Click here to tell your friends about www.Fredcat.net
Click here to request a FREE www.Fredcat.net car bumper sticker!
Click here to e-mail Fredcat the Famous.
Click here to read my Guestbook
"Do you know anything about the nominated films? Who the actors and actresses are? Who the directors, producers, musical directors, set designers, costume designers and so on, are?" queried Fredcat. "Hmmm. I see by your expression and your general silence that you have little idea about the categories and who has even been nominated for them!" "You are missing the point, as usual," replied Cathie, "Oscar night is not about all those various categories and who wins what - rather, it's all about the dressing up and being seen and all the gossip that surrounds all the celebrities. OK, some of the Oscars will be reported at large (like best actor and actress, best film and best supporting stars) but mostly it will go way over the head of the general public." She continued, "I know that some countries, other than the US, will be hoping that their home-bred stars will do well but millions of people all over the world will be tuned in simply to glimpse the stars and check out the latest fashions. Soon costume designers will be furiously copying all the best styles for their female clients to wear to parties as soon as possible. It's really a giant fashion show you know!" Fredcat could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Is this all a big PR event for the film industry then?" he said. "Yup, got it in one," relied Cathie, as she turned to the TV screen to see the latest star arriving, eager not to miss a moment. "Don't you realise that February 27th was International Polar Bear Day," Fredcat said, breaking into Cathie's reverie, "surely that is more important than the Oscars? Polar Bears!!" but nobody was listening so he went upstairs and settled down to await the next dose of his medication. Perhaps the humans would forget? Unlikely ...!
"We've received three very nice messages of concern for your well being," said Cathie, "Teresa T., David R., and Donna M. have all sent you Get well soon messages and Donna even offered to help dose the Famous One. My goodness! Isn't that a grand thought!" "Do you remember the wedding I attended last year?" remarked Fredcat, "Well, I have just seen a posting on the intaweb. Apparently a young bride-to-be decided to have her pet d*g attend the wedding service. She even had her d*g L*cy dressed up in fancy bridesmaid clobber. The reverend's joke about it all was terrible, don't you think? - and yet very apt!" and the Famous One snorted with wry amusement. He continued, appalled, "Now you realise why I much prefer to be a significant member of the superior feline species! Just think of it - doubtless this three year old canine will be off on the honeymoon with the bride and groom!" And at this, everyone tittered. But Cathie then ventured an opposing opinion. "I think that's a very sweet idea", she said, "if I ever attend another wedding I'd like you to accompany me, all dressed up in a smart little feline pageboy's outfit, complete with a large spotted ginger bow-tie." Fredcat looked at Cathie with horror, but the latter just laughed and admitted she was teasing. "That'll teach you to run around madly at midnight while the rest of us are trying to sleep," she grinned. "And remember, even if you are improving, you still have to complete your full course of medication, my lovely ..." Suddenly the jollity ground to a halt. Oh, dear!
"You must be feeling very downcast to talk like that." said Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie, sympathetically. "Cheer up, some cats have been know to live to a very good age. Just because you've a bit of a sniffle, it doesn't mean that you are about to perish! Oh dear me, no!" she said emphatically. "Look, I saw you polish off that bowl of beef doused in gravy yesterday so you must have some recuperative powers left in you. You'll recover soon, you'll see!" But if Cathie sounded positive she was inwardly a tad concerned. Fredcat hadn't shown his usual powers of recovery, and by now, if the past was any indicator, he should be well along the road to recovery. She thought that the new medicine might be doing the trick - but more slowly than usual. It was powerful stuff and she was concerned that Fredcat might have lost some of his natural immunity as a trade off for the strength of the medicine aimed at putting paid to his principal illness. "I do feel more tired than usual," admitted Fredcat," and I don't think that chasing mice away is up my street at the moment. And I certainly wish you and the Grumpy One would keep that tuna-flavoured bottle permanently tucked away in the refrigerator. Every time I hear the door open it's time for me to move as far under the dining table as I can, well away from you." But Cathie would hear none of it. "Look Fredcat, this is for your own good, and soon you will be hopping around, up to your old tricks. Remember you are only fift... five and the average life of a feline is about 13 to 15 years - so you have a long way to go. Your friends Tigger and Snowy are already nearly nineteen each and the record age for a cat is well into the twenties. One cat named Amber has recently claimed to be approaching thirty years of age (!) so you have years and years of life left in you." Fredcat perked up at this, "Then I will be able to boss Mr. B. around for years and years to come," he exclaimed brightly. Life could be so wonderful!
