For the rest of you who are concerned about my well being, then I have some distressing news. There is a rumour going around that "the housekeeping staff" are thinking about putting me on a diet!!!!! They think I am overweight. I rumbled this a couple of days ago, but thought nothing of it, as it came from "the one I don't trust". I know full well, that no one takes any notice of him round here, least of all me, "the pretty one" rules the roost, and she is very gullible. I can twist her round my little finger when necessary.
Talking of fingers, have I told you that both me and "my poncy brother" have got six fingers on each front paw, with toes to match. I'm led to believe that this is a sign of good breeding and indicates a rich and diverse family tree - well that's what my dad told me, and he should know - he reckoned that just by taking his socks off, he could count up to twenty four, and do you know what, he is right - I don't know of any other cat that can count beyond twenty.
Anyway, I digress, back to the serious matter in hand. This morning, "the pretty one" also said I was getting fat - I knew I should never have let her pick me up - won't make that mistake again! I can't be fat, I can still squeeze through the cat flap, although I do feel they have made it smaller recently, either that or there has been a some serious subsidence. The picture below is me exiting stage right through the flap. Despite what "my stupid sister" says, it was not necessary to use a crowbar and half a tin of axle grease to get me out!!
I have researched the matter on the internet and found an article that says over 40 % of cats are obese. Who writes this rubbish, it certainly wasn't a cat. How on earth do humans know the ideal weight of a cat. As we all know, the bigger the better, must keep our strength up. If a cat had written this, the conclusion would have been that 60% of cats are underweight and need extra prawns. My lot are obsessed with diets, "the pretty one" in particular. Always going on about not eating this or can't eat that, and then she goes and eats a plate of chips or a piece of cake - a mystery to me.
The final straw was when I heard "the one that I don't trust" mention exercise - well as you can imagine, I came over all faint, I mean what do they think I am - a dog or something. Walking from the settee to the bedroom between naps, back and forth to the food bowl, and an occasional stroll round the estate are more than adequate for even the most energetic cat. I'm out of breath just thinking about it.
Now you can see why I am a bit late today - I have been out making contingency plans. I've discovered that next doors dog, the nasty yappy little Jack Russell, has a bowl of food in the garden. I have made a note of the time he gets taken for his daily walk. Beggars can't be choosers, and I'm quite partial to a dog biscuit occasionally. The other hope is Quasimodo, who I told you about yesterday - he has a bowl of food in his garden shed, and the door is often open - rich pickings here I think, although prawns may be a bit thin on the ground.
Well that's it for another day. Feel free to send food parcels, preferably ones containing prawns of course. What a life! AlbertTheCat.