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Archive for the ‘CRIME’ Category

I just thought it would be nice to go for a bit of a scan around from the roof of Auld Shed: it was a lovely evening, I was feeling bouncy & sproingy and in need of a teensy-weensie frisson of excitement.

So up I jamp

Now what, I pondered?

Strangely, when I decided what I would do, fpu’s response was less than favourable!

It wasn’t long before I discovered why. Within a nanosecond of fpu and digicam popping in our back door, Mrs G (ID concealed to avoid litigation) shot out of hers like one of those weather-people (one whose outlook is always overcast and showery) and I careened through the Flapperchancity as if pursued by bears.

Should you want to see my own ‘Thoughts of KC’ just do that mousie-hovery thing over each image.

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Boy was I a thrilled kitty to come in through the Catflap of Destiny and discover fpu had just finished preparing six bonny bylte lobsters: my timing, as ever, was impeccable. Or so I thought…

Lovely, just!

Whoosh! I was up there faster than a punter up a hooer’s draaers!

Don’t get aerated, it’s just wee bits o’ taes, ken:-)

Unfortunately, I disrememberated© munching on some gress all-too-recently *sigh*

So glad there was some left over…not complaining like, but that fpu was just a bit quick mopping up the womit: it was very fresh…

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Happy New Year! Whatever day it is. According to Digicam, it is the third, but my calendars (two cat, one Shetland, one Australian, one lugger) say it is the second, so take your pick.

Time’s only a concept, after all…

Nothing much is happening here. I’ve been behaving impeccably, as always; Marmers has been ‘stremely annoyin’, as usual, and there was some quite bizarre behaviour among the humans on the cusp of the New Year. The latter has been documented elsewhere, and I don’t feel it’s my purrlace to publish embarrassing photos when fpu has already done it.

Here I demonstrate my uncanny ability to sense the purrescence of photographic equipment…

I did have fun!

But, yesterday, on the first of January Twenty-twelve, Marmers really got up my dainty pink nose.

I am still incandescent with rrrrrrrrrrage: the lovely hanging bed that fu got me last year in a stack-em-high-sell-em-cheap supermarket that has been Only Mine ever since, MY furry radiator bed…he USURPED it, INVADED it, bleedin’ NICKED it.

And then had the cheek to pose POSE for a photograph.

The furry BASTARD!

His coup was brief. Fpu removed him to a chair, some hours later, and re-instated me to my Rightful Purrlace.

But, Dear Reader, I suffered.

 

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I’m going to call it Tinkerbell. It has a collar and a bell – ptui!!!

It is insufferably cute in a black&white, dinky, feminine sort of way.

Marmers is acting like a very silly old cat: he mrrrrps, he meeps, he tries to prance along the fence and, in essence, he just looks bloody silly!

He is eleven human years old, stout in a Pooh-ish manner, with a decidedly floppy undercarriage and yet he persists in dancing, prancing and leering like a teencat. It’s DISGUSTIN’!!!

See for yourselves…

Well…I will tell you this, I never did see such brass neck! I was hardly under the gate before it was sneaking back into Rolling Ell.

No good will come of it, you mark my meaows.

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Marmers and I are feline a bit spoiled. CCC has recently acquired one new patchwork seat cover; one extremely coloursome knee-blankie from Busy Fingers of Eek and a rug, which inexplicably matches Marmers.

The greeny-bluey bits match his eyes in case you were wondering. He’s not mouldering…yet…

I try not to feel a leetle huffed at all this Marmers-related stuff, but it’s not easy, even for a cat of my Zen-like nature, and the only way to redress the balance is to hog various of the new situpons when he isn’t. As even a cat of his avoirdupois can’t cover all of them all of the time, this is not unachievable, but requires careful planning and frequent recces…

Marmers snoozes on Old Blue

new multicolour ninepatch seat cover

marmers is nowhere to be seen and anyway, am I bovvered? naw! ‘m havin’ a wash.

fpu’s nice new knee blankie (well, that’s what she thinks)

and again…lovely lovely colours, ain’t they? (and by the way, Jill says it’s a cat blankie, so that’s that)

feckin’ poseur! lookit the smarmy marmy look on it’s face! gurrrrr…

…where’s my matching runner, hey? ’tisn’t fair mutter gurrumble grrr…

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Just drop your oatcake…

That kickboard needs a wash. Tcha!

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My (brief) Film Career

Well. Even briefer than I thought. This site does not allow ‘this type of file’ to be uploaded ‘for security reasons’ so, unless you are a Facebooker, you may never see my refulgent pulchritudinousness in movie form. Ever. I can only hope you are all (all six of you) strong enough to bear up under such disappointment.

A couple of weeks ago fpu was out at Cambo to see the snødrops and asked camera-savvy daughter of accompanying friends which was the video setting on digicam. Being now au fait as it were (though the editing is more miss than hit due to a lack of intuition) naturally I was the first subject to be committed to fillum. (ed. No you weren’t, that was the strangely beguiling art installations in Cambo outbuildings).

As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, I was almost the first subject to be committed to fillum, being rudely usurped by a container of rattling snailshells, some clanking hanging bits of pottery and a load of metal pipes with water playing over them. For which aberration I can find no sensible explanation whatsoever, which sentiment I am sure you will endorse to a purrson!! Well you will if you know what’s good for you…

So here are a few Spring pics taken in Rolling Ells last week. Not nearly so enticing I know, but needs must.

Marmers would like you to know that his tail is healing nicely and, where was purreviously a HOLE, is now a tiny red dot, disappearing rather like a slow-mo version of the old telly black spot.

The weather has been very disappointing lately, and the outdoor jumble sale for the Reaper yesterday in Anster resulted in frozen fingers and toes and damp stuff, even with the shelter of the open boatshed doors.

Would it be too much to ask the bloody sun to shine more than three times this month, here on the sunny side of Old Scotia?

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