Temple of soft warm cosy DOOM!

There's a lot wrong with the world, not least of all the amplifying of its concerns by a media who thrive off peddling foreboding and suspicion. I don't have stocks but now is a good time to invest in 'Myth Perpetuation Inc' and maybe a time share at the newly refurbished, 'Extreme Views'. 
Any sense of community can now be found watered down on aisle six of the all encompassing pile it high-permarket. Why have cotton, when you have silk? Why have pride and respect, when you can have mass produced greed at half the price? Why take the bus when you can drive fear home? 
Information sharing has never been easier, so dodging the daily doom laden arse twoddle has become a skill in itself. There's never been a better time to curl up on the sofa and hide until all the noise and hysteria blows itself out much like the hugely overpriced fireworks currently on sale. Ooh! nice metaphor!! 
What is a metaphor? is it one better than a metathree? A 'meta' sounds metric so how many do you get to the pound?
With the tabloids promising mass extinction everyday, Frank has taken to hiding under pillow forts for some much needed R&R (rest and ripping holes in the furniture). 
Behold!!
It's tough growing up where you're fed everyday and someone else cleans up your poop. Those flies won't annoy themselves and anything small and round won't naturally migrate to under the sofa where it belongs. Being a young cat in today's hectic world is tiring alright without all the other capers going on beyond the front door. 
I'm going to take a leaf out of Frank's well chewed book and not watch all the hyperbole and rhetoric filled news today in favour of going outside and actually meeting people and embracing their cultures with a view to expand my own horizons in order to become a better human being. 
Actually, sod that, it's raining again. Pillow fort anyone?

Big Plans, Tiny Mind

Global domination doesn't just happen overnight, especially if, like Frank, you're only six months old. Conquering the world has to happen one human at a time. First off, you have to give the illusion that you wouldn't hurt a fly. 

"You! Human!! smooth me!"

I say illusion because as any cat person will tell you, cats love hurting flies. All forms of creepy crawly are pawed, chewed, half drowned in cat spit and slowly torn limb from limb by razor sharp talons with no opposable thumbs. William Wallace got off easy! Watch any cat 'play' with a crane fly and then Google 'Spanish Inquisition techniques'. Controlling humans is easy once they think you're cute and adorable but it doesn't hurt to remind them who controls who every now and then.

"I like not this smoothing."

"You must be taught a lesson!"

nomm nomm nomm

Once you have mastery of your human slaves you also have to establish dominance over any other would-be meowing megalomaniacs. This is where Frank's plans, like so many cat toys, get stuck under the sofa. The immovable object in question is Bill. A placid pussy by nature, Bill has rediscovered his playful side since Frank's arrival. Bill is substantially bigger than the budding bug assassin and likes to remind Frank of this during sparring practice. Bill will initiate training by lying in front of Frank with a 'one pounce will finish me off' look in his eye. Frank, being the magnet to trouble that he is, will naturally leap in for the kill. However, this is when Bill goes all Kung Fu Panda and leaps into action. 

Multiple kick combos and biting are the order of the day and Frank soon realises that he's in over his cotton wool filled head. He'll recoil to try a fresh attack from a different angle but Bill has seen this before and is not adverse to catching Frank mid leap and slamming his face into the carpet. Seriously, it's like watching a sumo drop kick Jimmy Krankie into next week and then add a falling elbow to the chops just for fun. 
        Twitter Peeps, watch the full fight HERE!

An army marches on its stomach.....which is bad news for Frank as he has no army and likes to eat everything in sight. When his middle age spread kicks in he'll need his own stair lift. 
All in all, it looks like the universe is safe from the Bengal buccaneer. Earth has nothing to fear from this meowing marauder. Just so long as you know where to smooth him.

"awwww yeaahh"

Crouching Dragon, Hidden Tiger

Cats are like ninjas. Their knowledge, skills and techniques are passed down from cat to cat. Through generations and many moggy millennia they have become adept at hunting, stalking and stealth. Each breed of cat has a particular talent which has been honed and crafted throughout the ages. 
The end result are many breeds of cat that are tougher, braver and stronger than their ancestors. Some are great leapers, some are incredible climbers, others capable of complex puzzle solving, some can run at incredible speed.....

And then there's Bill and Frank. It's a good thing Frank hasn't got two brain cells to rub together because he would learn nothing from the sensei of sleep that is Bill.
As Frank grows his teacher is supposed to pass on his years of collective wisdom. Instead, all Frank has learned is where's good for a kip and when is best for naps. Curiosity we're told isn't good for cats, so it's a good thing Bill has none. He knows where to eat, where to pooh and where the treats are kept. What more do you need to know?
As said in a previous blog, Frank has taken to watching the TV for additional guidance. 

Here for instance he is attentively watching as many many pounds of uncooked sausages are hauled out of a forest. With new found intelligence and a gung-ho attitude he roped Bill in for a test of his prowling proficiency. Bill is clever enough to know that a forest for hunting and a fridge are one and the same, so diverted our intrepid explorer towards the kitchen with mixed results. 

"chocolate trifle yeh?"

