tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-106755032024-03-14T14:29:14.853+11:00Diary of a Mad CatSometimes my humans don't understand me. On my cata-blog I explain it all.Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-33108262355363186692010-09-13T12:34:00.005+10:002010-09-13T13:25:14.478+10:00RIP Dorkus 1994 - 2010<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/TI2O-r9Lk8I/AAAAAAAACy4/CnpdKMPKu_U/s1600/RWAus10+080.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/TI2O-r9Lk8I/AAAAAAAACy4/CnpdKMPKu_U/s320/RWAus10+080.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516222326201095106" border="0" /></a><br />This morning I said goodbye to my darling Dorkus. He was 16 & a half human years old and had been not himself ever since my return from Sydney when I picked him up from the cattery. It had been a bad year for both of us - when my relationship ended, he lost his personal slave and spent a lot more time home alone. Moving is supposed to be one of the most stressful events in life, and I can imagine for a cat seeing all the boxes being packed, or seeing one part of your family turn up late one evening and take all those boxes away and then never return...well it must be difficult to comprehend.<br /><br />When I came back from my Sydney trip and took him to his new home, it was as if he'd turned into an old man while I'd been away. Maybe he'd been fretting, thinking he'd been abandoned, thinking another human had deserted him.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/TI2WDNsvdMI/AAAAAAAACzE/Kql7zc1QFoI/s1600/RWAus10+077.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/TI2WDNsvdMI/AAAAAAAACzE/Kql7zc1QFoI/s320/RWAus10+077.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516230100559819970" border="0" /></a><br />The above photo was taken a few weeks ago, in the first few days that we were at our new place. But very quickly he stopped joining me in other rooms and spent most of his time sleeping on the bed. Then he started turning his nose up at food. I'd end up offering him a selection of five different flavours so he'd eat something. Then I started cooking him chicken breast but eventually he stopped eating that as well. But still I hoped he'd settle in and start eating again, and he seemed quite content just sleeping all the time. He walked like he'd had a few too many and got up and down the bed very slowly. But I still had hope.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/TI2ZA6RmuyI/AAAAAAAACzQ/G9Me4IqdAfY/s1600/House+004.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/TI2ZA6RmuyI/AAAAAAAACzQ/G9Me4IqdAfY/s320/House+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516233359520873250" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But things changed again over the weekend and I knew he was no longer comfortable. He was skin and bones. He was spending long periods of time crouched in the bathroom, sometimes in the shower recess, or in the lounge room. He was staring off into space more than sleeping and I knew it was time to say goodbye.<br /><br />In the car on the way to the vet, he didn't even meow and usually he would make his complaints about being in a noisy vehicle loud and clear.<br /><br />I gave him a cuddle before the needle and then it was done. Very quick and very peaceful. I stayed with him for another 10 minutes to say goodbye. And then I came home with an empty cat carrier and a very heavy heart.<br /><br />Goodbye Dorkus, we had a fabulous life together.<br /><br />And you can read some of that fabulous life on this blog.Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-25543125032330170832010-01-20T18:30:00.003+11:002010-01-20T18:40:23.480+11:00Guest appearance at Love Cats<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/S1aytQqe99I/AAAAAAAACrs/5lLUumRRSiQ/s1600-h/Various+028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/S1aytQqe99I/AAAAAAAACrs/5lLUumRRSiQ/s320/Various+028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428722891478726610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Check out my guest appearance at the lovely <a href="http://lovecatsdownunder.blogspot.com/2010/01/cat-walk-wednesday.html">Love Cats Down Under blog</a>. The blog is made up of bunch of Aussie CATegory authors who love cats (as they should) and I can tell you that these ladies are fabulous authors - and I know, because I'm such a well-read cat.<br /><br />But it's time to get back to my 'to be sh(read) pile... not that I would ever shred the books of these lovely ladies...but when a book is titled Leftovers...they just shouldn't tempt me. Hey I was hungry - the slave had escaped again.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/S1ays378pxI/AAAAAAAACrk/cBsOsvE-Ugw/s1600-h/Various+049.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/S1ays378pxI/AAAAAAAACrk/cBsOsvE-Ugw/s320/Various+049.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428722884841088786" border="0" /></a>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-5121853189662576152009-04-05T10:24:00.004+10:002009-04-05T10:45:35.212+10:00Why my mum thinks I'm strangeYou see, I'm a cat of many moods.<br /><br />You think I would want to sleep just in the new cat tent. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Sdf683pjpUI/AAAAAAAACUE/lq3LpB9NXz0/s1600-h/Flood+180209+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Sdf683pjpUI/AAAAAAAACUE/lq3LpB9NXz0/s400/Flood+180209+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320997408398878018" border="0" /></a><br />But after a week of camping out, I've decided that I prefer other comforts. The novelty of the cat tent has worn off.<br /><br />Sleep is my favourite pastime. I spend a lot of my life asleep. So it's always good to mix it up a bit. Find new places to sleep:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Sdf9uqBYidI/AAAAAAAACUU/zDlHmQnEuwA/s1600-h/100_0700.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Sdf9uqBYidI/AAAAAAAACUU/zDlHmQnEuwA/s400/100_0700.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321000462757431762" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Sdf9uapXZ-I/AAAAAAAACUM/DsFY-theFsU/s1600-h/100_0373.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Sdf9uapXZ-I/AAAAAAAACUM/DsFY-theFsU/s400/100_0373.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321000458630162402" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Sdf9uu_jmoI/AAAAAAAACUc/oH-c5jMcpjw/s1600-h/Dorkus+fire+content.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Sdf9uu_jmoI/AAAAAAAACUc/oH-c5jMcpjw/s400/Dorkus+fire+content.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321000464091945602" border="0" /></a>This morning, mum discovered me asleep on her manuscript on the dining room table. It was quite comfy, I must say. And I promise I didn't read any of it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Sdf9vJ1TDSI/AAAAAAAACUk/MsBsHdDFtVE/s1600-h/Dorkus+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Sdf9vJ1TDSI/AAAAAAAACUk/MsBsHdDFtVE/s400/Dorkus+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321000471296675106" border="0" /></a><br />Of course, as soon as Dad wakes up, I'll have to move. He has very set ideas about where I should sleep and where I shouldn't. Spoilsport!Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-19797258634376093462009-03-15T15:38:00.005+11:002009-03-15T15:49:11.984+11:00Reality TV Cash CatGuess what, mum?<br /><br />I'm on TV!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/SbyG2sd0JmI/AAAAAAAACT0/Z2kKZ8sDYfs/s1600-h/PhotoFunia-5701b.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 345px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/SbyG2sd0JmI/AAAAAAAACT0/Z2kKZ8sDYfs/s400/PhotoFunia-5701b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313269934597613154" border="0" /></a><br />Looks like TV producers finally realised what a CASH CAT I could be for them and gave me my own reality TV show.<br /><br />Watch out Dr Harry, Dorkus is taking over the small screen.<br /><br />So of course, with the TV show, comes the obligatory magazine covers. Don't I look handsome?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/SbyG2aryWmI/AAAAAAAACTs/eVJZCrWQsnE/s1600-h/PhotoFunia-59367.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/SbyG2aryWmI/AAAAAAAACTs/eVJZCrWQsnE/s400/PhotoFunia-59367.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313269929824377442" border="0" /></a>And the newspaper articles:- (funny thing, I used to live in Annandale, that's where mum found me, but not Minnesota)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/SbyG2fPqTZI/AAAAAAAACTk/YN3nW_zwfTA/s1600-h/PhotoFunia-127b1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 305px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/SbyG2fPqTZI/AAAAAAAACTk/YN3nW_zwfTA/s400/PhotoFunia-127b1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313269931048586642" border="0" /></a><br />A cat can only dream, can't he?<br /><br />I stare at the TV so often that I wonder what it would be like to be on it. When I was a little one, and didn't know better, I used to try and catch the tennis ball. Never worked though.<br /><br />I know my mum would love me to be a CASH CAT - she already thinks I am, she thinks I eat the cash. Not make the cash.<br /><br />So any producers out there in TV land, I'm just sitting here, waiting to be discovered.<br /><br />(Photos made at <a href="http://www.photofunia.com">Photofunia</a>)Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-12837394623135531972008-01-12T17:08:00.000+11:002008-01-12T17:49:07.778+11:00I have myspace (and so does the pig!)<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/R4hipSz9MOI/AAAAAAAAA_I/ZT7dDVrzp7s/s1600-h/IMG_0009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154478235089449186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/R4hipSz9MOI/AAAAAAAAA_I/ZT7dDVrzp7s/s320/IMG_0009.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I just could not believe my ears when mum told me about this pig Lucy who has her own myspace page. I mean, a pig! Mum reckons she's really cute and she's a miniature pig and she wants to be Babe, but don't we all? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Well, I didn't think that it was very fair - for Lucy to have a myspace and all I've got is this blog. Where are my friends, hey? I know there's people out there who love me. I've got friends, right? I just haven't splashed them all over the internet. But it got me thinking, and meowing, and then I started nagging mum. I need a myspace. You've got yourspace. Dad's got hisspace. I want myspace.