks! You live to feed me another day.”
Trust me – that’s what I believe they would say and I am sure that Mrs PM agrees with me.
Oh oh! Liquorice has just jumped onto the computer desk and Jasper is watching with interest. I think I need to feed her otherwise this could be my last blog post.
Come on, your highness - let's get you some food.