Spotted a new past time, knitting for your pets…. The possibilities of humiliating your pooch appear limitless. You can fashion Darling little dragon outfits or indeed whip up a charming little hat like this one. Strangely enough, I remember precisely the same expression when looking at family albums; it is the look of a Christmas present survivor….
Following the discovery of a blog, titled Diary of a Jet setting Cat, another new online diary entry has been discovered in cyberspace.
Diary of Le Woof du Jour (or Rovers Return)
Day mmmh oof forgot. Just heard jingle of lead – oh goody – walkies! Managed to get close and sniff toosh of La Belle – cocker spaniel from number 12. Ooooh and found great treasure, big box of KFC chicken bones. Can this day get any better? Yessss – cat came home multi coloured looking like parrot. Wait, jingling of my collar again. Brilliant! Nother walkie! New route full of interesting smells. Stop outside strange smelling place can’t quite make out name S—A—L—O—N Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! Walk home, avoiding eye contact, enter home – cat lying on chaise licking claws sniggering when sees my latest styling. Got pom poms on my legs. Mental note – remember large puddle near park…
Apparently, the latest craze du jour in New York (well, mes petit pois where else indeed???) is to dye your cat in some fetching multi colour design. Forget Joseph and the amazing Technicolor dream coat – now the latest must have accessory is to colour match Le Chat to go with your post modern ironic Lichtenstein pop art paintings. Gosh the possibilities and design variations are limitless.
Incidentally this blog entry has just been discovered
Day 711 My tormentor took me to some strange location full of Hispanic little men in shiny too tight trousers, open shirts and medallions around their chests. Jesus, the proud Puerto Rican keeper of this new torture chamber kept exclaiming ‘Mi hijas what a darrrrrrling little pussssy caat’ while applying some strange toxic lotions on my fur. My captor smiled while watching my latest humiliation. One day when the glorious feline revolution will take place and all cats can walk freely without pink glitter collars I shall repay these creatures for all of those heinous attacks. I discovered some new powers just the other day when my captor brought in a new ally; he fled muttering something about ‘allergy’. I must find out how to harness this new weapon….
Alright technically mid morning to early lunch – had an extra lie in. Call from a guy who sounds a little constipated but I am not quite fully awake to differentiate finer acoustic details. He tells me that he has seen and liked my profile for which I thank him graciously. He then tells me that he woke up horny – for a moment I held my breath lest this would lead him to commence a Blues number. No he continues talking and asked my availability. I quote him my earliest appointment time some 4 hours in the future based on a careful algorithm that considers overall state of moi, grogginess, extra grooming, travel and generally switching from auto pilot. He tells me having seen my site I was worth waiting for. I asked if he wanted to make the booking but instead he asks if I mind seeing big guys. I reply in the affirmative and reassure him that since I am no skinny minny myself I don’t have any issues with weight. But he already continues to tell me that ’Big girls like big guys and that he tends to get on with them’ I presume he means big girls but my mind is not completely in focus. His breathing is a little laboured. I am thinking poor guy and am contemplating to recommend extra fibre in his diet. He then asked if I minded 10 inches. I then realise he is not constipated at all. I finish the call abruptly as I hate those kinds of conversations and because my body demands ney screams for a shot of caffeine. Of course I mind ten inches! What is wrong with some people? Why can’t they be sensible and at least quote in centimetres!
Doobee doobee doo or at least do a 200 plus mile round trip beyond your target airport if you opt for Northwest Airlines. Seems the pilots were so busy chatting they missed their stop-off point and forgot to land. Not sure I would have left the plan as nonchalantly as some of the passengers. I admit I am not a natural traveller. I hate flying, from the gut wrenching twisting of my intestines as the plane takes off to the state of total rigid panic for the duration of the flight. And I have flown long distances all across the world especially as a child. However, as soon as I intellectually grasped the unnatural concept of strapping myself into an oversized metal cigar shaped object of terror with wings, my fear of flying and dislike for the mode of transport grew steadily.
Some airlines fill me with instant terror by association, watching Alitalia pilots tumble out intoxicated of a taxi at an African airport because they were too inebriated to drive left a lasting impression. My nerves often get further frayed when additional circumstances add to the sense of panic. One time I arrived to check in only to find out that the flight I had booked on while landing was not actually planning to take on passengers on at the stopover airport. Seems the airline bookers had not ‘communicated’ with the airport staff. A long debate did not ease my pre-flight tension… Eventually, a gate was opened just for moi and I was driven miles out to climb on to an airplane which turned out to be solely filled with men from assorted Arabic backgrounds who viewed my arrival as some sort of special onboard entertainment. Only strong words dispelled this mistaken assumption but for once anger had replaced the so familiar sense of utter fear. But at least, the airline compensated me generously for the ordeal.
Even ‘Skywards’ with El Al does not lift my fears although I appreciate the above average security, it isn’t so much the threat of assailants but the actual mechanics of flying that terrify me. Generally, I spend the flight duration with deciding on my latest will. I tend to debate who to leave my possessions to, depending on who had recently shown me less affection and thus might not get my vibrator collection and suddenly before I know, the plane is about to land. Sometimes so the turbulent landing akin of a kangaroo hopping on the landing lane is impossible to ignore. So when the pilot smarmily asked me if I had a good flight I tend to inquire whether we had been shot down or if it was a ‘controlled’ crash landing…. As for the now defunct TWA Airlines, I figured out during one of their horrendous flights it actually stood for ‘try walking across’!