In the fond hope that Yorkshire Constabulary might be equally farsighted, I’m working on Ian to persuade him to volunteer as a civilian cat handler.
Cracking the feline code
=Sunday, 13 March, 2016=
Phonetics specialists at Lund University in Sweden hope to have cracked the feline code by the year 2021, to be able to interpret a whole range of meowings and purrings.
Music for cats
=Thursday, 11 February, 2016=
Ever since the BBC revealed to the world that the pinnacle of canine appreciation of music is the
theme tune of Coronation Street,
I’ve been watching the Internet for commensurate revelations concerning feline musical appreciation. But apart from cats’ notorious propensity to extemporise on keyboards, these are uncharted waters, it seems.
Cat-stories set to be all the rage
=Tuesday, 26 January, 2016=
This year, 2016, sees the 150th anniversary of the birth of Beatrix Potter, famous for her self-illustrated animal stories. To mark the occasion, Penguin Random House has had the great good fortune to discover a “forgotten” manuscript of hers: Kitty In Boots, about a strange black cat with advanced views (for the time) and a double life.
Now I have a soft spot for cat-stories (can’t think why), but I predict that this year they’ll be all the rage. Soon anyone coming out with a book about an edgy cat is all too likely to stand accused of me-too-ism of the most pathetic sort.
Personally, I’m of the opinion that you can’t be too rich, too thin, or have too many cat-books.
Dancing Dinosaurs and singing dogs
=Monday, 11 January, 2016=
In a week when we learned from the BBC that dinosaurs danced, we were also confronted with incontrovertible evidence that dogs sing.
The dawn of a new world order?
=Thursday, 31 December, 2015=
Ian wants to write a book to make lots of money.
He can’t mow lawns, he can’t paint houses. He can’t even wash a car, poor old man. Writing books is the only thing he can do.
The day the sky falls in
=Friday, 25 December, 2015=
Once again I’m being made to feel ashamed of my species, Felis domesticus:
Ipswich cat burglar Theo returns to thieving ways.
Whitby’s famous fish and chip shop, the Magpie, displays a list of fish currently available. Recently Ian enquired about a fish called “Woof” and was told that it was a sort of catfish. He remarked facetiously that it ought to be called “Meow”. The tired look in the waitress’s eyes alerted him to the possibility that his witticism was not as vibrant and original as he’d supposed.
Robocat - or Purr-minator?
=Monday, 30 November, 2015=
I notice that Hasbro has recently unveiled a robot cat to sit on the lap of an older person.
This excludes the cost of securing it against cyber attack (£3.2 billion and soaring rapidly), without which, when you press the button, nothing is going to happen.
Scalped by a flying slate
=Sunday, 22 November, 2015=
Hell of a crash the other night at around 3 AM. For a moment I wondered if we’d got our neighbour from Purgatory back. Or perhaps Ian and I had been blaming the wrong people?
Ian has discovered fish sticks.
=Wednesday, 18 November, 2015=
These, if you’ve overlooked them in the past, are strips of extruded fish protein, smeared with something pink and funky to lift them out of the doldrums of total tastelessness.
Neighbours from Purgatory - if not exactly from Hell
=Wednesday, 18 November, 2015=
I was woken abruptly from my afternoon sleep by crashing and banging noises coming from the communal hallway as various heavy objects were carried downstairs and sometimes dropped. One of our neighbours is leaving home, and I have to say the knowledge makes my whiskers curl with pleasure.
Urban cat population: the limits to growth
=Saturday, 14 November, 2015=
I have a shameful admission to make.
No, not the one you’re thinking. And I reject any suggestion that it is my fault. I am simply ashamed for my species: Felis domesticus.
On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a cat
=Friday, 13 November, 2015=
Ian seems to have lost interest in his blog, so I’m going to take advantage while he’s out of the room to grace the world with my thoughts. Family-loyalty forbids me to opine whether these will be preferable to Ian’s own, which anyway he prefers to keep to himself for the present.