Birthday Bonanza!


I am officially the worst human staff member.  Ever.  According to the chuffin cat.

I can’t really argue.  She has a point.

Today is her 6th birthday.  Yes, 6th!  And I committed the worst faux pas possible.  You see, it’s that time of year that Gloria dreads.  Me too.  Plus the vet. Probably the entire vet’s practice too.

*whispers* vaccination time

So I rang up to make the appointment, wrote it on the calendar, and never thought any more about it.  In the current pandemic, I figured the vet would be well enough equipped with PPE and riot gear to successfully tackle this annual fiasco.  Turns out I’d written the appointment on the wrong week, so for some reason I thought it was on the 17th. Had I noticed this earlier, I could have salvaged the situation and rebooked for a different day.  But no, I didn’t realise until the night before.  To be fair, we are now on day 9,743 of lockdown… or something like that.  I really have no idea of even what day it is. Not sure anybody else knows either.  Apart from the chuffin cat.  She has counted each and every day meticulously on her tufty paws, doing a daily roll call to check all human staff members are in place to fulfil her every need. Her lowly staff members on the other hand have stumbled and eaten their way through lockdown, like a perpetual Christmas break without presents. Or visitors. Or turkey.  Anyway, I digress.

I only realised yesterday that I had committed the mortal sin of booking the appointment for Gloria’s annual vaccinations on her actual birthday  *gulp*  I felt truly awful (but not bad enough to cancel it, clearly!).  To make matters worse, I couldn’t go into the surgery with her due to the Covid guidelines.  So in Gloria’s eyes, there she was merrily dreaming about all the fun she was going to have on her birthday, when she was scooped up and unceremoniously stuffed into her far-too-small carrier.  To top it all, after being thrown around in the car whilst her Chief Human Staff Member tunelessly serenaded her, she was then kidnapped – yes, kidnapped! – by a lady in a white coat… who proceeded to maul her, shoved a thermometer up her rear end (the cat’s rear end, not the vet’s in case you were wondering), and stuck a needle in her neck (cat’s not vet’s again, just to clarify)… all while her Chief Human Staff Member sat motionless back in the car without a care in the world.  How very rude!!  Unforgivable, in Gloria’s eyes.

So in an effort to repair our ruler:slave relationship, Gloria felt it only right that I compose an ode to her, to commemorate her 6th birthday.  Here goes *ahem* *cough* (non-Covid cough that is)

*clears throat in a healthy way*

Happy Birthday to my cat.
Your poofy fur makes you look fat.
Your temper’s short, your legs look stumpy,
when woken up you can be grumpy.
Your teeth are sharp, you’re seldom calm,
your breath smells like a sewage farm.
I really love your tufty paws –
a shame they’re hiding sharpened claws.
Your fluffy trousers are quite lush.
Your tail is like a big bog brush.
Your attitude is a disgrace
but we all love you, fluffy face.

What??  Oh apparently that’s not at all what she meant.


Happy Birthday, Gloria Chufflepuff Braveheart, with heartfelt apologies from your Chief Human Staff Member and the kidnapper in the white coat

Innocent? #BlogBattle



The chocolates have got teeth marks
and the tinsel has been mauled.
The presents have been bashed and chewed,
the Christmas tree looks bald.

There are baubles in the kitchen
and a stocking in the sink,
the fairy’s disappeared
– have we driven her to drink?

The lights are in a tangle,
they’ve been strewn across the floor.
The tree is artificial
but it’s shedding on the floor!


“What on earth has happened here?
That poor, old Christmas tree,
it’s totally dishevelled
and it’s littered with debris!”

“It looks like you attacked it
in a catnip-filled assault!”
“Who me?” replied the cat, surprised,
“It’s really not my fault.”


“I’m innocent. I’m blameless.
I’m as good as gold. You see,
I was curled up, sleeping deeply
but the tree… it fell on me!”


“I might be sitting here with
a bauble on my paw,
I caught that one especially
as a gift for Santa Claus!”

“And I’m fully out of catnip
– to that I must confess –
So human, run and grab some more
… and do clean up this mess!”




img_7358Ever wondered what your cat does all day?

I know exactly what mine does.

She floofs.


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



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.


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.


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.


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!


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…