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So mum gave in and made me a myspace page. Meow! I'm a happy cat now. <a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=314211228&MyToken=fedb298e-7428-4a5c-9002-65da70905493">So come and be my friend right here!</a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>If you must, you can also <a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=309140287&MyToken=4bff7ba5-35c7-4e4b-b17a-0a9882f9e8ad">make friends with the pig here</a>. Mum said I had to be friends with the pig too, but have you heard of anything more absurd? A cat and a pig being friends! Apparently the pig is friends with a dog, so she has no taste at all.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Anyway, I really hope I have more friends than the pig! But surely there'd be no question about that.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Oh, and now I have my own email - diaryofamadcat at hotmail dot com.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Hope to see you on myspace.</div><br /><div></div>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-3457543044191334542007-09-30T14:29:00.000+10:002007-09-30T14:43:02.815+10:00Back from the detention centreYou know it's been nearly six months since I blogged. Where have I been? Well, just lazing around really, gazing out the window, bullying mum and dad to get out of bed at 6am because my stomach waits for no-one, enjoying the fire, and when that's gone, plonking myself on mum's lap everytime she sits down and you know....just general cat stuff.<br /><br />They left me at a detention centre back at Easter time. I hated it. So I went on a hunger strike. How dare they treat me like a common prisoner, and put me behind bars. The warden lady came and gave me food every day but I just turned my nose up at it and sulked. I'd rather be under house arrest at home - well, if it's good enough for Paris... I was surprised when 3 days later mum and dad came to collect me. I really thought they'd left me there for good. I was so pleased to see them.<br /><br />Last month, they took me back to the detention centre. They told me I was going to the Cat Resort. It wasn't exactly cocktails and buffets but this time they also took along the food I like and because I knew they were coming back for me, I relaxed and enjoyed my holiday. I even talked to the other cats there. So I'm quite happy to go back...just don't make it more than a week, hey?<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115851128795829682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Rv8nfyeoFbI/AAAAAAAAAzc/30JhBAJs9VM/s320/100_0014.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>I'm a bit put out at the moment. I used to have a prime seat on the desk looking out the window. But something's happened. Mum's laptop has disappeared and now she's got this big monster old computer sitting on the desk and there's no room for me!<br /><br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115852236897392066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/Rv8ogSeoFcI/AAAAAAAAAzk/lRymMcJsNBs/s320/100_0984.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>I promise I shall blog a bit more frequently from now on!</div>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-17180682330131082692007-04-05T20:39:00.000+10:002007-04-05T20:44:15.889+10:00Call me<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RhTSl5pdK1I/AAAAAAAAAe8/IryJTOYHSgs/s1600-h/phone+dork.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049892630760860498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RhTSl5pdK1I/AAAAAAAAAe8/IryJTOYHSgs/s320/phone+dork.JPG" border="0" /></a> If you're trying to ring mum or dad, and you can't get through - this is probably why!<br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RhTSGJpdK0I/AAAAAAAAAe0/IDUhlG39y2g/s1600-h/dorkus+phone+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049892085300013890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RhTSGJpdK0I/AAAAAAAAAe0/IDUhlG39y2g/s320/dorkus+phone+2.JPG" border="0" /></a> Hey- I've got to talk to my mates somehow! And they refuse to buy me a mobile phone.<br /><div> </div></div>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-67020927574756886522006-12-26T10:02:00.000+11:002006-12-26T10:32:28.216+11:00A Dorkus Christmas<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RZBcgUrzDmI/AAAAAAAAAF0/X72n63f2-n4/s1600-h/100_0628.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012608095641341538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RZBcgUrzDmI/AAAAAAAAAF0/X72n63f2-n4/s320/100_0628.JPG" border="0" /></a> As usual, I had to wake up the oldies to get them out of bed and feed me. Just because it's Christmas and there's no kiddies in the house, doesn't mean they can sleep in! They've got me. So we were up at seven, opening the presents. I'd been a really good boy and hadn't opened any presents only. Well, not really! I just took a little peek.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RZBbi0rzDlI/AAAAAAAAAFs/3-1339i3BBU/s1600-h/100_0694.