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"We need a change of diet, more fruit and vegetables," she said. Fredcat, in the act of un-freezing, froze once more. "I am not particularly fond of vegetables," said that Mighty One, "beef, chicken pieces, some fish, anything that has once had a face - all these are OK. Indeed anything is OK, as long as I can chew on it." "How about carrots and celery, you can gnaw on those for ages," grinned Cathie, "and they are all Mother Nature's own unadulterated foods, they help with teeth and, some believe, carrots are reputed to assist with eyesight (although it is strongly suspected that that last statement is a war myth to fool enemies that one could see in the dark when it was all down to the early use of radar)." Cathie continued, "it's OK, Fredcat, I was not really thinking about you at all." Mr. B., who had by now picked himself up, looked alarmed once more. What was in store now? "I've been thinking," repeated Cathie, "that as it is now the start of the strawberry picking season, it would be a nice gesture if someone went out to the local strawberry fields (forever!) and picked someone some nice juicy strawberries." Male readers will recognise this subtle change of tone, this use of the third person, this suggestive and persuasive voice, which, if one is a good enough interpreter, all boils down to a simple unequivocal demand. "Get me some strawberries. NOW!" Mr. B. whimpered in alarm, "This isn't related to the "P word" is it? I thought you had sort of passed that stage in your life of which sudden eating impulses were a feature, like eating pickles and jam together, for example." "That is absolutely not the case!" Cathie replied, "It is just that I have noticed that the local strawberry field (forever!) is now open and the very best and juiciest strawberries are ready for picking. The field is only a short distance away." "May I walk there with you?" said Fredcat, "I wouldn't mind a look." "I wouldn't recommend it," said Cathie, "although everyone around here refers to it as the "snakeless" strawberry field (forever!), that doesn't mean there is a complete absence of said creatures. Stay here with me and leave it to Mr. B. to sort out any lurking snakes." This seemed a good idea to Fredcat. Even Mr. B. was agreeable! He was relieved that Cathie's Thinking only amounted to a simple bit of shopping, and he was very fond of strawberries himself, so he was pleased to comply. If only Cathie would make life easier by saying what she wanted straight out, life would be a lot easier, he thought. But, alas, the female of the species is not like that. Poor Mr. B., finessed again.
"How do my numbers match up against those of comparable websites elsewhere?" enquired Fredcat. Cathie looked almost scornful as she said with more aplomb that usual, "There is no comparable website! And ... we passed the 50,000 total vistors mark a few days ago! Isn't that enough for you? One could argue that computer folk who read your daily diary have friends who share their PC with them, so the number of visitors could actually be a lot more than the recorded figures. Unless every single visitor to your famous website e-mails us every single time they visit, we will never know." "Now to the "Thanks" part of the agenda," continueed Cathie, "the stage is all yours, my Famous One." So Fredcat took centre stage and, in a voice charged with emotion, whispered many, many thanks to all my readers, and all their friends, for taking a few minutes each day to read about my famous exploits." He added that, "Some cats and some readers, have even braved the tortuous world of the e-mail system to write little words of encouragement to me!" Fredcat added that he had so far managed to reply to each correspondent, even if he was a little tardy at times. "Your words have made this whole exercise so very worth while," he whipered. His was an Oscar-worthy performance. "Which quickly brings me to the subject of remuneration," said Cathie. "With all this marketing success so clearly down to my superior strategic vision, I think I deserve a pay rise." "But we don't pay you anything now!" remarked Fredcat. "It is a moot point, but most people get pay rises as a percentage increase, and a percentage increase of $0 is ... $0! So, sorry, Cathie, no pay rise for you. And anyway we don't earn any money from my website becasue it is a charitable vebture - just like me," he beamed proudly. At this Cathie became quite peeved and tried a different tack. "Why, you and Mr. B. are quite mean," she said at last, "I bet you have cash hidden somewhere that I could lay my hands on - a girl can't live on promises, you know!" She did some more muttering which, fortunately, nobody could make out - a definite relief, as ladies muttering can mean quite a problem to the male population. At last she said, "OK, but it must be time for my title to be changed, then!" So Mr. B. asked her which position she would like to have, "there are vacancies for the position of President, Vice Presidents of Operations, Sales, Human Relations (as well as Marketing which you already hold), Chairman of the Board, ordinary Board Members, Treasurer, Chief Accountant and so on. There is even the highly exalted position of Vice President In Charge of Executive Trinkets - that's up for grabs, as well!" It didn't take Cathie long to make up her mind. "I want all those positions," she said, "and when we become a profitable company, I will be Chair of the Remuneration Panel as well, and guess who will not be receiving anything in the way of an end-of-year bonus!!" She marched off, in a huff, and it took all of Fredcat's charm to calm her down later. Oh dear! Trouble at t'mill!