"It's all in the name of feline population control," said Mr. B. smugly, "it cannot be right to have the cat population out of control, or we humans would be overrun - and that would never do. There are issues of health and safety to consider and there wouldn't be enough food to go around if the feline masses were allowed to continue to grow unabated." Mr. B. took a bite of his apple and continued in his smug tone, "Have you read this article properly, Fredcat? It estimates that a single mating pair of cats and their mating offspring could sire 80 million cats and kittens within ten years under reasonable assumptions. EIGHTY MILLION!!!! Dear, oh dearie me," he sighed, "I bet some of them would be just like you, always wanting some decent food." He took yet another bite of his apple. "Don't be ridiculous," said Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie, "You are both wide of the mark. These figures are a statistical nonsense, and Fredcat, behave yourself, the feline world is not going to go into terminal decline because a few v*ts help out with a serious problem in one small part of the world." But Our Hero was not convinced, "I think it's the thin end of the wedge," he muttered, "once they learn how to do it successfully to felines, it will be d*gs next and then humans themselves - have you thought of that?!" Fredcat thought about what he had just said and brightened up. "D*gs," he said with a large (albeit, crooked) smile, "now that's an idea, that might work!" But Cathie just smiled She knew that the Fredcat brain (to which Mr. B. had alluded yesterday) had a large area devoted to d*gs and she understood the Fredcat mentality on the subject of canines. It was time to divert his attention away from v*ts for a while. Fredcat needed to stop hallucinating about v*ts and d*gs and get on with his recuperation. Unfortunately there was little sign of it so far but Cathie lived in hope. The only recourse was some more best beef. "Mr. B. - more grub for Fredcat," she said ... and, without further ado, it was made so.
"Well, that sounds reasonable, in my opinion" said Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie, "after all, there are many, many people out there (billions in fact!) and even a being as famous as you cannot have it all your own way." But this remark didn't please the Famous One and he started to sniffle and snuffle again. "I just can't think straight with all this illness going on inside me. I don't feel like eating my food and I'm just licking the juices from my favourite meals, leaving the meaty part. It's not like me at all," he groused. "Are you sure that it's simply a physical illness?" said Mr. B., "Perhaps it's your tiny little brain that's going soft, you can't be solving all those famous cases and not have some adverse reaction, you know. I'll bet something's going wrong with what's in your noggin. I bet it's all squished up inside like a squashed tomato." And the Grumpy One snorted and laughed out loud. And while the other two glared at him in righteous anger, Mr. B. continued, "Look! I'll show you how it is." And he drew a diagram on his whiteboard of a cat's brain. "See, there is no place in the feline brain for eating or for thinking rationally - unless those actions are connected to the cat's can-opening sonar. And there's definitely no function for a cat to look after itself when it's ill. Fredcat, you are wired up to rely on we humans! It appears that your whole brainy interior has gone off. I thought you had a BA degree and a PhD degree - they'll probably soon go off as well." After this outburst, for some mysterious reason that he couldn't rightly fathom (!), Mr. B. suddenly found himself ostracized from the rest of the family residing at the Fredcat residence. For a whole week, his meals became ultra-plain and he was even denied his daily cups of hot chocolate. It was the cold water treatment, literally. When will he ever learn?
At last Fredcat turned to Mr. B. and said, "You realise that we cats are hunters at heart and this enforced convalescence is very foreign to me. I need to get out and do some exploring, and, yes, do a spot of hunting as well to keep my body and mind in trim. This idleness is driving me a little crazy." "But surely the fact that I am home here all week with you should count for something," said Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie, coming into the hall. "Can't you stay inside for a while where it's warm? We can have the central heating on at a nice high level and you can watch TV with Mr. B." This TV programme was showing some cheetah cubs with a contest to come up with names for them. Mr. B. came up with what he thought was a bright idea of calling them Cub-1, Cub-2, Cub-3 and Cub-4, but that was soundly ridiculed even though it seemed very practical to the Grumpy One. (Don't tell Fredcat that I've told you this, Dear Reader, but the above link provides another link to a slide show containing beautiful pictures of the extremely sweet cubs ....) Fredcat was not overly impressed with the cheetah cubs. "They are fine when they are little but beware of them when they grow up," he said, in a warning tone. "Then they become quite different; and that's when I hop it away through the nearest cat door." The combination of Cathie's crooning over the cubs and Fredcat's feeling rotten because of his sneezing/snuffling health problem soon drove the Famous One to his bed again. If it was to be anything like the last few times he had been sick, it would take three to four days for the medication to kick in. He was a bit worried about the Cipro antibiotic as he thought it was a very strong medicine and he didn't want his good bacteria to be wiped out. He's just have to hope that someone provided him with some acidophilous yogurt and then just have to wait and see ...
