Floof

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img_7358Ever wondered what your cat does all day?

I know exactly what mine does.

She floofs.

Everywhere.

I’d only been out for the afternoon.  I’d left a relatively tidy house.  Yet I came home just 3 hours later to a white, mohair carpet.  It was like an explosion in a candy floss factory, minus the pink.  Floof central.

Strangely enough, the cat is grey, which goes nowhere to explain how my carpet was covered in white floof.  Plus the sofa.  And the curtains.  The table too.  Come to think of it, the standard lamp was also rather skew.

Domestic duties

As I surveyed the scene, in sauntered the chuffin cat – not looking bald as I had expected, but maybe a little dishevelled.

“Holy moly!  What have you been up to?!”  I yelled.

Gloria gave me a withering look, then looked at the floor.  There I spied a mangled fly.

“You spent 3 hours chasing a fly??” I exclaimed.

Wa ha ha haaaaGloria let out a sigh.  I got the impression that she would have rolled her eyes if she could have.  Instead she adjusted her tufty paws, swished her tail (oh look, more floof) and stared at the fly again.

Then I understood what she meant: she had spent 3 hours waging war against a monstrous man-eating menace, who had threatened to destroy the house and everything in it.  So what’s the problem with a bit of floof and a few broken ornaments?

Satisfied that I now had an accurate grasp of the situation, she stood up and nonchalantly padded to the door.

Then with a turn of her head, she cast her eye across the scene and fixed me with that familiar glare, the one that says, “Look at the state of this place, human staff member, you really should perform your housekeeping duties to a higher standard.  No feline needs to spend her day paw-deep in discarded floof!”

Peek a boo!

#BlogBattle Loss of Marbles

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My cat has lost her marbles
It’s pretty clear to see
she’s as nutty as a fruitcake,
as moronic as can be.

She doesn’t climb like other cats,
hugs tree trunks like a bear
to hide from birds and squirrels
and pretend she isn’t there.

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My cat has lost her marbles,
she’s just stark raving mad,
using my poor stomach
as her personal launch-pad.

Don’t move your head too close to her
and mind those tufty paws,
for when she gives a head massage
she uses teeth and claws!

My cat has lost her marbles,
she’s a little bit ‘cuckoo’.
She cavorts around the bathtub
and then tries to lick the loo.

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She doesn’t drink like normal cats,
but uses both her paws
to throw the water everywhere
then lap it off the floor.

My cat has lost her marbles,
it’s fairly safe to say
She’s demented, daft and dizzy
in a bonkers sort of way.

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She’s checked under the sofa,
with a wiggle and a bound,
to alleviate her loss although
no marbles can be found!

But I love my potty pussy cat,
my fruit-loopy feline.
She might be cracked and crazy
but she’s special and she’s mine!

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I wrote this post as an entry for the February #BlogBattle as seen on Blog Battlers and reblogged on the excellent Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie, where I found it.  The word prompt is ‘loss’… but Gloria twisted my arm with her fluffy attitude and rather than writing about something entirely different and rather sombre, the post naturally became all about her … as always! 

Just a thought but after being Gloria’s Chief Human Staff Member for 4 years, maybe I’m the one who has lost my marbles…

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Enjoy.