Following my terrible weekend, I had a terrible Monday. Not surprising given the state of my current mooniverse and all that has recently changed, but this really has come as the crappy cheap catnip on top of the unravelling scratching post of my life.

 I have had an extremely bad weekend. Not just bad, but Bae abandonment level bad.

This weekend was… a disaster. A ceremony the likes I have ever witnessed was thrown and I was cast aside by my own subjects in the process. They call it, a baby shower, but I know that what it really means is that they are preparing for the coronation of a new ruler. I should have known this day would come, where my apple shaped head and fuzzy backside were no longer cute enough to keep their fleeting attention, and yet I was not prepared.

Evening thumb-peasant-folk, I come to you today with tales of my upcoming nine-year (toona) Moobilee.

I’ve been moosing lately about the duality of my species, and I realise now that perhaps the way in which we act with such dualism is one of the defining merits of being feline.

Change is on the cold north wind that has seemingly come to stay in this part of the Great British nation for which my breed is so named, and I find myself at the heart of it, as ever watchful over bae.

Cats, in case you didn’t know, are musically inclined. I am a talent beyond measure, and yet my moosical charms are lost on humans with their non-rotating ears and poor taste in dance moves.

Since the laser dot of the skies has finally relented in its scorching of the earth, things have returned to normal. I have taken up Baewatch once again, perching myself near the protective giant in question.

I have become victimised by it. That laser dot of the skies.

The nuances of petiquette- a lesson for hooman slaves.

Today is the day hoomans call Boxing Day. Ironically enough, though not surprising, is the fact that they have no idea that the name boxing day in fact originates from the felines of the past. As I sit here, full from the many turkey snacks I have consumed, and quite content with watching the old one, or should I say, the one who looks quite prunish in complexion, sleep, I thought I would reminisce if you will about the origins of this holiday. 

It has been ten cans of chicken and rice since bae left me…

Where art thou bae? 
This is what I wonder as I wake and the cruel chill of the day’s emptiness clutches at my whiskers.