Friday, 7 April 2017

The Fitzgerald Diaries

Feline friends, don’t panic – I haven’t gone to cat jail! It’s Fitz here, and this is the first of hopefully many furry funny little stories from our adventures with the parents. After all, I'm named after a writer. He wrote a famous book called The Great Catsby. I'd like to see this Catsby; see if I compare. Hem’s too sleepy right now to blog, so he’s letting me write this one. Today started as any normal day: we woke up, had a prowl along the kitchen counters and then….phew! We heard one of the parents get out of bed to feed us breakfast. It was Dad, as it often is. Mum doesn’t come down as early, though she is quicker to feed us than Dad; he’s very careful. To be honest, we just want the food, no matter what state it’s in! Though I guess I’d rather not have it on my whiskers and sometimes on my back, would you believe! This is what Mum manages to do. Strange human. Anyway, back to the story. After I’d licked out every last piece of cat jelly, I headed to the flap to do my business, when woahhh. I saw there was no way out. The flap didn’t flap. That damn litter tray was back. I knew then that something wasn’t quite right. Hem didn’t seem bothered and went to cuddle the humans on the sofa. I followed him as I thought: might as well get cuddles in now before something dreadful happens.

Next thing I know, we’ve snoozed, woken up and been put into one of those beds that swing in the air. Well, it was a squash, I’ll tell you that much. I curled up at the back but Hemingway really wasn’t enjoying my company. He was scratching at the door at the front, desperately trying to get out. Maybe he needed to do his business. I shuffled right back just to be safe. I tried to be relaxed though I did wonder if the parents were moving us on. Then I saw Mum through the bars and I thought: they’ll be something not great at the end of this journey, but they’d never get rid of us. Surely we’re too cute. Just to be certain I thought of a back-up plan: I decided Auntie Charlotte would have me, there was no doubt about that.

After a bumpy ride - and no accident from Hem, thank goodness; he chilled out towards the end– we arrived at the square, white building. Then it dawned on me. I knew what this was – the V.E.T. The last time we were here… we were cas…. cast….I don’t even want to think about what happened. All I know is that something’s missing. This time, we were pulled out of the box and placed on a table. I looked at Hem and I thought: mate, you’re going first. I leapt over onto a second table where I was safe for a short while. Hemingway got cornered. The lady in the uniform pressed a big white circle into his mouth; she pushed it right back and he looked like he was going to choke! Then she rubbed all this wet stuff into the fur on the back of his neck. I tried to climb into the sink like I do at home, but it was too small. Clever, this V.E.T human. I was grabbed and there was no point trying to wriggle. I surrendered.

The ride back was a highlight of the day. Mum got out those treats that smell like Wotsits but taste like Milky Buttons inside. Hem didn’t fancy any so I used my Puss in Boots eyes to collect more and more. Mmmm. When we returned home, the garden was bright and sunny; just how we like it. The parents disappeared so we had the afternoon to find some mice and rabbits. We were unsuccessful today. I think that white circle thing we ate really put Hem off. He’s normally the catcher; I sort of tag along for moral support.

Before long, the parents were back and it was dinner time. I ate then fancied going out again to enjoy the weather. And that leads me to what I’m doing now. Laying on the wood store soaking up the last of the rays.

Look out for The Hemingway Diaries next time.

Meows, 


                Fitzgerald 

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