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012607039079386706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RZBbi0rzDlI/AAAAAAAAAFs/3-1339i3BBU/s320/100_0694.JPG" border="0" /></a> So for Christmas, I got a new water bowl, a catnip mouse and a couple of other toys, including a dangly dragonfly that springs back whenever I try to grab it. And they made me wear the silly santa hat most of the day, and pose for photos!</div><div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RZBa8UrzDkI/AAAAAAAAAFk/8NfE9FBbo8Q/s1600-h/100_0698.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012606377654423106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RZBa8UrzDkI/AAAAAAAAAFk/8NfE9FBbo8Q/s320/100_0698.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div>Lunch was great. Roast chook! My favourite. And ham! Double good. Then in the afternoon I got a tin of turkey and gravy. This is how I felt after that! One full belly.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RZBaJUrzDjI/AAAAAAAAAFc/PFF07EPEShQ/s1600-h/100_0693.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012605501481094706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RZBaJUrzDjI/AAAAAAAAAFc/PFF07EPEShQ/s320/100_0693.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />And then dinner, we had turkey and ham. No wonder I chucked up all over mum's important papers the next morning (but that's a whole other post).</div><div>I like Christmas, especially when Mum and Dad decide to spend it at home with me!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RZBZfErzDiI/AAAAAAAAAFU/ND2Pm14x7jg/s1600-h/100_0700.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012604775631621666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RZBZfErzDiI/AAAAAAAAAFU/ND2Pm14x7jg/s320/100_0700.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />But I tell you what, it's an exhausting job playing Santa!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-3680243984815148462006-12-23T11:25:00.000+11:002006-12-23T11:34:01.652+11:00Two more sleeps = fifty more catnaps.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RYx4ekrzDaI/AAAAAAAAAD0/KY_Y3EBBgQA/s1600-h/dorkus+christmas.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5011512951995305378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RYx4ekrzDaI/AAAAAAAAAD0/KY_Y3EBBgQA/s320/dorkus+christmas.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>And yes, there's a present under the tree for me. Only two more sleeps. Well, two more night-times - that probably equates to fifty more cat naps for me.</div><div> </div><div>Mum and Dad are complaining that they can't have a hot shower. There was a big bang last night and now the hot water system is being replaced. Can't see what they're complaining about at all. Never saw the human attraction to immersing themselves in water. Cats are obviously smarter than humans. We don't have to drown ourselves to stay clean!</div><div> </div><div> </div>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-84387320554219112012006-12-09T13:34:00.000+11:002006-12-09T13:52:57.383+11:00Have yourself a merry little Dorkus<div>Okay, so for some reason Mum's old flatmate called me Dorkus, which is okay. I can live with it. But does she have to dress me up so that I look like a dork too?<br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5006351011744055746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RXohuGvsAcI/AAAAAAAAAA0/ntfGvdx4azE/s320/100_0623.JPG" border="0" /></div></div><br /><p></p><br /><p>See what I have to endure? Hopefully she'll forget about this outfit and won't dig it up again for Christmas Day. I mean, seriously, I am not Santa Claus, folks, I don't have the white beard or the fat belly (um, well not the white beard anyway, and don't count my whiskers.)</p><br /><p>I tell you what! After this humiliation, I expect there to be some pretty good presents under the tree for me. Must go and investigate.....</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5006354125595345362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rjLepptQn2c/RXokjWvsAdI/AAAAAAAAAA8/6ketSnGYNns/s320/100_9806.JPG" border="0" /><br /><p>Well, now I'm feeling really catty. Saw my name on a few presents, but that was in the 'from' section, 'To Mum' or 'To Dad.' Hang on, I don't remember going out and buying any presents for the oldies, let alone wrapping them up. There's something fishy going on here, and I'll need to investigate a bit further.<br /></p><p>So where are the presents for me? Dorkus? It's not looking good. But I suppose it's still a couple of weeks away. I'll let you know what happens.</p><br /><p>Oh no, I just had a horrible thought. Maybe that Santa hat and scarf WAS my present. Please don't tell me it's true!</p>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-72107101954132785222006-11-12T19:05:00.000+11:002006-11-12T19:09:39.974+11:00I like November<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/1327/1303/1600/100_0554.0.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/1327/1303/320/100_0554.0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I really like November.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>That's because Mum is doing Nanowrimo, which means she spends more time than usual in front of the computer with her butt in that chair. And I get to supervise. And curl up next to the computer and sleep soundly in mum's company. Nothing better.