Friday, 30 November 2007


Forsooth, and that, sayeth ye churl, thatte catte be exceeding fatte to fitte through yonder hole. Methinks Ich shall haue to fetch me a deuice for to make ye catte smaller, or mayhaps make ye hole bigger? Sikerly it be as Maister Murphy hath proclaimed, that an hole cutte to fitte shalle not be fitte for its purpose. Fol de rol. Ich haue made an japerye.

Swyve thys for an game of soldiery, Ich haue an better idea by far! Ich shall give ye catte to mine gude freende Johannes Gowere and get mineself an hounde!

Saturday, 24 November 2007

Technical manual.

When Mat came back from his nightly excursion, and landed successfully in the lounge via the window he had craftily left open, Cat crapped on him. It was not a malicious crap, but one much needed as Mat had flown off with the kitty litter, and during his victory roll it fell off and landed on some poor bloke two doors down the street who was busily reading a technical manual on how to fit a cat flap in his back door.

The work was not going too well, and the last thing he needed was somebody elses' cat crap landing on him. Unmoved, he carried on.

Step 1: Measure door width to ensure correct centralisation of hole to be cut.
Step 2: Cut hole by drilling four holes, one in each corner, then use saw to make cuts between holes.
Step 3: Before fitting cat-flap check cat fits through hole.
Step 4: If cat is too big for hole................?

Wednesday, 21 November 2007

Meanwhile back at the ranch…

Mathew had been lying about all day. Because that’s what he did, all day, everyday, except on the days when his mistress decided he needed a good beating. Today though was a normal sort of day, she was out and the large paddle remained hanging in the cupboard. So Mathew spent his day lying around on the cold stone floor. Well, that’s what mats do innit.

The cat had been gone a long while. Mat was used to the comings and going of the cat and was always there to welcome and enjoy her warm, furry closeness as she curled up on top of him. This time it was different, it felt different, the cat had been gone too long, far too long.

Mat was a good and decent mat and he was getting worried. Very worried. What could have happened. She must be in some kind of trouble. Bad trouble. He thought to himself. In short sentences. Because that’s how mats think. And speak.

If only I could get away. I could find her. Rescue her. From whatever peril. She may have encountered. I am worried.

Now, most people are unaware that mats and related species have the ability to move by themselves, albeit not very far at any given time. People will notice that mats have moved but jump to the wrong conclusion and they always blame someone else. Usually the kids.

Mat had tried to move on several occasions, however, he had never managed more than a few inches without his mistress shouting “Stop running around and will somebody straighten that bloody mat”.

He had even tried exercising. But as everyone knows it is not that easy to get a decent carpet fitter.

If only he could fly! All mats knew the legend of the flying carpet, and all believed that the utterance of a single magical word could induce levitation and give aeronautical freedom to any form of floor based upholstery.

“I wish I knew The Magic Word “ He said aloud.

“We do” Chorused back several voices from around the house.

“What” exclaimed Mat. “You carpets. You know the magic word”

“Of course we do. Why else do you think that they keep our edges fastened down” (Carpets can manage much longer sentences. It’s a pro-rata thing)

“What is it then? Please tell. I need to rescue the cat”

“We are not allowed to tell you”

“Please. It’s important. Very Important.”

“I suppose we can give him clues, and he could work it out for himself, and then we won’t have broken the carpet code of conduct” Said the stair carpet (Who could manage the longest sentences of all)

“Well OK” said the lounge carpet. It’s got 5 syllables, the last two are the same as the first two”

“Okayyy” replied Mat thoughtfully.

“First syllable vowel” came the quiet voice of the fitted carpet behind the closed door of the cloakroom.

“Ahhh” thought Mat. “Hooray” cheered the carpets.

“Oh??” said Mat”

“Noooooo” said the carpets

“Got It” Said Mat.

“Second syllable mistress underwear” wafted our from under the door of the upstairs toilet.

“Knickers!” Exclaimed Mat.

