The hunting of the ginger tom cat

Humph, I am sure I have fleas! It's those rats I'm sharing my accommodation with, well ok not sharing, I have imposed my furry ginger being. I'd like to be back home, I'd like to see the stars under my glass ceiling. But my nuts are not an option. Dolly has informed me that Martin is cross with me -crosser I would say. I mentioned he'd been knackered, I should apparently have said vasectomy, I made him sound
"Like a castrato!"
My point exactly. Dolly (sweet persona, character of a camel) has said I'm chauvinistic, my blog demonstrates this. I said this is my diary keep your paws off and your nose out. She continued, "It's not that you're just ginger" she purred,
"but, It is only about ginger cats,and she continued,
"ginger cats are notoriously male."
"What do you mean notorious?"
"Well female ginger cats are an aberration, so you have excluded 50% of the feline species. I mean." she said, as if all utterances were now particularly wearying and licking her claws, held her paw to her eyes studying non existent grime, and washed the already clean paw, clean.
"You are writing as a ginger cat, -well you are ginger so that is something that can't be helped. But you have chosen to write only about ginger cats or related ginger cat articles thereby excluding the female feline."
"Can't be helped!" I mewed?
I really appreciated her showing up and she did bring a piece of a bacon rind...
"but this is my blog and it's my rules."
"That may be," she hissed
"But that is not the argument the debate is whether it's chauvinistic?"
"No," I said "Because I'm writing about me, my autobiography, with illustrations of other ginger coated felines." She was quiet, I ate my bacon rind.
"chauvanist!" she wailed as her stripey behind vanished over a broken fence rail.

Anyway a ginger cat has been immortalized in a painting. (Getting back to the important matter of my and I repeat MY blog.)

"Ron always puts something quirky in his paintings that causes you to think," Divine says. In "Assez Vif," that quirky element is a ginger-colored cat who creates chaos, tipping the table and spilling the bowl of fruit as it leaps into the painting. "I chose the moment when things are about to break loose," the South Bend artist says. "Then I put these other elements in the piece to give it a little intrigue."

Mind you, what is quirky about that? Anyway the next story.

Residents in Bradford Peverell, Dorset, saw hounds from the Cattistock Hunt run wild for 20 minutes on Thursday before a huntsman arrived to take control. The Countryside Alliance said the hunt was "acting entirely within the law". Villager Deborah Carrington said she was horrified as 20 hounds chased her terrified ginger cat Leo down the street. She said: "The hounds were everywhere, all over my garden and my neighbour's garden. It was just bedlam."

Poor Leo! May I just say a very fine name for a ginger cat (though not as classy as Ferdinand) I do hope he has fully recovered from the shock. I didn't realize it was legal to chase ginger cats with a pack of hounds, I wonder if it's some ancient byelaw, and is it just gingers cats or can all colour coats be hunted? I'd hazard a guess and say definitely the British blue is not the hunters' permissible prey.

I was going to say something about the whale who got lost in London, but because she has since sadly died shall just say how nice it was to see all these humans working so hard to rescue her. Are all humans schizophrenic? One minute they're attacking ginger cats the next the banks of the Thames are lined with well-wishers to our large foreign visitor. Curious?!

Ginger cat takes refuge in nut sanctuary!

Many complaints in the Daily Biles: George Galloway fawning at the feet of the ginger headed Rula Lenska he was 'impersonating a cat.'
"Ooh shock horror!"
I agree this is something that should cause consternation it was bad acting, servile, graceless a total misrepresentation of the feline species. What made it even more stomach churningly nauseating the word ginger and cat were made in the same sentence. G.G acts most feline when he's not trying to act cat; he has a natural disposition towards independence (a very feline trait) although the words respect and party tagged on the end seems rather a contradiction in terms. I choke on my Friskies.
Anyway this is one ginger link that I shall not pursue further; in fact I may not include it, if you can read it though I have.

This little snippet shows the qualities of the ginger cat.

Both the French and the Germans adopted a foraging ginger cat as a mascot. The cat existed, and divided its time between the two entrenched troops. He was arrested by the French, convicted of espionage and shot in accordance with military regulations.