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Sure she still goes to that thing she calls a job during the week, muttering that she has to buy me cat food. But at night, once she's cooked dinner, she sits down and spends time with me on the computer.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>She does get cross though when I decide the keyboard has had enough attention, and she should pay some attention to me. She doesn't like it when I walk across the keyboard. But I think the words I add to the novel could be valuable. Certainly would count towards the 50,000 goal. I just need to learn to walk on the space bar a few more times.</div><div> </div><div> </div>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1162023779687351532006-10-28T18:20:00.000+10:002006-11-12T17:09:37.358+11:00Cats and human toiletsI don't know if you humans have noticed but we cats love the human toilet. We love watching the water disappearing and checking out what the humans have deposited.<br /><br />But this <a href="http://www.glumbert.com/media/cattoilet">cool cat</a> doesn't have to wait for his humans to flush - he's worked out how to do it by himself.<br /><br />I better not try it. Mum already thinks the water bill is high enough.Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1159088937592395282006-09-24T18:55:00.000+10:002006-11-12T17:09:37.197+11:00Diary of a Mad Cat merchandise<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/dorkus%20hip%20hop%20cushion.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/dorkus%20hip%20hop%20cushion.jpg" border="0" /></a> I've been surfing blogs for a while now, and I've noticed that other bloggers have t-shirts and stuff, and I figured that I'm a famous cat in the catosphere, maybe I could have my own merchandise.<br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/let%20sleeping%20cats%20lie%20baby.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/let%20sleeping%20cats%20lie%20baby.jpg" border="0" /></a> Mum had been making stuff and putting it on this site called Cafepress. She cuts out words and sticks them on paper, and calls it collage poetry. I was getting a bit miffed off. Lying next to her, watching her upload all these 'poems' to the computer and make t-shirts and mousepads. And so I nudged her, and said, 'Mum, you're missing the point! It's not the clever stuff that wins Funniest Videos, it's the cute animal stuff - and here I am!'<br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/cool%20blue%20dork%20calendar.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/320/cool%20blue%20dork%20calendar.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />So she finally got the hint and sat down and uploaded my beautiful face to cafepress. She also played around with it and changed the colours in Photoshop, although I forbid her from morphing me or anything too weird.<br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/sleeping%20cats%20mug.jpg" border="0" />So I'd like to announce the opening of Diary of a Mad Cat store. It's part of Mum's <a href="http://www.cafepress.com/chickollage">Chickollage</a> shop, click on the link and check out my section.Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1157533462128055382006-09-06T18:46:00.000+10:002006-11-12T17:09:37.008+11:00Nocturnal adventureHeh heh heh!<br /><br />Mum's been paranoid for as long as I can remember. Ever since I had the fight with the garbage truck, and ended up in that horrible stinky elephant hospital, she doesn't like me venturing outside alone. Thinks I'll get into all kinds of scrapes - brawls with neighbourhood cats, stalking feathered friends and playing chicken with cars. So I've pretended that I'm psychologically traumatised -- agoraphobic even -- and prefer the comfort and security of our house.<br /><br />I had them fooled! Every time dad carried me outside and put me on the ground, I ran back inside. They decided I was a real scaredy cat - but I was just lulling them into a sense of complacency until I was ready to make my move.<br /><br />I watched and waited. Prowled and prodded.<br /><br />Finally, the other night, I nudged the screen door and it opened. The smell of the crisp night air and the song of the crickets beckoned me to freedom.<br /><br />Prison break! I slipped out into the cool embrace of the night, my heart pounding that any moment I would be busted and would hear the familiar shout 'Dorkus get back inside' or the annoying hand clap which signals I'm in trouble.<br /><br />It didn't happen and I ventured further and further into the night. Aah! The smell of nature was intoxicating. I breathed in deep and rolled in the grass, and switched on my night vision to look out for supper.<br /><br />Then the voices started. My escape route had been discovered. (Knew I should've closed that door). Distressed voices filled the air. 'Dorkus, where are you?' and I heard the soft footsteps in the grass. I crouched down and didn't answer. I knew that their inferior human eyes would not spot me in the dark especially if I didn't give away my position by meowing. If I kept quiet, I could buy some time. I wasn't ready to give up my adventure. So after calling and tracking around the backyard for five minutes, the oldies gave up. I heard mum declare, 'He'll come home when he wants to.'