The next day, at breakfast time, Cathie was eating her breakfast of buttered toast and marmalade. Fredcat looked at his own dish of meat which had suddenly become unappetising. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that one slice of Cathie's toast did not have marmalade on it - and yummy butter was oozing down the edges. Now it so happened that Fredcat had once tasted buttered toast and had taken a sublime delight in licking the butter off. Memory stirred, he decided to try it once more. First, he attempted the indirect approach, nuzzling up against Cathie's legs and purring fit to burst, but that was unsuccessful, as she absent-mindedly stroked his back, reading her latest book whilst she continued eating. Obviously a direct approach was needed. Cathie's toast was nearly finished but there was a lovely smell coming from another plate. Mr. B. was brewing a cup of tea using an old-fashioned teapot. He was quite distracted, meaning that he was concentrating very hard on his one-thing-at-a-time tea-making. So Fredcat simply borrowed a slice of warm buttered toast from Mr. B.'s plate and, following Cathie's example, made his way to the reading material from the new bookcase. Here he settled down and started to browse through one of the cat books, and began licking. Mmmmm, the butter was even better than he remembered! But - it wasn't until he had finished that he noticed the greasy smears on some of the pages. He tried to wipe the oily goo off but (as readers will know) that only made matters worse! Fredcat quickly sped from the scene of the crime, and luckily, such was the pile of toast on Mr. B.'s plate that the loss of one slice went unnoticed - which was very surprising as Mr. B. loves his food and is well known for his inventory skills when it comes to toast! It was only later when Cathie saw the greasily-smeared, clumsily-replaced (favourite) cat book on the new bookcase that she rounded on that unfortunate male! Actually Fredcat didn't get off scot free for over-indulgence in yummy butter, which his poor stomach wasn't used to. He paid the price for his greed later, when he felt rather ill (with predictable results). As is his wont, however, Fredcat didn't clean up the mess - that was a problem for the humans to resolve. Fredcat firmly believed in the adage that one doesn't have a d*g and bark oneself!
So Mr. B. set to work, removing all the furniture and giving the room a good wash, until everything shone like new. Fredcat would have offered to help but when Mr. B. started up the vacuum cleaner he decided that the noise was too loud and hopped it. When it was all finished there was an inspection and, to everyone's surprise, the cleaning was considered a success. After Cathie had left for work, Fredcat tip-toed his way gingerly into the porch, but soon found the severe form of Mr. B. blocking his way. "Where do you think you are going?" demanded that grumpy one. Fredcat was shocked. Surely this was grossly unfair. All humans should know by now that the best place to sleep is a bed - or similar - that has just been cleaned, and here he was, being shunted away from this most desirable piece of real estate, back into the dark recesses of the house. A plan was needed! Diversion was the key. "Well," Fredcat began, "I have received a number of e-mails from regular visitors to my website, and I understand that one of your daily tasks is to take my dictated replies to them before Cathie comes home. But before we can do that - are you aware that there is other house cleaning to be done, there are letters to be posted, my water bowl is almost dry, and you have yet to telephone your sister." Fredcat continued listing jobs until Mr. B. was thoroughly alarmed. So much to do! Mr. B. leapt into action and disappeared into the house, trying to work out which of these many tasks to tackle first. Fredcat chuckled to himself. It was a well know fact that most men (unlike women) could only cope with tackling one thing at a time. Give them a huge list of unprioritised items and they ran around like headless chickens, trying to sort it all out. Mr. B. was a prime example of this behaviour and he totally forgot about keeping Our Hero from the screened porch. Fredcat finally entered the porch and tested several of the chairs until he settled on one which was both warm yet in partial shade. As the day wore on he moved around the porch, leaving a few cat hairs on each chair. If all worked out as he planned, Mr. B. wouldn't notice the accumulation of cat hairs for some time - and anyway he would soon forget his earlier decision to bar The Famous One. Good thinking, Fredcat!