"yeh, it should be near the top"

"I can't see it"

"you pillock Frank! you had your paw on it, it's right there!"

Between the two of them they have the brain power of a dandelion and intellectual prowess of a tapeworm called Susan. They could of course be phenomenal cunning and this is all an act for an easy life, or, they're a substantial leap backwards for the theory of evolution.
Either way, the spinning noise coming from Darwin's grave hasn't got any quieter in the last few months.

Chill Bill.

Curiosity, thy name is Frank.

In the programme of life, Frank is the ad break. When he comes on you know you should be doing something else; putting the wee on, going for a kettle, but instead you find yourself sat there, watching crap that's of no use to anyone....that's Frank in a nutshell. No really, that's Frank trying to get into a nutshell. Stupid arse. 
There's nothing he won't get stuck in; 

boxes (as modelled by Bill)

bags

under dresses (can't say I blame him)

washing machines

dvd players

chimenas

bacon sandwiches

backs of sofas.

In his youth he was much younger and also smaller. In those days the back of the sofa might as well have been a palatial mansion. Unfortunately, while the rest of his body grew, his peanut for a brain didn't. He still thinks he can fit under there but his penchant for Dreamies and pretty much everything on your plate, have meant there's no more room for manoeuvres. 

The most annoying part is that the sofa isn't on casters so it's a real effort to rescue him. He's not a fat cat, (especially after the multi-conglomerate fired him for insider trading of IBM preferred stock which he tried to funnel through the Cayman Islands under the name of 'I.Meowsalot'), but he is very long. 
When he's watching the noisy picture box he takes up the space of two full grown biscuit munching adults. 

He likes to watch Bake Off, not for the recipes but because he wants to climb up Mary Berry's face and use Paul's beard as a scratch post. Frank doesn't care much for Mel & Sue, he thinks that anyone who stems from Cambridge and who were members of Footlights should be waaaaay funnier. The again, Frank also thinks it's hilarious to wait until the litter tray has just been changed before producing the biggest and smelliest poohs. 
Frank's idea of comedy gold is neither comedy or gold but Christmas is coming and with all that tinsel this will all change. 
Pics to follow.

Cunning Plans

So I'm FaceTiming with Frank after work like you do and we're yapping about the usual things; the price of Dreamies, opposable thumbs and the Banach-Tarski paradox. Frank starts going on about Hubble's life expectancy and the whole Deep Field pics. While I agree with him I still reckon there's a good year left in Hubble especially after the upgrades. He agrees and then casually drops in a,
"oh can I just go and play with the other cats outside?".

Ppff! Like I'm gonna fall for that. 

"You're still too young" I said. 

"But I've got a chip and defunct genitals!" he protested. While it's true that we made Frank more of a man by making him less of a man, he's still too young to go out by himself. I say "No" and the grumpy little git then gets all huffy and goes off to annoy Bill.

Kittens these days! I wouldn't mind but this isn't the first time he's made a bid for freedom. The first time saw him scale the fence and get into next doors garden. Could he be persuaded back? Could he fudge! Now he has to be constantly monitored by the screws while he's exercising in the yard. 

What goes up must come down and the next time saw him go from climbing to sky diving. After a few practise leaps from the washing he bided his time. 

The bedroom window was only open by a millimetre but the slippery eel made his way onto the ledge before taking a leap from the first floor. When it was realised that he was missing, he was eventually located at the back door with a smug grin on his chops. Any more shenanigans and he'll spend some time in a solitary small dark box with only a small dead spider for company. Actually, that sounds like cat heaven. Instead, he'll spend it in wide open space.......dammit why are cats so difficult to annoy!

Frank - the college years

Fast forward a few weeks and Frank was starting to grow. He was consuming everything in sight, including Bill's food.  A sideways name change to 'Dyson' was mulled over, after all, he sucked up everything, needed constant emptying and was crap on stairs. 

Kittens aren't supposed to eat big cat food but if you tried to stop him he would growl while continuing to chew. He might have sounded like a didgeridoo sped up but the eating never stopped. No he didn't have worms, just a poop factory in overdrive. When he wasn't eating he was gnawing. Fingers were and still are a particular favourite. The pain of having your digits being used as pin cushions to surgical grade fangs was offset by his boyish good looks and general kitten dappyness. 

It was about this time that he hit 'maximum cute'. Brace yourself!

The stairs were still yet to be mastered but this climbing thing was fun. Scaling a big bed or sofa with tiny paws was hard work though so well deserved cuddles and naps were taken at the summit. 

Frank's life was just a continual cycle of eat, sleep and move for a bit. You'd swear he was student. The litter tray certainly smelt like a second years toilet. It even had empty cans of Red Stripe and Breaker up one end. The booze would also explain the falling over and bumping into things. Come to think of it, his meows sounded a lot like "kebab". One things for sure, Frank couldn't take his ale. A "yer maa bezz mate" would quickly turn into a scrap with Bill and then back again before you could say "leave it Bill, he's not worth it!". For the time being Bill was safe on the rocking chair out of Frank's way. It wouldn't be long though before this sanctuary wasn't safe.