Goonergal

Hello all....

now,when I called this entry 'catfood',I didnt mean the vile smelling but apparently tasty stuff in sachets that my two cats,Marylin and Manson are partial to.Oh no.Nothing quite so easy to handle.No,the catfood Im talking about is the type that my cat (Manson,that is ....Marylin is far too ladylike for such hideous antics) catches,tortures and kills himself.Although he doesnt kill his prey for hours,he likes to play with it for a while first.Only this morning I awoke to find him gleefully rolling around in the spare room with a (thankfully)dead bird....when I prised it away from him he stared at me reproachfully with feathers protruding from his mouth,looking for all the world like Sylvester having just eaten Tweetie.There have been many worse episodes.Like I said,I was lucky to come across Manson and his bird-rolling when he had already killed it.I remember in our old flat in Enfield I spent 45 minutes before work trying to catch a very large frog which was clearly not too traumatised as it was energetically bouncing round the bedroom.I eventually captured the poor creature in a shoe box,by which time Manson had long lost interest and buggered off back into the garden to pounce on other unsuspecting small animals.Both Baz and myself have had the truly unpleasant experience of stepping on dead mice which tend to get left as gifts in strategic places around the house,like by the bed,so you step on it before you reach a light switch,or at the foot of the stairs.Summertime is the most fun though.This is because Manson has a thing about Bumblebees and worms.He is careful to catch the former and very carefully hold it in his mouth until he gets inside the house,he then lets it go and has hours of fun watching it bounce off walls and closed windows as it trys to make its escape.The latter he brings draped in his jaws so it hangs from either side like a worm-moustache ....he elegantly pads over to where you are sitting and drops it on your toes or in your lap,before looking up at you proudly.

You see,no matter how repulsed you are , or how late for work due to chasing creatures around brandishing a shoebox,what I try to remember is that these things are brought home for us as gifts....in the wild the best share of meat is given the the lioness at the top of the hierarchy...this is how cats see us owners.So I shudder,grit my teeth and give my fat boy a cuddle,feathers sticking out of his mouth and all.

Sarah xx

Morning people

What is it with us Brits and sunshine?Does it go hand in hand with the pub? Yesterday I spent my lunch hour outside a pub by the river with a colleague.....as did many fellow Wharfers....however , despite the blue sky and bright sunshine it was absolutely bloody freezing,especially in the Docklands where the river whips up one hell of a strong wind ( or 'a bit of a breeze'-this is what we say when trying to deny that we are frozen to the bone....why waste the lovely sunshine?!) The thing with us Brits is that we spend most of the year hiding our pasty white skin under hundreds of layers of clothing,the savvy among us never,ever leaving the safety of cover without a brolly.For six months of the year we leave for the office in the dark,and commute home in the dark.When the darkness is accompanied by wind and rain,this makes for a quintessentially British, Grumpy,grey ride home on the 6:15 from Moorgate.

So,when there's the tiniest glimmer of hope that good weather is on its way, woo hoo!! Out we come,all us office bods,sleeves rolled up,ties loosened,sunglasses perched on head,(highlighted hair artfully arranged to compliment these),All saying to eachother;Sod it!! We will stand outside the pub/sit on the grass/bench etc,and bloody well enjoy the cold beer/white wine that is currently sooooooo cold that my hand is a block of ice....because the sun is out,and we are British!British I tell you!!

Hello all....

now,when I called this entry 'catfood',I didnt mean the vile smelling but apparently tasty stuff in sachets that my two cats,Marylin and Manson are partial to.Oh no.Nothing quite so easy to handle.No,the catfood Im talking about is the type that my cat (Manson,that is ....Marylin is far too ladylike for such hideous antics) catches,tortures and kills himself.Although he doesnt kill his prey for hours,he likes to play with it for a while first.Only this morning I awoke to find him gleefully rolling around in the spare room with a (thankfully)dead bird....when I prised it away from him he stared at me reproachfully with feathers protruding from his mouth,looking for all the world like Sylvester having just eaten Tweetie.There have been many worse episodes.Like I said,I was lucky to come across Manson and his bird-rolling when he had already killed it.I remember in our old flat in Enfield I spent 45 minutes before work trying to catch a very large frog which was clearly not too traumatised as it was energetically bouncing round the bedroom.I eventually captured the poor creature in a shoe box,by which time Manson had long lost interest and buggered off back into the garden to pounce on other unsuspecting small animals.Both Baz and myself have had the truly unpleasant experience of stepping on dead mice which tend to get left as gifts in strategic places around the house,like by the bed,so you step on it before you reach a light switch,or at the foot of the stairs.Summertime is the most fun though.This is because Manson has a thing about Bumblebees and worms.He is careful to catch the former and very carefully hold it in his mouth until he gets inside the house,he then lets it go and has hours of fun watching it bounce off walls and closed windows as it trys to make its escape.The latter he brings draped in his jaws so it hangs from either side like a worm-moustache ....he elegantly pads over to where you are sitting and drops it on your toes or in your lap,before looking up at you proudly.

You see,no matter how repulsed you are , or how late for work due to chasing creatures around brandishing a shoebox,what I try to remember is that these things are brought home for us as gifts....in the wild the best share of meat is given the the lioness at the top of the hierarchy...this is how cats see us owners.So I shudder,grit my teeth and give my fat boy a cuddle,feathers sticking out of his mouth and all.