Yesterday Fredcat had received a young visitor, in fact the very same young visitor that had paid him a visit a few weeks ago. She had brought some Girl Scout cookies that the Grumpy One had ordered for the Fredcat household. "This is unfair," thought Fredcat, "here am I, a poor sickly moggie, and this Brownie Girl Scout person has brought Double Dutch Chocolate Chip cookies which I don't like. This is intolerable." "The first packet was quite lovely," remarked the Greedy One, licking his lips. "Good job I bought two packets! There'll be more for tomorrow." Which didn't go down well with Fredcat at all. It was soon time to prepare Fredcat to take his tuna flavoured medication. Actually, the tuna was Fredcat's idea; if one has to take medicine it's best to have something tasty. Any human who has had a bitter tasting pill to swallow is rarely comforted by the old adage: "The worse it tastes, the more effective it is!" A bit of a joke that! Cathie looked at her poorly snuffly and sneezing Fredcat and said, "I think you'd better get well soon. You'll never be accepted as an OSF (Official State Feline) if you go on like this. You were boasting the other day about being in the best of health - and now this. It's lucky I have the week off work and can stay at home and give you lots of love and attention until you turn the corner, health-wise that is," she added. Fredcat didn't care. All he wanted was to be fit and well. And it had even started to rain. Will this ever stop? Well at least he had managed to get the Grumpy One to fix the Guestbook page. All those people writing in to say Hi! Fredcat had even been persuaded to include in his Guestbook all the very nice Valentine's Day messages he had received, just to show his faithful readership what nice Valentine's Day messages can be like. And he had finally cracked the code on who Crittercat is, to boot!!! So there!
In fact, he had done a pretty good job of partial self-recovery. Fredcat's being sick had certainly not stopped him from head-butting the Grumpy One a few times from his very restful sleep at a very early hour of the morning. "Why do you do this to me?" demanded Mr. B., grumpily, "It looks to me as if you deliberately target me and not Cathie; she is always totally exempt from this early morning feline behaviour and she is able to sleep blissfully on. This isn't fair!" "I have always had the greatest compassion for my best human friend. Cathie. She works so very hard to bring in the good food that I need - which is more than you do!" replied the pragmatic moggie. "OK, we two can go for short walks and you dish out the grub, but it's always best to follow the money, right?" He continued, quite unabashed, "It's a good job that I am not one of those large tiger or lion felines, then you'd have a real problem feeding me. I see that, somehow or other, someone has even combined the lion and tiger to produce the Liger." Mr. B. looked at the picture of the Liger on the screen and shuddered. The thought of being head-butted in the early hours of the morning by one of those creatures seeking a tasty breakfast was enough to give him nightmares. He thought that he might be persuaded to be extra kind to Fredcat for a few days until the Precious One had recovered.
"I think it must be the new mulch that the Grumpy One has had delivered," said Fredcat, rather annoyed. "Why he has to buy so much of it I don't know. Every time he sticks his fork into the mulch pile a cloud of pollen and other nasty stuff comes billowing out and engulfs everyone and everything in range. That cannot be good. Why even the Grumpy One is coughing and sneezing!" "That's why I went out and bought him a face mask to give him more protection from these spores," said Cathie, "but I'm not realistically able to do the same for you, my sweet one. You just have to stay away from trouble, and avoid close investigation of that mulch monster." Fredcat took a look at Mr. B. sporting a new face mask and thought what a great improvement it made. "I must admit that if I wore one of those it would make it a trifle difficult for me to come through my cat doors," he said. At the vet's office, the good Dr B pronounced herself somewhat puzzled. She informed Fredcat that recent research said that (even after performing every test known to man - and feline!) 33% of snuffling cats turned out to have idiopathic problems - which, translated, meant that nobody really knew what the problem was! "So, I'm an enigma wrapped up in a mystery, am I?" mused the Famous One, "does that mean that I have to go back onto that horrible banana-flavoured medicine? I know I appeared cured afterwards, but it was horrible just horrible..." But the v*t said, with a smile, "Just for you we will have some special tuna-flavoured medicine made up, I will get the compounding pharmacy to prepare it and Cathie can collect it tomorrow. Meanwhile, I suggest you just go home and have some of your favourite canned tuna. Feel better soon, Famous Patient!"