Martin (male human of the household.) says I'm losing the plot with this weblog. Well excuse me! This is turning into not so good a week, apart from the criticism I have had some randy, mangy, black tom cat spraying all over my patio, and who gets the blame? Moi!
Martin shouts.
"That cat is going to the vets."
One whiff of eu de naturelle felix and Martin's gathered his knitting and presides at the blade of Madame Guillotine. Hmmpf!

Martin may have his nuts knobbled, his choice. Mine are not to be cream crackered, my choice.

This is a democracy.

This is a democracy?

This is a democracy!

Ummh. Little things do make a difference and mine may not be huge but it would be bloody different without them. Every year we go through this, and every year I have to vacate my comfortable abode and head four doors up to the nut sanctuary, and all because of that clueless clown who believes that at some point Dolly or Lilly will succumb to his advances. I've tried knocking some sense into him I've tried reasoning, he just doesn't believe me when I say they can't, they've been knobbled. He believes I just want to keep them for myself, which of course would be true if they weren't spayed but unfortunately it is. So now I'm preparing for my removal, which should last about a week if things run their normal course. Dolly will pop over the walls to let me know what is going on back home -or to gloat, I'm never really sure how to read that cat. Oh well!

Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, da, da,

do do do do do do do do do do do do, do, do,

Fat ginger cat wins luxury holiday.

I think, well of course I do. (I think therefore I am, I'm pink therefore I'm spam. An old joke but I won't apologise, it makes me smile and Meldrew thinks it hilarious but then Meldrew thinks everything's side splitting! ) This though is more than a thought, I have decided - following yesterdays Ginger news - to include ginger cats that have hit the headlines.

Benji the cat has delighted his owners after being crowned the Hill's Pet Slimmer of the Year 2005. The seven-year-old shorthaired ginger cat from Fareham in Hampshire astounded judges by losing 30% of his body weight, going from 10.80kg to 7.55kg. Benji is owned by John and Jackie Tucker. The animal's success brought prizes of £2,000 worth of holiday vouchers, £500 worth of pet accessories and one year's free supply of Hill's pet food.

I'm not too sure about the year's supply of pet food, that's an awful lot of temptation...

A sad tale to finish

MARY, the pleasantly-plump ginger cat, was freezing and frightened when she was found dumped in a van just days before Christmas in Southampton.

Now Christmas is well and truly over if it's possible make it probable.
RSPCA rehoming

Ginger cat calls emergency service

I thought I'd just put this in my diary, it just goes to show that we cats especially we cats who are fortunate enough to be shaded ginger can be heroes. Of course if I were in the same position I'd do exactly the same thing, but probably with a bit of mouth to mouth for good measure! I'm wondering if he could be a relative. I mean I was born in a port, descended from a long line of ships mousers, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if one of my ancestors disembarked in New York and failed to re-embark. Anyway this is the story.


Police aren't sure how else to explain it. But when an officer walked into an apartment Thursday night to answer a 911 call, an orange-and-tan striped cat was lying by a telephone on the living room floor. The cat's owner, Gary Rosheisen, was on the ground near his bed having fallen out of his wheelchair. Rosheisen said his cat, Tommy, must have hit the right buttons to call 911. "I know it sounds kind of weird," Officer Patrick Daugherty said, unsuccessfully searching for some other explanation. Rosheisen said he couldn't get up because of pain from osteoporosis and ministrokes that disrupt his balance. He also wasn't wearing his medical-alert necklace and couldn't reach a cord above his pillow that alerts paramedics that he needs help.

I just wish all humans could appreciate how talented and versatile a species we are, I am of course exceptional (not the exception to the rule.) as is my newly found cousin from across the pond.

Carol singers unite!

