The old man

Well readers, another day, and I am pleased to say that after the disasters of yesterday things are looking up. My breakfast prawns were dished up on time. Gave "the one I don't trust" a quick nip on the finger as he was feeding me. I find this to be a very effective way of keeping the staff on their toes. Things are getting a bit slack around here.

Today I will tell you a bit about my dad. As you know I come from a long and distinguished line of pure bred pedigree ferrel cats. My family tree goes right back to when the council first established the refuse dump. The old boy was undisputed king of the dump. He had no time for humans, apart from when food was on offer of course. I learnt a lot from him. There is a scurrilous rumour going around that a big-headed mangy old tabby may also have claims to be my father. I wish to put a stop to these slanderous allegations immediately. They cannot possibly be true as my mother, a most virtuous cat, assures me that this is not the case, although she does tend to be a bit vague on the subject. Strangely my stupid sister has the same colouring as my dad, and my poncy brother has the same markings as that mangy old tabby, whereas I am the same colour as my uncle!This is a picture of the old man in a typical pose - he tended not to rush around too much, and lived life at a very leisurely pace.

Well that's my lot for today. The housekeeping staff cleaned the place up earlier, so I have given them a couple of hours off this evening. Just enough time for me to have a good scratch and replenish the hairs on the furniture. What a life! Albert the Cat.