<br /><br />Well, I wasn't sure about that. I hadn't had the chance to explore my neighbourhood in daylight, let alone in the seductive night air. Maybe I could find myself a girlfriend.<br /><br />I set the cats next door yowling but scampered off because mum would be alerted to my position. I checked the perimeter of the yard, sniffed around for vermin and enjoyed the rare luxury of freedom. Mate, this felt so good. I could stay out all night and go home for breakfast.<br /><br />But then I started to shiver. It was chilly and I thought of my beautiful warm fire. I shivered again and ran to the back door, meowing so that mum would let me in. I'll leave the night hunting to the poor feline sods who don't have their own personal fire.<br /><br />'Where've you been?' they asked when the opened the door, and proceeded to pull all the grass clippings off my fur, and checked me for ticks. I kept quiet. I'm not about to give away my nocturnal secrets. It's my adventure.Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1155000848534658442006-08-08T11:26:00.000+10:002006-11-12T17:09:36.346+11:00What do you mean there's no firewood?<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/100_0442.0.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/320/100_0442.0.jpg" border="0" /></a>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1154312181763859952006-07-31T12:05:00.000+10:002006-11-12T17:09:36.242+11:00I love my fireplace<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/Dorkus%20fire%20closeup.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/320/Dorkus%20fire%20closeup.jpg" border="0" /></a> I was a bit wary of this orange fire thing when dad first turned it on. I've heard stories about fires and they're not good. But as thi<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/Dorkus%20fire%20poser.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/320/Dorkus%20fire%20poser.jpg" border="0" /></a>s has been warming up the house, I've been venturing closer and closer. Now I love my fireplace.<br /><br />It is so much better than that silly little bar heater they used to use. <br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/Dorkus%20fire%20content.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/320/Dorkus%20fire%20content.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">Aah! This is the life!</div>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1150534272074473422006-06-17T18:39:00.000+10:002006-11-12T17:09:36.072+11:00Chillin'<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/100_0389.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/100_0389.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><table id="HB_Mail_Container" height="100%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="100%" border="0" unselectable="on"><tbody><tr height="100%" width="100%" unselectable="on"><td id="HB_Focus_Element" valign="top" width="100%" background="" height="250" unselectable="off"><p>Hey fans, cool cats and other dudes! I'm just chillin', listening to some new sounds. Catch ya later.</p><p><br /> </p></td></tr><tr unselectable="on" hb_tag="1"><td style="FONT-SIZE: 1pt" height="1" unselectable="on"><div id="hotbar_promo"></div></td></tr></tbody></table>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1149236081349899032006-06-02T18:05:00.000+10:002006-11-12T17:09:35.934+11:00I'd rather be asleep.<table id="HB_Mail_Container" height="100%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="100%" border="0" unselectable="on"><tbody><tr height="100%" unselectable="on" width="100%"><td id="HB_Focus_Element" valign="top" width="100%" background="" height="250" unselectable="off"></td></tr><tr unselectable="on" hb_tag="1"><td style="FONT-SIZE: 1pt" height="1" unselectable="on"><div id="hotbar_promo"></div></td></tr></tbody></table><blockquote id="ed03dc70"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/100_0373.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/320/100_0373.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><table id="HB_Mail_Container" height="100%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="100%" border="0" unselectable="on"><tbody><tr height="100%" unselectable="on" width="100%"><td id="HB_Focus_Element" valign="top" width="100%" background="" height="250" unselectable="off"><p><br />I've been a really slack blogger lately. And why? Because I love my new house, that's why! Plus it's winter. I'd rather spend my evening like this, than thinking about what to put on my blog.<br /><br />After the shock therapy of moving, I wasn't impressed when I found out that this house is COLD. And then Mum nicked off and went to Adelaide, leaving me and Dad to fend for ourselves. Well, if she thinks she's getting her dressing gown back, she can forget about it! She came back and bought me a couple of blankets, but I still insist on having that dressing gown underneath for extra comfort. And then she bought some firewood, and now the house and my blankets are just cosy, thank you. No wonder I want to spend most of my life asleep.</p><p>Yawn! I'll be back when I wake up again. </p><p>Oh yes, and we're back on line!