Writer's Block......

Hello again. I'm not really sure why you've all turned up here today. I've got nothing much to say. I think I must be suffering from writer's block, whatever that is. "Thank goodness for that!" What, how rude! We can do without that sort of comment thank you very much! Perhaps I'll just start rambling away, and see where it leads us. "Same as normal then!" I don't believe it, we can do without him as well - it's Tabby, my poncy brother. I thought he was asleep in the vegetable patch - amongst his intellectual equals! Ho Ho Ho... Bear with me while I get rid of him.............................. That's better, now where were we?

Did you all have a nice weekend? I had a very quiet one, nothing much happened. I spent some time thinking, must have been all of five minutes. It does us all good to reflect now and again I pondered as I sat in front of the mirror. What's that awful grating noise I hear you ask - I'm afraid it's the sound of a barrel being scraped. I've no sympathy for you, it's your own fault for still being here -I did warn you that this might be a rather thin offering. I'm surprised you've got this far.I suppose, there was one thing of note that happened. Ginger Tail, my stupid sister had been scratching a lot recently, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. "I think we need to flea her" said the pretty one. "We should probably do the lot of them" added the one I don't trust in a somewhat menacing manner. I was off like a robber's dog, if you'll pardon the expression, followed closely by Tabby. We sat outside the back door to watch the forthcoming entertainment. Ginger Tail was too daft to realise what was happening and continued to sleep soundly on the settee. The one I don't trust, crept up and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, and despite much hissing and scratching - mainly from him, he soon had her in a headlock. The pretty one squeezed some evil smelling potion on to the back of her neck. Ginger Tail's neck that is, not her own neck you understand - I hope that's clear! When he released her, she spat at him, Ginger Tail that is, and then bolted out through the cat flap and hid in the Chrysanthemumumums, Chrysanthemumumums, damn and blast, I'll try again, Chrysanthemumumums....., stupid name! "Chrysanthemums, I think you mean" said Tabby in a condescending voice. "That's easy for you to say" I replied. I hate him, I really do! Anyway, she hid in the yellow flowers before taking up residence behind the watering can.Meanwhile back in the house, the one I don't trust couldn't understand why me and Tabby had shot off before he could do us as well. He really has got no idea, I mean I understand everything he says - does he think I'm thick? There's no need for you to answer that one! He was making idle threats about catching me and Tabby the next morning. Well, let me tell you this, you've got to be up pretty early in the morning to catch Bert!! "About eleven 'o' clock should do it" said Tabby. What a cheek!Well, that's my lot for today. I told you there wasn't much to talk about. Oh, one minor event I should mention in passing - it's the pretty one's birthday today, so I suppose I should wish her many happy returns. No idea how old she is, let's just say twenty nine, that should keep me in her good books, and ensure extra prawns. Mind you, don't they reckon that one cat year is the equivalent of seven of their years? Or is it the other way round? No, I think I'm right, so that would make her 29 x 7, which equals, err...... nine times seven, err...... three down carry six, err..... well, lets just say very old in cat years. Mind you though, it's not all bad - statistically speaking, those who have the most birthdays live longest! What a life! AlbertThe(thinking)Cat.