“Noooo” chorused the carpets. “Keep trying”

“Third syllable”. “Master’s Job”

“Now you have all the information you need” Said the lounge carpet.

Mat thought hard.

“A - Thong – Computer Aided Design” He announced, much to the amusement of all the other carpets.

“I’ll never get it”, he berbered as the piles of laughter died away.

“Get a gripper on yourself man. Try again. Think acronyms”

“OK, ermmmmm” “A – Thong – CAD”

“Almost, other kinds.”

Mat tried hard to think of the underwear owned by his mistress, the problem was that he was only really familiar with the items that he was able to see from his position on the floor. (There are some advantages to being a mat)

Suddenly he remembered one particular night when his mistress came home in a very excited state and he had found himself completely covered in her clothes a few seconds after her arrival.

He thought hard. Dress. Stockings. Suspender belt. Thong. What was it, something else, yes? …..YES, …..YES!!!*. He remembered. A Bra!.

“A - Bra – CAD!”

All of a sudden he felt very peculiar and if asked would have described the feeling of being light headed. If he had one.

“Remember the five syllables, Last two the same as the first”

Mat took a deep breath and announced….


He rose from the floor, a bit wobbly at first, but soon he was floating majestically in mid air.

The rest of the carpets cheered. “Now go and find the cat”

With a wave of his label Mat performed an impromptu victory roll, shot upstairs and flew out through an open window into the big wide world.

*Which, strangely enough, was exactly what his mistress had said.

Monday, 19 November 2007


[Characters] 5 year old Chantelle and her 6 year old brother Calvin. Their parents, Kylie and the bloke she met on the pull last night.

[Scene] Christmas morning, the crack of dawn, the children are up early, anxious for their presents. They run down the stairs, bouncing with the enthusiasm only those who have yet to experience life can muster. They fall upon their presents, ripping the paper off with glee.

Chantelle, gleefully: "Mummy, daddy! It's the best present in the world ever! You're the best parents in the world, ever".

Calvin, mumpingly: "It's not fair, she always gets the best presents."

Kylie, sluttily: "It's OK, Calvin, look. We got you one as well!"

Calvin: "Yaaaaaay".

The whole family burst into song as the children play with their new toys.

"Throw it off the roof,
Bounce it on the floor,
Kick it in the crotch,
And bang it off the door,

Dead cat,
Dead cat,
It's really where it's at,
Dead cat,
Dead cat,
It's really where it's at."

[Voiceover] Available from all good stores, not suitable for children under the age of 5 as putrefecation may be contagious, always consult a taxidermist before attempting repairs".

Dead cat in a box

Friday, 16 November 2007


With one bound, the cat sprang - straight up. Clawing its way sinuously to the top of the five-year-old nylon antique lace curtains, handed down from Granny Bert, it slipped easily out of the open window and into the gathering dusk, never to be seen again.

BOSSY breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Now we can write whatever the f*** we want," she declared happily.

Haiku 2

Right, raise your hands please
If the cat bit is dead old
And we'll post anew.

Saturday, 10 November 2007


Uh-oh...diz not gud.
I can has gnu? Not shute me.
Halp! halp! Kthxbai

Thursday, 8 November 2007


Wednesday, 7 November 2007


Fluffy(cat, apparently), is glad to be out of that poxy house, and is now on the prowl for some evil varmint called Farty. A two-timin' good-fur nuthin'. horizontal flame spurtin' gas rig. Fluffy(for f*cks sake, cant WE change the name?), is not pleased. She needs revenge for being called Fluffy, and is packing her six-shooters for the final showdown with the old 'Windy one'.

"Draw", she said.

There was a bang, and...............

Tuesday, 6 November 2007

Reality TV

Dee fowateen in tha Big Brutha Howse; wan foughty-seven pee em.

Tha mice are in tha hole in tha skirtin boward, talkin aboot tha cat.

Whitey: "That Fluffy's nothing but a dirty alley-cat, the filthy hooah."