<br /></p></td></tr><tr unselectable="on" hb_tag="1"><td style="FONT-SIZE: 1pt" height="1" unselectable="on"><div id="hotbar_promo"></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></blockquote>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1142491391213232012006-03-16T17:40:00.000+11:002006-11-12T17:09:35.820+11:00On the move<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/dork%20in%20box.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/320/dork%20in%20box.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />As you can see from the pics, we’re on the move again. I’m losing track. It’s only been 12 months since the last move, although the one before, we lived in the same house for five years.<br /><br />I’ve seen the inside of a lot of houses, and on special occasions, Mum and Dad have let me out to explore the exterior. On other occasions, I’ve nudged the door, found it ajar, and made a break for it, running free through the paddock, under the trees, checking out the foliage and jungle.<br /><br />I’m a very well travelled cat. I flew from Sydney to Adelaide (please don’t ask me to repeat THAT experience again – cats aren’t meant to fly, and dad, put a towel in the cage – how would you like it if you were stuck in a box inside a big white bird thing for a couple of hours. The trip back from Adelaide in the car was a bit more civilized but much longer, but I didn’t care so much because I spent most of the trip buzzing out on those little tablets that mum got from the vet. At about 3 am, the drugs would wear off and I would go on a rampage in whichever strange hotel room we’d ended up in, jumping up on benches, knocking things down, and driving mum and dad crazy.<br /><br />Apparently this car trip will be much shorter. About half an hour. I suppose I can handle that. But I do have to be vocal about it. Have to tell mum that she’s not about to take me to the vet again!Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1138771972847831402006-02-01T16:27:00.000+11:002006-11-12T17:09:35.678+11:00Why I've been absent from my blogFor everyone worried about my lack of blogging, don't blame me! Blame my mother.<br /><br />We have no internet at home. So I spend lazy afternoons stretched out, thinking about my blogging, and it doesn't happen, because by the time mum gets to the library she forgets what I told her!<br /><br />Actually, I'm a bit peeved. Mum's told me I should start pulling my weight around the house, get out there and do some work, earn some money, pay some bills! She's kidding isn't she? I don't cost that much!<br /><br />I don't turn the lights on and chew up electricity - I'd be happy to live in the dark all night. And I don't yabber on the phone all day and run up that bill. So how are the bills my fault? Hey? Sure, mum and dad have to give me my favourite food every day and keep my kitty litter nice and fresh, but if I was charging for my companionship, they wouldn't be able to afford my bill!<br /><br />So stop whining, mum and dad.<br /><br />They're looking for a new house. Tell you what, it better have as nice a sunbaking spot at this one! I'm quite partial too it.<br /><br />Your friend, DorkusDianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1134819042644088572005-12-17T22:21:00.000+11:002006-11-12T17:09:35.581+11:00Oh Christmas tree, oh christmas tree!Well we have a Christmas tree now!<br /><br />Get a load of the size of this thing. They've got to be kidding, right? It's a midget tree.<br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/100_9797.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />Oops. Knocked it over.<br /><p><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/100_9802.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />This is more like it. A big tree that I can hide under, climb, and attack presents.<br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/100_9806.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br />I believe Mum and Dad are going to take the midget tree with them for Christmas, and leave me with the big tree. They better leave some presents under it for me. Or I'll leave them a big present for when they get home. I'm really good at shredding! </p>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1134211742618761172005-12-10T21:37:00.000+11:002006-11-12T17:09:35.484+11:00Please! No Flash Photography!<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/100_9768.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/100_9768.jpg" border="0" /></a> Well, I suppose you can take one photo. Just one okay!<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/100_9769.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/100_9769.jpg" border="0" /></a> I said one photo, okay. I'm trying to sleep!</p><p><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/100_9770.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/100_9770.jpg" border="0" /></a> Will you just get out of here with that damn flash!!<br /></p>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1134039205240484622005-12-08T21:37:00.000+11:002006-11-12T17:09:35.366+11:00Where's my turkey?<p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/Dorkus%20christmas.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/Dorkus%20christmas.