"I suppose that this current fetish for shopping via the intaweb is all very well (after all it is your money you're spending), but don't you think that, ahem! you are rather overdoing it?" asked Mr. B. tentatively. It should be noted, Dear Reader, that wars have been started with remarks much less inflammatory than that, but Mr. B. was becoming a little concerned. "Perhaps you should consider setting up the Fredcat residence as a private guesthouse with paying visitors. That way you'll have additional income!" Mr. B. smiled happily to himself; this was surely a good start to reigning in the Cathie shopping explosion. But it was Fredcat who was the first to leap to Cathie's defence, "Oh no! I don't want paying guests in my residence," he exclaimed, "this is my home and that's that. I don't want strangers traipsing around the place. Why - they might even bring their pets with them - and that would never do! They might want to spend all day watching football on TV. They might even bring badgers with them - to play football in the garden!!! I might have to dig myself a burrow in the mulch pile and stay there for the duration!" Fredcat clearly had concerns ... "You could turn the Fredcat residence into a mini-hotel, suggested Mr. B. in all seriousness. At this Fredcat perked up, "If you did, then the Grumpy One would be a perfect example of Basil Fawlty of Fawlty Towers fame; he would be just right for the part. Cathie could be Sybil and box your ears every now and then!" He chuckled hugely at this image. But Mr. B. had another card to play, "I suppose you would act the part of Manuel, Fredcat, and I would get to give you a bit of a smacking every time you made a mess of things (as you surely would). No use your shouting excuses in Spanish, it wouldn't do you any good." "Enough!" cried Cathie, at last finding her voice, "you two are way off the mark, chaps! I've only been spending my well-earned Christmas bonus, so we don't need to set up a guesthouse or a mini-hotel here. In any case, as I go out to work who'd have the responsibility of running the place when I am away?" At this, both males immediately ceased their chatter, and peace - if not harmony - broke out once more. Never a dull moment ...
"These card manufacturers have become very sophisticated with their e-cards," he continued, "the kittens and cats who sent e-Valentine's cards to me were very thoughtful and I will write a nice reply to them soon, just as soon as that lazy Mr. B. wakes up from his afternoon nap and takes down my dictation. Also, I must take this opportunity to say a public Thank You to all my correspondents who have taken the trouble to write such thoughtful messages to me, as well as entries for my Guestbook, over the past month or so. And you mustn't take any notice of any of the snide things that the Grumpy One says in the hidden comments he inserts when you leave the mouse hovering over my pictures!" After putting The Grumpy One firmly in his place, Fredcat wandered out into the garden and after admiring the flowering crocus plants (now in full bloom) he found a huge pile of mulch just waiting to be explored. It looked firm enough from a distance but on a detailed, close-up inspection it turned out to be: (a) soft and squishy, (b) very warm (especially in the middle) and (c) very dirty, after the morning's rain. This last fact became clear to Fredcat when he returned to the kitchen to be met by the wrath of his best human friend, Cathie. "Why do many humans wear wedding rings?" asked Fredcat, quickly changing the subject. And amazingly, before Cathie could reply, Mr. B. spoke up, "It's a traditional tribal thing," he quipped, "as soon as a female has decided that there is a male she wants in her life, she makes him a slave by persuading him to spend all his money on expensive jewellery. Then he spends the rest of his working life paying off the bills, and before the male knows what has happened he is paying for all sorts of obscure items that he didn't realise he needed, like houses, curtains and flowers instead of cars, golf clubs and going to watch his favourite football team (and sometimes drinking in public places after the match!)" As soon as Mr. B. had finished, Fredcat heard several cups and saucers flying across the kitchen, tinkling noisily as they fell to the floor. "Not true," retorted Cathie, "it's simply to let others know who is partnered to whom." "In that case," said Fredcat, warming to his theme, "why are your collection of wedding rings lying in pieces on the kitchen table, eh?" But for once both Cathie and the Grumpy One smiled in unison. Mr. B. then explained that, "Cathie's wedding ring finger swelled up and was causing her a lot of pain. In the end it became so bad that she had to visit the local Emergency Room at the hospital where a kindly nurse cut the rings off Cathie's finger." "What will you do with the rings now? They're not much good as they are," observed Fredcat. But Cathie intervened, "It will be OK, Fredcat, don't you worry, I will take them to the jeweller and get them fixed and everything will be alright." "And then can I play on the mulch pile again?" asked Fredcat, with an innocence that belied his maturity, but this time he fled as a dishcloth flew towards him. Oh, no ...