Hope you had a happy Christmas and have a very happy new year. I like the turkey (oooh I just made a pun!) I'm just too talented. Anyway, I, like the turkey am absolutely stuffed. I had slivers of raw turkey Christmas Eve, Dolly did too (she loves all her meats tartar.) I like it cooked, raw, rescued from bins. Lilly distastes uncooked meat. She likes the burnt crispy bits of meats, likes crisps and chocolate cakes even tries to eat peanuts but won't eat anything uncooked. Lilly is special; she was rescued from The Bath Cats and Dogs home, she had been taken to this sanctuary after being found wandering on a motorway. She is not the brightest light on the chandelier. Susan (the female human of the household) believes she should have called her Gracie. She doesn't climb, plods rather than walks -I think it's the size of her feet they are huge. Lil's life is lying against the radiator walking to the kitchen, popping out to drink from the birdbath, in no particular order. Recently Big Lil has gone deaf; it just came about all of a sudden. Everyone thought it funny when the morning's noises, alarm clocks, showers, radios, tea, coffee cups rattled, Lil would continue snoring, (sometimes when there's a film with great poignancy and the zzzzz zzzz zzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzz zzzz is most distracting and breaks the magic bond of film and watcher, but that's Lil.) She was merrily shredding an art deco chair and no amount of shouting and hand clapping distracted her from her revelry, I thought at first they were giving her a round of applause for managing to sink her nails into solid oak, but Dolly soon, too soon, corrected me, (it's no wonder she's got stripes (she is a real sergeant) It was a well aimed chocolate wrapper that finally ended Big Lil's adhoc carpentry.


At Christmas Lil has an elastic band attached to her belly, which means every time the fridge door is opened and where the leftover turkey lives she is compelled off the sofa and her nose is forced into the fridge. This happens with such force (the compression of this invisible band) that she can arrive at the fridge door before one of the humans has crossed the kitchen floor.


Boxing day, the great American bird is served cold. Potatoes roasted in olive oil with a sprinkling of paprika. Alongside is served red cabbage a wonderful shade of magenta. This pickle simmers merrily away filling the house with it's piquant fragrance. I'm not a great lover of vegetables in fact I don't like them, don't like them at all, just take grass now and again as a tonic but even I can appreciate this aroma, it does make the juices flow or maybe it's just the thought of the turkey accompaniment. Anyway the recipe for this is as follows if nothing else you'll know what I'm talking about.
Might be nice to try!


One small red cabbage
I large onion
1 garlic clove
1 cox apple
and some vinegar that's it. Absolutely no water (or it turns a horrible colour.)
Change the ratios around to suit your taste (don't you just hate humans who have to weigh things, no instinct, no confidence.) Anyway what you do is fry off the onion until transparent Everything's chopped up by the way, thought I'd just mention that in case you included the apple cores: oh groan as if you would! I'll go and annoy Eileen in a moment; the bark on her Japanese aspen is particularly sensual under paw and claw. As I was saying before I interrupted myself. After the onions you basically toss every chopped thing into the pot and pour in some vinegar put the lid on and leave to simmer. And that's it.


Snowflakes are falling gently on my ceiling; I have a new cardboard box with iceberg lettuce letters on the side and a new clean blanket. Which I'm looking forward to returning to after my constitutional wander, Eileen's first, I'll ignore Fiona's which I know sounds terribly rude but until something grows it just is very boring. I will also go carol singing because I know the misfortune of being down and out like to support my fellow felines who through no fault of their own have found themselves on hard times. I sang silent night outside Brian's at 2.20am last night (that shows you how concerned I am) and do you know he opened the window and hurled what I believe was a slipper, didn't hang around to find out as Chancer was barking at the door he managed to annoy Brian's neighbour and lights started coming on all down the street, Stupid dog. Tonight I'll try away in a manger.

A winter's tail

A nice winters day to day, sunny, bright, clear and crisp. No wind, purr-fect I lazed on the conservatory roof. The sun's rays reflecting off the glass warmed me through to my bones. I surveyed my territory from my lofty outlook.

Our neighbour has been gardening. She has redesigned her garden has been at it for months beginning in the spring. Apparently she is to have friends over from America. So axed was the white lilac, sawn the flowering bay, ripped out the jasmine. The hedging grubbed. And with the plants went the birds the mice, my dinner! I reckon she wanted to make the-other-side-of-the-pond buddies at feel at home, well they would if they are Vietnam vets after a napalm attack.

Anyway apart from the aesthetics -which as you are becoming aware I am a cat of refinement and good taste, the hunting is totally hopeless, too much open ground and quite frankly most of the wildlife has evacuated. We used to have a black bird with a white eyebrow (I kid you not,) and when he cocked his head to look at you you'd swear he was raising that eyebrow in the "oh really!" expression. But he didn't make it through last years winter, and not because he was any one's snack but because he was just old. I have noticed, when I'm in stand and stare mode (as in Wordsworth,) a black bird bobbing about with a white patch on his head reminding me of a wide centre parting or a narrow mohican. Son of I expect.