Mr. B. hung his head in shame, and confessed that his near-blindness meant that he had used the "Cut" key instead of the "Copy" key at a critical moment - with dire results. "There's nothing wrong with your eyesight! And this is not the first time," commented Cathie, in exasperation, "haven't I told you, and told you, and told you, to only use the mouse when you have to; it's much quicker and safer to use the keyboard." Actually she said a lot more than that, but Fredcat felt it better to keep the diary recordings on this one-sided discussion decently short to save further huge embarrassment to Mr. B. This was a surprise - Fredcat seldom spares Mr. B., I can tell you!. "I have noticed that cut and copy are both example of "C" words," said Fredcat, "which is a pity, as I rather like the letter C. As it happens I have just received an e-mail from one of my regular readers, who has suggested another nice C-word. All cats are celebrities to the humans with whom they share accommodation, but Susan C. says that I am a real Celebrity Cat with a capital C. Have you noticed that the word capital begins with a letter C? Now that is nice!" Fredcat was so pleased with this observation that he climbed up the stairs and cavorted up and down the corridor, head held erect until he almost collided with Mr. B. He later tried to pretend that it was Mr. B. who was in motion and not himself, but Cathie was watching and knew better. She warned Fredcat, once again, that pride comes before a fall, and if Fredcat was going to remain her cutie-cat, he had better watch his Cs - as well as his Ps and Qs! It all turned out well in the end, however, as she picked him up and gave him a huge cuddle and carefully placed him near his favourite bowl of chopped chicken pieces, leaving him to consume more calories to see him through the rest of the day. What a charitable Cathie - and what an abundance of Cs!
Cathie chuckled. "That is a reference work, my love! For what, exactly, are you searching?" Fredcat drew a deep breath, and said, "Well, I have noticed that certain nice things in my life all seem to begin with the letter C. An awful lot of very nice things all seem to tempt me - and they all begin with the letter C!" "Well, 'cats" begins with the letter C - and I could definitely become addicted to having lots of cats - if they were all Fredcats," Cathie smiled. "No!" Fredcat interrupted, "Addiction can lead to some very serious problems!" "Yes, you're right in that," responded Cathie, "but we can handle that - as long as you are fixated only on one particular C-word, namely me!" At this, Fredcat let loose with a veritable list of C-things ... "Well, it seems to me that you spend far too much time on your Computer, with your CDs, eating Chips at your Console," said The Famous One." "For myself, I have to admit that I am totally addicted to Chocolate (in all forms) and Caramel ice cream - but overwhelming that is my liking for English Crumpets." "One look at your expanding feline waistline says it all!" exclaimed Cathie. "What on earth is your BMI?! I've observed your personal addictions for beef and prawns, but they should not be counted - as they don't begin with the letter C" "Weeeeel, yes, but beef begins with the the letter B - and it's always Mr. B. who provides me with beef-based luxuries!" Our Hero retorted, and left, in a huff, leaving behind him a veritable C list - Chocolate, Cake, Chips, Cheetos, Cheese, Cashew nuts, Candyfloss, ... but what, alas, is a Famous Feline to do in such circumstances? Casually Circumvent the whole issue, I suspect ...
She continued, "I'm sure dragons became extinct hundreds of years ago (if, indeed, they ever existed). But - why the interest in dragons, my own dear daredevil?" Fredcat explained, "Well, today (as all good and true Englishmen will know) is St. George's Day. St George is England's patron saint! The thing I don't understand, Cathie, is that the other countries in Britain seem to enjoy their days for their patron saints (St. Andrew, St. Patrick and St. David, I'll have you know) but England never seems to do anything to celebrate its very own St George!" "You see, I hear of these other countries organising all sorts of festivities for their Saints' days, but in England nobody seems terribly concerned to celebrate St George's Day. So, I was thinking that if I could find a dragon and slay it, that would surely recreate strong interest in St George and his day, wouldn't it! And as St. George was famous in his day for slaying a dragon, if I could slay one today, then he and I could share a degree of famosity!" "And, and," he continued, breathlessly, "England isn't the only place to have St George as a patron saint! The link above suggests that he is also the patron saint of Portugal - as well as of sundry cities and towns like Venice and Genoa! Wow!" "Now, just a minute. If you found a dragon, how on earth would you avoid being fried to a crisp?" demanded Cathie. "Dragons breathe fire and flames, you know, and your little Fredcat tail would get terribly singed before you could even chuck a bucket of water over it!" "Oh, I have solved that, it was easy," responded Fredcat smugly, "I would simply creep up on him - and put out his pilot light. These creatures cannot keep their fires burning all the time, so there must be a pilot light that can be easily extinguished, just like there is on the gas fire at home!" "You are past the post, Fredcat," sighed Cathie, "I think a glass of iced water is what you need to cool that fevered brow of yours. Have a couple of sips and lie down until you feel better, there's a good chap." Feeling quite exhausted by his strenuous mental gymnastics, Fredcat did exactly as he was told, and fell asleep while trying to work out exactly where a dragon's pilot light might be located. What an imaginative chap!