In fact, Fredcat was proud of that as it was his idea to offer some small token of good wishes to Cathie. To this end he had persuaded the Grumpy One (against the latter's wishes, it must be said) to invest some pocket money on not only a card but on some chocolates as well. Cathie was so pleased to be remembered by Fredcat that she promised to come home early from work and give him a special cuddle. But when the afternoon came, there was no sign of Cathie. Although Fredcat had slept all day, dreaming of Valentine's Day messages, the early afternoon came but - no Cathie, and no special cuddle. But she duly arrived home at the usual time explaining that she had had so much to work to do that she could not get away early. So together the two checked out Fredcat's e-mail on the computer - and there they were! Valentine's Day cards and messages! There were four Valentine's Day cards/messages to be read, one from "Crittercat", one from "Secret Person", one from "T. L." and one from a very mysterious "M?" Fredcat read them over and over again. "Crittercat" provided a small clue in the message - she was a fift.., er, five year old cat, just like Fredcat! "Who could these be from?" Fredcat asked, dancing from foot to foot to foot to foot (paw to paw to paw to paw?) Cathie explained, "True Valentine's are usually sent by someone who wants to send a romantic message without revealing their identity. They hope that the recipient will be sufficiently intrigued to track down the sender and hopefully start a romantic liaison. Nowadays, of course, the sender frequently reveals themselves (only too boldly!) which means that the element of mystery is lost." Fredcat didn't care. He'd received four Valentine's Day messages and that was enough for him. His thoughts of being Official State Feline had temporarily receded - true to romantic form, as soon as the heartwarming Valentine's Day wishes had appeared, all other thoughts were swept into background. Funny how love supercedes everything else, isn't it?
"Get a hold of yourself," cried Cathie, crossly. "Remember you're only five and the best years of your life are ahead of you. I have no time for cats - or people for that matter - who moan about being hard done by. You have an excellent residence (with staff!), and have plenty of good food available. And you have your own website and someone who thinks you are wonderful (me!) so get out there and stop feeling sorry for yourself!" Whoa, this was pretty strong stuff and Fredcat knew it. He wondered how many of his friends were miserable like him and how many thought like Cathie. It was time for him to be proactive. He liked that word, proactive, even if he didn't fully understand it's meaning. He decided to do something about it and repaired to the study to think. He emerged at last with a grin that split his face from ear to ear, and said, "I've decided to write a letter to all the bigwigs in North Carolina telling them all about me and my desire to become the one and only OSF. "It will go something like this:" "Do you think that will do it?" asked Fredcat, and Mr. B. said "Good grief," (or something like it), and Cathie made Fredcat a fish supper to help him with his brain power. Was she trying to tell him something?
Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie, along with the Grumpy One, were not very pleased to hear such a comment but they decided to keep quiet. They really hoped that this would be the last Fredcat Tail for a while; they were getting fed up with all the revisions and typing demanded by The Famous One. Anyway, Dear Readers, as a consequence of all this, Fredcat wishes it to be known that his diary will not be published for a few days but, drum roll... it will be back ... In the meantime, click here to go to the new Fredcat Tails Story and enjoy. Note all the cats involved have vied for acting parts and have been personally auditioned and vetted by the master himself. And remember, nothing is what it seems to be ...
She added, "It appears that with the introduction of wheelie bins, the foxes have found it more and more difficult to forage amongst the rubbish left out by humans. The natural result of this change is that foxes are starting to go after smaller cats." She looked quizzically at Fredcat who immediately puffed out his chest and fluffed his fur, in an attempt to produce a large defensive posture. "I think you'll probably be alright, Fredcat," she continued, "with your claws, you'd certainly give a small fox a bit of a fright. As foxes appear to prefer to catch small weak creatures like chickens, a battle with a moggie with all claws is only to be attempted as a last resort. And I know you have sharp claws because you keep them well honed on our large oak tree outside." Fredcat stretched his paws and considered his admirable claws and Cathie was thankful that he tiptoed around the house all day without scratching the furniture. A very well brought up cat was Fredcat! Cathie then said, "Do you remember when we lived in England, in a semi-rural setting, a fox came and knocked our dustbin down in the middle of the night. The police were called and we did feel rather foolish because we thought that there were burglars on the prowl!" "I see that there are attempts to create a new breed of fox that can be reared and kept as house pets - a new "man's best friend," she added. But Fredcat was singularly unimpressed. "Foxes are foxes, no matter how cute they look," he opined and he stalked off to seek the company of Mr. B. At least the Grumpy One understood cunning, and would not put up with cuddly foxes in the Fredcat residence. No way!