Speaking of hunting, at this time of year Martin - the male human of the household- goes on the Cadburys hazelnut whirl hunt. This is a Christmas annual event that starts at the end of October and lasts until the end of December. Last year he managed to bag two boxes. This year so far every expedition has ended in dismal failure. I sympathise and empathise, when a badly judged spring or a misplaced paw let you down it does make you cross with yourself. But when there is no prey well what can you do but lament? And Martin does a good lamentation.

"bloody cadburys."

"What sort of marketing's this?"

"Every year it's the same."

On and on.... that's part, I think of his festive season address, a bit like the Queen but louder (much) and with a cockney accent in fact nothing like the Queen more Alf Garnet.

Last night I stared at the sky through my glass ceiling. A wonderful invention glass, a great design a conservatory, you're outside when you're in and warm when it's cold. I was tucked in my cardboard box snug on a tarten blanket. Anyway the moon last night was huge, as large as... well bigger than I'd ever seen it. A big orange disc in the sky, very comforting... or should I put ginger ball? I've written both now. Oh well you choose. It was the largest it's been for eighteen years apparently and according to radio 4.

Talking of discs or round things one of Martin's stocking fillers is a his-and-hers cat badge or button called pretty cool for the she cat, and cool cat for the tom cat. Now if they were ginger they would be just too purr-fect .......!

Autumn leaves blew winter was coming.......

If only we could know the so short a time in which to enjoy, and savour every second, luxuriate in every brief idle caress.

I chased browned leaves that danced across our garden.

Spring to autumn. I wish I had the experience to know this was the 'top of the milk.' I wish I'd known it, recognised it and rejoiced in it But to me this was my norm. I enjoyed it. Only with hindsight do I know this fleeting time was the best time.

Gertie and me had a routine of comforts and habit. She worked in the dockyard, got up early in the morning. She had a large chrome plated clock with huge chrome plated bells and a big hammer that would beat those bells into submission every morning at six.

I slept on the small landing outside of Gertie's bedroom door. The grating clanking and whirring of those gears and cogs would alert me every morning as they flexed and tautened for the bout of the excruciating din. I followed my pre-emptive strategy, I stretched, rearranged the whiskies, nudged Gertie's door open and sprung onto her bed. I would gently comb her hair with my paw and most times but not all times she would reach out and move the lever that would quell the bells.
Gertrude would say to her sisters,
"That Ginger he can tell the time! Gets me up better than any alarm clock!"

Tea and toast, milk and Friskies: our breakfast. Gertie would leave at 6.45 and spend the day cleaning, and after shining and polishing, brushing and sweeping she would leave her work at 3.30. At four pm the key was turned in the lock. Gertie was home. Her large leather bag filled with shopping, contraband and always a book: a novel. Her purse tucked down so the bag smiths wouldn't nick.

Tea: crumpets and tea, or cake and tea. I unfortunately, for I would love to have shared the table with Gert, hate the smell of tea but I was served milk and sometimes top of the milk and just occasionally she would give me slivers of toast oozing with warm melted butter that I would lick from her fingers.

Halcyon days.

That autumn morning gears shifted and cogs whirred, I stretched and washed. I combed Gert's hair. Cogs clanked. And I combed. Wheels turned and I combed. Grindings. Combings. I stretched my claws and combed.

"Gertie," I said in her ear.

Clank! comb, whirr. Gertie lay still, even as the cogs were for the first time in four months loosed. The bells hammered into clamouring arousal. The strikes so many shards of glass piercing my head, and Gertie. Gert laid quite still.

Later much later a black van arrived. She was carried out between two men raised high. I accompanied her down the narrow steep stairs and as they paused to open the front door and after I'd heard the discussions as to what they thought were the best options for 'the cat,' and when the door was opened for Gert's last exit, jumped out from behind the last black suited man and watched from the corner of the avenue as Gert was loaded onto that black windowless van, I followed her as she travelled, chauffer driven, ran along side, called to her, to
"Gertie...
Gertieee,
Gertieeeee."

Her carriage turned left, I jumped the forecourt walls, 500 yards. I was racing to the end of the road. Stamshaw school. She would have had to have turned left? Gert was nowhere and I was nowhere. I just knew this was a last day. My routine was over. ... Autumn leaves blew winter was coming......