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I love Christmas. I love unwrapping everyone's presents so that Mum only has to wrap them all over again. Sometimes she leaves the opened wrapping with all my bite marks and scratch marks underneath the replacement wrapping so she can show all her friends what a clever cat I am.<br /><br />But something odd is going on here. Yes, there are presents but they're not under a tree where I can poke and prod and investigate. They are sitting in the entertainment unit out of my reach. Well, I suppose if I tried, I could get to them.<br /><br />And where's the tree? It's December guys! And it's still not up!<br /><br />Today I heard a startling conversation between mum and dad. It seems that they're going to visit someone else for Christmas, and I'll be left to make do while the nice neighbour lady comes to feed me. But it doesn't sound like I'll be getting any turkey roast for dinner.<br /></p><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/dork%20xmas%20family.jpg" border="0" /><br />You can see in this picture that I wasn't particularly impressed about appearing in the family Christmas card!</p><p>I'm even less impressed this year. Looks like I'll have to invite all the local moggies over for our own Christmas luncheon.</p><p><span style="color:#ff0000;">Your friend, Dorkus</span></p><p></p><p><br /><br /></p>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1132439584859066482005-11-20T09:20:00.000+11:002006-11-12T17:09:35.222+11:00Feed me, mum!<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/100_9600.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/100_9600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#cc0000;">Oh- oh! I'm in trouble.<br /><br />Yesterday, mum was sitting at the computer. Minding her own business. Bare calves.<br /><br />And I had this sudden urge. I lunged at her and sunk my teeth into her calf. Drew blood and she yelled at me.<br /><br />She was not happy. But damn it! I was hungry and she wasn't feeding me.<br />She tells me that I'm not supposed to have three meals a day. But SHE does. So I don't see why I can't.<br /><br />I suppose we'll just get onto that overweight conversation again. But she's never really impressed when I miaow to her, 'Right back at you, tubby!'<br /></span><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/400/100_9598.jpg" border="0" />Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675503.post-1131270052517686932005-11-06T20:24:00.000+11:002006-11-12T17:09:35.119+11:00The Tale of No Tail<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/dorky%20with%20tail.jpg"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/320/dorky%20with%20tail.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;">This is the'before' picture. I'm a strapping young kitten of less than a year old, with a beautiful long tail.</span> <p><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;">Mum always used to get cranky with me when I went outside. Said I was going to get myself in trouble. Said I didn't know what a big bad world it was out there. But I wanted excitement. I wanted adventure. I wanted to explore.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;">I got more than I bargained for. And the first of my nine lives was gone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;">I can't really explain what happened. I guess I didn't see it coming. But I freak out now whenever I hear the sound of a big mean old nasty garbage truck approaching. Mum found me hours later. Hiding under the house next door. She didn't think it was me because I was a pale fascimile of my usual self. I was shaking, I was numb, I was in shock. I couldn't move my tail and I my paw hurt as well. I didn't even answer her when she talked to me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;">She took me down to the elephant hospital. Well there weren't really any elephants there but that's what they had on the sign. And I had to stay there for days. They kept saying not today, you can't go home today. I'd cry when mum came in to visit me but they wouldn't let her take me home. And then they said that my beautiful tail had to come off. Because I couldn't move it, they said it would be too dangerous for me to keep it - I could get it stuck somewhere and injure myself more.</span></p><p><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/1600/000_0246.jpg"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/938/831/320/000_0246.jpg" border="0" /></span></a></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;"></span> </p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;">When I got back from hospital, Mum's flatmate started calling me stumpy bum. Bloody rude!</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;">I kept looking for my tail, going to clean it as I was used to, but it was gone. It took a while to adapt to not having a tail. But now, I hardly even remember having one.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#660000;">Some people think I'm a manx when they first meet me, but I'm more special than that. Because I lived to tell the tail!</span></p><p><span style="color:#660000;"></span> </p>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13787290349219206985noreply@blogger.com11