But Fredcat was by no means happy with this arrangement. He hated lemon juice, and sugary substances were not to his taste either. Also the flour, egg and milk mix seemed so dull and uninspiring. "I think you're missing the point here," said Cathie, "but we won't go into that, let's think of something that you would like to eat." "Why can't we ask Mr. B. to do the flambe bit and brighten up the place," he grinned, "that would make it interesting, I bet he would quickly singe what's left of his hair in no time. And as for things that I like - well there is a list posted on the fridge door to help you out." Cathie looked. The list was quite short. Beef, chicken, ham, new biscuits, prawns, and then more beef. Cathie looked at him saying, "I don't see any sign of mice or birds or rabbits or lizards or snakes on this list. It seems that when left to your own devices you tend to go for live creatures rather than dead ones." "It's all a question of supply and demand, together with the lack of an opposable thumb to use to open tins," replied Fredcat. "For instance, I quite like a dollop of yogurt from time to time - but only if you humans are eating some. A separate spoon is the thing, you know that I dislike eating with cutlery that's been used by humans." And with that parting shot, he stalked off to check out exactly how luxurious his sleeping arrangements were today because Fredcat, like all felines, knows that energy can neither be created nor destroyed and will, therefore, use as little energy as possible.
No, the Fredcat gaze lingered on the advertisements which appeared regularly throughout the show. He could hardly wait for the next one to appear. "I didn't realise that there were so many animals featured," he said, "Look, there is that handsome Burt Reynolds dancing with a huge bear! That was a fabulous double act. I certainly didn't realise that bears could dance or talk like that!" Mr. B. looked at him in amusement. Fredcat continued, "And then there was that little porker racing along the road desperate to get into the Clydesdale horses act; he reminded me so much of the Animal Farm story, except that this trotter was actually running and hadn't put on much weight." Fredcat chuckled, "It's a good job, we cats get plenty of exercise or we would end up like them. And where did they find a unicorn? He looked very nice and friendly but I wouldn't want to rub noses with him!" He went on. "But the one that really sent shivers down my spine was when that otherwise nice man who was cooking a romantic meal for his girlfriend stupidly allowed his cat access to the kitchen stove which led to the feline upsetting the saucepan. That didn't go down at all well with me," he shuddered, "I'm just thankful that my best human friend, Cathie, keeps the hot pans well away from me. I like warmth - but not that much!" But Mr. B. patted Fredcat on the head and said, kindly, "Look here, Fredcat, you have to remember that these ads are a mixture of fun and serious advertising and you shouldn't take them to heart. I mean, the Muppets were also part of the show and you don't believe in Kermit the Frog, do you? Do you? Eh?" But Fredcat didn't answer. He had hopped off the settee and had decided to eat just plain biscuits for a while. He wasn't going anywhere near red meat for a while. No thanks!
The Couch Potato was surprised, "What do you mean?" he asked. Fredcat looked at him. "OK, let's just look at this, bit by bit. First of all, you've hogged the best place in front of the big TV. Next, you've taken tight possession of the remote cotrol (having previously deleted all the interesting TV programmes which Cathie had meticulously saved as her antidote to this extravaganza), and third, you're sitting in front of the TV with a huge pile of sandwiches, lots of chips and dip and a six-pack of beer, and not a single glass in sight." "So?" said the Couch Potato, decidedly unimpressed with Fredcat's statements of the obvious. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." "But do you actually know anything about this game, this Amercian football?" Fredcat questioned," apart from the fact that it's played with a rugby-shaped ball, do you know any of the rules?" "You are missing the whole point of this day," came the reply. "It's an American institution to watch the game, everybody does it. It's similar to the FA cup final in England (which is again being played in Wales because they haven't completed the new stadium in England) but in the US SuperBowl Sunday is a truly massive event. It's important to watch it because when the men get together at work the next day they will discuss every element of the game." He continued, "I'll need to know who were the outstanding players and suchlike. You see, we males all wish we could run 100 yards or meters or whatever, in about ten seconds, catch a ball seemingly thrown from the next village and stroll across the finishing line or whatever, and become the MVP (that's "most valuable player", you igmoramus)." The Couch Potato's face took on a dreamy look as if he were actually performing these feats, hearing the roars of the ecstatic crowd cheering him to the rafters (as it were). Eventually, after being prodded a couple of times by Fredcat, he came to just as Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie walked into the room. "Let me correct this impression, Fredcat," she began, "it's not about the game at all, it's all about the advertisements. An awful lot of people watch the SuperBowl to see which of the big businesses have the best TV commercial." She continued, "Actually Fredcat, I've already forgiven the Couch Potato for zapping my recorded TV programmes. I knew he would do that so I transferred all of my important shows onto tape to thwart him. I love the SuperBowl advertisements, but this year all the advertisements are (for the first time) being rebroadcast immediately after the end of the game. I suggest that you sit down and keep Mr. B. company while he watches the game. You never know - he might even feed you a few Cheetos!" And that's exactly what happened.