Three-legs: "She should never have been allowed back in the house, it's against the rules. I've got a good mind to walk, limp out."

Tha cat is in tha Di-aree Room, talkin to Big Brutha.

Fluffy: "...and then he gave me a mouse. I mean, I'm not being funny, right, but I thought it was dead. So I was, you know, like, quite pleased, yeah? I went to pick it up and the little <tweet tweet> jumped up and made a run for it! I tried to grab it, but all I got was a <tweet tweet> leg! What use is that to man or beast?"

Big Brother: "Do you have anything else you'd like to tell Big Brother?"

Fluffy: "Well, I don't know how much longer I can keep it a secret from the other house-mates; I'm sure two-legs suspects it already..."

Big Brother: "Big Brother is sure you'll manage. The Diary Room door is now open."

Fluffy: "Oh...and my sardine ration has run out - any chance of -"

Big Brother: "Goodbye, Fluffy."

Monday, 5 November 2007


Cat, you look for love
Between deep night and daybreak
Stop making that noise


.......The look from cat was well received, the tom responding with seductive purrs. What cat decides next could have serious ramifications on her future. A juicy mouse, by way of a gift was presented to her. She accepted, a grin appearing across her whiskered mouth. The candles burned brightly in the living room. The two-legs were out, could this be the taking of her......
The gruesome sights and smells lingering in her sensitive nostrils, the cat fled, velvet paws leaving barely a trace as she scurried from room to room back out of the hellhole, emerging into the cool, black night.

Finally outside, she sniffed the air delicately. An owl hooted above her, and she ran like a streak of lightening across the pavement and through the flapping pet-door of the bungalow owned by the two-legs she had commandeered. The two-legs was sitting in an armchair, reading a novel and drinking tea. The cat leaped into his lap, positioning herself driectly between the book and his nose, as was customary.

"Damnit, Fluffy - why is it every time I'm reading you want to snuggle?" The two-legs pushed her out of the chair. "I suppose you have been out looking for romance."

The cat gave him the look....

Sunday, 4 November 2007


There was a young moggy from Earth,
Who on a spaceship took a berth,
The captain, though dashing,
Was too keen on slashing,
So she ran off and hid in the hearth.

Saturday, 3 November 2007

..........the flash of the blade was spotted by the cat, and she ducked under the blade. Making off as fast as possible, she blundered into a room where she really didn't want to be. A research facility. Horrific sights confronted the cat, blood was everywhere. Cat parts, human parts, and some other parts that Cat couldn't make out. This wasn't good.
There was a movement to Cats left, she ducked. The thing kept coming. She ducked again.
"Run", she said to herself, "Run".
She ran, and.............


Space Cat beckoned for her to go with him. The cat followed Space Cat towards the ship. She was enthralled by Space Cat's presence and thrilled to be with him, but as soon as she stepped into the ship, she realised something was wrong.

Badly wrong.

The interior of the ship was dimly lit, and had a peculiar smell. A metallic smell, and the cat was reminded of the taste of old pennies. She glanced around. And then she saw them. It was carnage. Bodies were piled up all over the place. The floor was sticky with blood. The cat swallowed hard, trying not to gag.

"What happened?", she asked Space Cat. "Why have you brought me here?"

Space Cat smiled. And as soon as he did, the cat realised that her hero was not all he seemed.

"You were brought here for a reason, cat." said Space Cat. "You are one of the chosen ones."

"Chosen for what?", asked the cat, delicately stepping over a severed head. She was conscious of her paws slipping and sliding around in the blood - evidence it was fresh.

Space Cat's sardonic grin stretched wider. "You're one of the chosen ones", he repeated. "Few have the opportunity to serve. You are very fortunate, cat."

"Serve who?" asked the cat, wondering if there was some sort of bizarre dinner party in the offing.

"The great one. Come with me, my pretty", said Space Cat.

The cat backed away. Hero worship was perhaps better in theory. But she wasn't quick enough. There was a flash of silver, and a hiss as the knife cut through the air....