And there the matter might have rested - but Fredcat had to persist, didn't he ... Fredcat adopted a lecturing posture. "I have been reading reports that French archaeologists have discovered evidence that cats might have been domesticated over 9,500 years ago. That is far earlier than was previously thought, Cathie, because everybody thought that the domestication of cats began with the Egyptians, only some 2,000 years ago!" Fredcat spoke with authoritative conviction, but regular readers will know that The Famous One's ability to count is limited to simple multiples of nines. (Fredcat has, however, recently been learning his nine times table, in an effort to improve his arithmetical skills.) "The point of my asking you your age," said our numerically challenged feline, "is to discover if you were alive when these earlier cats were around and, if so, did you play any direct part in their domestication?" Mr. B. winced once more. This was getting embarrassing. "Of course I was not!" exclaimed Cathie, "and, frankly, I think you are having me on! The archaeological excavation occurred in Cyprus and I have never visited that county, despite all my world-wide travelling." This argument seemed to satisfy Fredcat, although cunning readers will recognise that his question actually remained unanswered. But kudos to Cathie in formulating her response as she did - she had clearly been listening to the speeches of our politicians who never seem to answer questions that have been put to them, preferring to make another point entirely. "Anyway, Fredcat," Cathie continued, "you know that cats choose humans to look after them - not the other way around, don't you? Although I am sure that there must have been a bit of give and take on the matter. And talking of giving and taking, look, there are some fresh cat biscuits out for you - so hop to it, mate!" And, being an obedient hero, Fredcat did exactly as he was told, with nary a backward glance. Such a good boy!
The result was extremely satisfying to Fredcat; it was like taking off an overcoat! Once it was over he headed for the freshly topped-up bowl of iced water which had been provided for him near his food dish. Fredcat's relief, however, was not as beneficial for Mr. B. who followed the path of Fredcat's wanderings around the house, the former armed with a brush and dustpan, all the while muttering crossly under his breath. "Have you ever tried to brush up bits of flying fur?" he growled, "As soon as you get some in the dustpan it flies off - it's much worse that trying to rake up fallen leaves in a gale force wind." "You are a cross-patch today, and no mistake," said Cathie, grinning, "we'll sing you a kitten-song to get you in a better mood!" but Mr. B. hurried away before the two broke into song. Clearly the hot weather was affecting Mr. B. as well. Margaret, Cathie's best and only friend, had recently sent her some red geraniums, and Fredcat watched as these were carefully dug into a planter on the deck outside the house. They looked wonderful! Fredcat was reminded that another friend of his, Charlie, was very fond of nibbling the leaves from any plant she could find. She had a bit of a reputation, did Charlie, for eating quite a number of leaves (if she were left unsupervised) and had been known to leap table-wards to get at flowers. Hmmm ... Fredcat was not interested in doing that himself - he preferred to appreciate the aesthetic qualities of a plant, rather than its calories, did our Fred. "So, my dear Famous One, did you realise that you had over 50,000 "hits" to your website (including repeat visitors) since June of last year!" said Cathie, admiringly, when they had all finally settled down for the evening. "You must be very proud of yourself and your little internet portal." Fredcat the Famous, not known for his modesty, smiled smugly and even smirked a little. "Yup!" was all he said. "Well, say thank you to all your visitors, like a well brought up and polite Famous Creature," said Cathie. And because that was precisely what he is, Fredcat now takes this opportunity to extend a hearty thank you to all his visitors, new and old, and from countries far and wide - because he is, at heart, a very polite cat! Fredcat also wants to remind all visitors reading his Famous Diary entries to place their cursor over any of the pictures in the Diary - you will then see all manner of quite interesting remarks! And ... this works on both the small pictures in the Diary and on the the large images! How does he do it? he's such a little star ...