Fredcat wasn't a bit impressed. "A cat exploring a fridge?? That cat wasn't particularly smart - and it couldn't have been a very well-fitting fridge door," he complained, "our fridge door is so heavy that even if I could nose the door ajar it would be too heavy for me to push open." Let's face it, Constant Reader, Fredcat doesn't like to be upstaged on the cleverness front and his jealousy was now exposed for all to see. But Cathie was not to be deterred in her recounting. "This cat was especially fond of prawns," she added, "the children in the family had been accused of taking the food themselves - although that argument was a little weak because the cat had just nibbled at the food and left most of it uneaten on the floor." "Prawns!" exclaimed Fredcat, "I love prawns!" and his scorn immediately became more pronounced. "And he left them partially eaten on the floor! This must be a very stupid cat, he was bound to be discovered." "Oh, he was," replied Cathie, "because now there's a lock on the fridge door and, in addition, the family have placed large objects in front of other cupboard doors which he'd also learned to prise open. The house is fast becoming a fortress against that cat!" "All in all, I much prefer the system we have here in the Fredcat residence," said Fredcat, "it doesn't take an Einstein to realise that the simplest arrangement is to have a butler and chef on call - though I hesitate to call the Grumpy One a chef. Opening a tin with a ring pull needs only a little effort, after all!" He looked winningly at Cathie, and continued, "But as Mr. B. isn't here at the moment, perhaps I could persuade you to indulge me with a small snack?" My goodness, Constant Reader, Fredcat OSF-To-Be (or, as Cathie suggested, USF i.e. Unofficial State Feline) is hardly one to miss an opportunity, is he? ...
"Let's get things right, here, just because we apparently spend a lot of time staring through a window instead of rushing out into the cold, humans call us stupid. I mean, who is more stupid? Those who stare through the window at the wintry landscape outside, or those who venture out into it and have to be revived when they stagger home, frozen stiff, hours later?" He turned to his best human friend, Cathie, and said, "At least you have some nous about you, since every time something has to fetched from outside and it's clearly like the frozen Arctic out there, you have the sense to send the Grumpy One. Perhaps that's why he's so grumpy," he added with a chuckle. Snorting, Fredcat continued, "Look here, we cats are excellent problem solvers! Haven't I learned how to get Mr. B. out of bed at just the right moment to get me my brekkie? He was quite easy to train. I don't even need an alarm clock to tell when it's time to eat - as soon as I feel hungry, then it's time to eat! The End!" Cathie gave him a withering glance. Unabashed, Fredcat continued, nonetheless. "And look here at this other report telling us that in the animal kingdom we felines are streets ahead of other animals in terms of problem solving. This box experiment they mention, why, there isn't a cat in our neighbourhood who couldn't easily find the right box that they talk about in this experiment - and first time, too! Look at the facts: memory retention in d*gs, 5 minutes; memory retention in super-intelligent feline creatures, 16 hours. No contest!" he said smugly. Cathie looked askance at him once more. "It seems that the only time that you fail to show your intelligence is when you've done something wrong," said Cathie, restoring some sense of normality to the conversation. "It's "Oops, I've done something wrong", yet 5 minutes later you haven't a clue what it is (or so you claim). Somehow this 5 minute memory retention seems to have been magically transferred to you. I'll give you once last chance to redeem your reputation for intelligence, Fredcat. You have readers visit your website from all over the world, so bid goodbye to them in some of the languages used your readers." Fredcat (who had secretly been planning to say goodbye by breaking into the "So Long, Farewell" song from The Sound Of Music soundtrack) swiftly got his train of thought back on track, and complied, saying, "Au revoir, Auf Wiedersehen, Adios, Arrivederci, Adeus, Da boch, Traduku," And then, feeling quite worn out, he lay down and promptly fell fast asleep. Zzzzzz.
