I believe my baby's got a black cat bone.

Enough said.

Turds of a feather

I will say this for Pounce! - she sure is a stupid-arsed cat.

On the decking out back, next to the fish pond, she just discovered a sloppy white arse-egg laid oh-too-recently by some blow-in bird or other. Gingerly checking the shimmering goo out with her schnoz, the feline's nostrils flared, then recoiled, sending her hindquarts on a merry backward dance into the pond.

She's licking said hindquarts dry now, looking up at me, somehow miffed, as if I'd been the fine feathered offender.

Man or mouse?

After falling into our foetid fish pond yesterday, no doubt in futile search of something scaley, Cattus Cattus lobbed a large mouse onto the doorstep this morning.

It was a damn large mouse. Either that, or a smallish marsupial. In either case, she was pretty chuffed with her efforts and was heartily rewarded with a handful of Scooby Snacks.

The only problem is, I don't particularly want to be the one who has to get rid of said mouse. Here's hoping old Cattus decides to eat it.

This oughtta boost the ratings.

As Ol' Moonface from next door once explained to her primary school colleagues while colonising our front verandah:

"Oh, that. That's Pounce. Pounce the cat."

I don't like her chances

What with a pane of glass and a moat in the way.

Grumpy see, grumpy do

Pounce! now knows how to fetch.

Only problem is, because she initiated the first fetch, I don't know if I trained her or if she trained me.

Grumpy and his cat were having a spat. In WA you know where that's at.

My day was put on hold this morning as soon-to-be-spayed Pounce! once again bolted under the house.

I dunno what she does under there, but her face usually comes out covered in cobwebs.

After an hour trying to coax her out with her favourite toy sheep, I relented and did some gardening instead, so I could keep an eye out for her.

No sign of whiskers for two hours, which is when I went inside to make a cup of tea.

As the kettle boiled, I heard a sickly mewl out back. The vexacious beast had had it with the under-house and was busting to get inside.

Never one to look a gift cat in the mouth, I bolted to the back door and opened it. She flew in, straight for her litter tray, where she deposited a runny poo. Why she couldn't have done that under the house is anybody's guess.

Mini Grump

Normally Perth gets next to no summer rain. But it sure is bucketing down tonight.

And Pounce! just experienced her first thunder clap.

It sent her skittling under the couch 15 minutes ago, and we haven't seen hide nor hair of her since.

I expect she'll emerge grey, bald or both.

And that will make two of us.

She's no oil painting*

*most puss pictures on this site courtesy Hazelblackerry Productions Inc.

Fussbudget

Pounce de Lion is a wonderful whuss of a puss. But my, she's adopted some fussy ways while her mum has been home on holidays.

The finicky feline turned her nose up at some perfectly good adult cat food last night, which inspired Hazel to muse if we should return the mollycoddled moggy to the more easily digestable pussy pâté to which we'd let her grow accustomed over the past 2 weeks.

When I suggested puss was merely trying it on and that The Burp, who gave us the pampered puffball for Christmas, had advised me that even an exclusive diet of cat biscuits would suffice, Hazel called me a liar.

'Why is it,' I protested, 'that when I relay counsel from someone you respect, and that advice happens to diverge from your own vile viewpoint, you shoot poor messenger me?'

I fully expect to arrive home this afternoon to a pantry crammed with kitten caviar.

Pounce!

There's been some conjecture over the blogwaves regarding the name of Hazel's and my spritely new kitten.

While 'Violet Crumbleruff', 'Polly Waffle' and 'Peppermint Crisp' all received exhaustive consideration, we finally decided on 'Pounce!' - since that is what the tortoiseshell fuzzball (I'm not referring to Hazel here) does best.

In other breaking news, Pounce! did her first outdoor poo this morning.