When the glow of praise had dimmed a little, he said "I have been wondering if being famous is the same thing as being intelligent or clever. I mean, Albert Einstein was famous, as well as or because of, being clever, but I'm not so sure that all people are clever simply because they are famous." He thought about this for a while. Cathie broke in on his reverie, "There have been some very infamous people in this world but I'd rather not talk about them!" And then of course the Grumpy One just had to have his say, "Well Fredcat, do you think you are clever, then? If you ask me, some of the things you do and say strike me as being a bit on the dotty side." He then neatly dodged a cushion flung at him by Cathie. Fredcat sniggered and continued, saying, "I ask about cleverness because I've read a newspaper article talking about how "clever" some felines are. It even mentions the idea of a feline IQ! It does point out, however, that not all cats are clever - and even claims that the normally clever ones do daft things! Me, I don't do stupid things, do I?" and here he turned to his human friends for confirmation. Both ignored him. Mr. B. could not be stopped! He continued, "It says on page 2 that even the top 2% of intelligent cats have some peculiar habits. This one cat reportedly falls asleep standing up and falls into the ... " At once Cathie dug him in the ribs and said sweetly, "That's enough, we'll have no talk like that here, thank you very much." "Well," said Fredcat, carefully, "if that is the mark of a highly intelligent cat, I think that I must be a super moggie, but them I always new that." He smirked, irritatingly, and pointed his left paw in Mr. B.'s direction. "Superior cats have their meals brought to them at regular intervals." And he marched off expectantly. And not in vain, as it turned out. With Cathie watching carefully, tea was duly brought in by the Grumpy One. If one is going to be an OSF one had better learn how to give orders and commands, thought Fredcat. He liked that idea and decided to practice it frequently over the next few days ....
So the butler went to the door and Fredcat duly departed. Ten minutes later he returned via his personal cat door. ("Why can't he go out that way?!" thought Mr. B., but he shrugged his shoulders, he knew when to keep quiet.) Cathie finally emerged from watching the big TV. "The film I was watching was called Groundhog Day - and in it events keep repeating over and over, day after day. Rather like the happenings in the Fredcat residence!" she added. "Indeed it's Groundhog Day today, February 2nd!" It was then she saw the mess that Fredcat had caused with his muddy paws and she gasped with horror. "The floor looks terrible," she cried, "Fredcat's muddy footprints are all over my shiny, hardwood floor. Shades of Groundhog Day indeed! I think you'd better clean it up right now, as we have some visitors coming over later. I can't let them see the Fredcat residence like this." "I agree," said Fredcat, earnestly, "would you like me to lend a paw with the polishing?" and he grinned crookedly at his human friends. He thought this sounded like a grand game and raised his paws one by one so that Cathie could slide nice clean yellow dusters under them. They were just like little booties. Mr. B. squirted polish on the floor and Fredcat set off ... He was almost dancing! Soon all was done, the floor was shining once again and Fredcat carefully stepped off the dusters. "That was great!" he enthused (a little breathlessly, for, it must be said, he had put his heart and soul into the polishing). Fredcat was rewarded with an extra slice of best beef. "Fredcat, this is just the kind of good deed that makes you so deserving of the status of OSF," said Cathie, and gave him a hug. Fredcat purred with delight. Life could be good! Maybe he should dirty the floor again .....
"This intaweb thing is great, but did you know that in some parts of the world some humans have not got access to the telephone?" remarked Fredcat. "I was watching the TV myself the other day and saw that even in this great country, there have been some outposts of society without that ubiquitous device. See here, the poor folks in Mink, Louisiana have only just been hooked up!" "That is somewhat surprising," agreed Mr. B., "I also hear that there are now chatterings that the famous business Ma Bell (started over a hundred years ago by Alexandra Graham Bell) is to be taken over by one of her cast-off siblings. Whatever next?" Actually, Fredcat didn't understand any of this so he blithely continued onto his next important discussion point. "I am so pleased that my adoring public have taken up the cry for me to be made OSF," he said. "My kind human friend, David R, has stated that he would be willing to write to Governor Easley on my behalf! Isn't that kind of him! We certainly need to write a letter to the Mayor, at least, asking him how this Official State thing is done. Do we have to pay a fee to get elected?" he mused. "I'm sure Mr. B. would easily find a few pence out of his huge income for that, all he would have to do is stop eating chocolate for a day." "Another kind human friend, Tracy, wonders why I'm not the OSF already and thinks I might have to go as high as the PRESIDENT to present my case. Whooo! I'm not so sure about that .... And yet another kind human friend, Wanda, believes that if I were to become an OSF then my food quality would improve considerably. Now that's a thought! Thanks, Wanda!" And with that he trotted off to see what was in his bowl currently. A nice bit of beef in the bowl is worth two of anything from the Mayor," he thought, wisely. |
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
This is little me 
- I am so smart!
Move on to say thanks to those who helped Mr. B do this stuff
Copyright © 2003-date Fredcat the Famous and Mr.B.