Fredcat likes to eat at fairly set times of the day. He is usually up just after 5am and feels the need to break his fast well before 6am. Being a bit of a fussy feline, he much, much prefers to go for a new packet of meat than to suffer the odds and ends of yesterday's dried-out pickings. "Well, wouldn't you?" he always reminds Cathie (to which there is no sensible answer). "We went to a Lone Star Steakhouse restaurant in Cary this evening," said Cathie, "it was excellent and we had a great time!" "Would I be welcome there?" asked Fredcat. "Um, probably not, although some of the staff did admit to liking cats. The newly-installed manager came by and chatted with us, checking to see that we were enjoying our meal." "I have heard about this chatting-and-checking routine," said Fredcat. "As I understand it, the waiter serves you, and then comes back to the table (before you have even had a single mouthful) and asks you how the meal is (!), then another passing waiter asks you the same thing a few moments later, and then the manager comes by .... and they do this all through the meal, just in case you have forgotten that they exist. Why is this done?" I think that you are exaggerating," said Cathie, "it just shows sincere interest in whether you are enjoying your time at the restaurant, and it is, of course, nice to have someone to talk to one. Sometimes when I am dining out with Mr. B. I think that he is more interested in the food than in me!" "Oh, come now," said Fredcat, "now you are exaggerating. Mr. B. likes to eat quickly, whether you are there or not." Now that is pretty unkind also, Fredcat," replied Cathie with a grin. "I suppose a lot of menfolk are like that. Which is a huge let down for we women who place just as much importance on the socialising element of eating out as on the actual fare." She sighed, so Fredcat nuzzled up to her to remind her that he was still waiting for his share of the night's meal. "I hope that you will cut the small piece of beef that you have brought home for me into small cat-bite-sized morsels," he requested. After all, even Fredcat (being a male cat) is driven by the need of his innards! Hmmm ...
"It's OK, Fredcat," said his best human friend, Cathie, "you are free to explore the world outside once more in complete termite safety." As it was a warm morning, Fredcat decided to stay outside for a while. He was joined by Mr. B. who had been "persuaded" by Cathie to do some gardening. "This back lawn does look a bit of a mess," remarked Fredcat, "but it does have some very long blades of grass which, as you know, are always an attraction to me." Mr. B. had been thinking along similar lines and had decided to sow the many bare patches with some grass seed left over from the aeration seeding carried out last autumn. This was a tedious business and Fredcat soon tired of watching the slow progress as each brown patch was carefully raked over, seed applied and then re-raked. Fredcat passed the time lying in the warm sunshine and, to Mr. B.'s surprise, moved about from spot to spot in the garden instead of staying put in one place, like he did when sleeping in the house. It wasn't termites that were forcing him to move, but the sun's rays! Fredcat much preferred to lie in the sunshade rather than in the sunshine; as the sunshine moved around the garden he acted just like Alice in Wonderland's famed Cheshire cat - disappearing and re-appearing in different places. The real annoyance started when Mr. B. started the petrol driven lawnmower and began to mow the lawns. Apart from the noise of the lawn mower, which was one of Fredcat's pet hates, lawnmowing ended up destroying all nice juicy long grasses upon which Fredcat relied for additional sustenance. Cathie apologised to Fredcat for the removal of said nice juicy long grasses, but added that she had been cooking some beef for the family lunch and wondered if Fredcat would be interested in partaking of a few slices of beef. "Not 'alf!" thought Fredcat, and promptly forgot all about the grass and concentrated on the best beef - with gravy. He knows a thing or two does our boy!
Later, as expected, Fredcat was at the garage door (determination personified) when the day-trippers returned. "Well??" he demanded. Cathie smiled, and assured Our Hero that, indeed, many of the hospital's staff appeared to appreciate cats. "So, did you show them my website?" demanded Fredcat. "I need the buzz of continuing fame to keep me going, we showbiz types thrive on hype (and even notoriety!) you understand." "Good Heavens, yes," said Cathie, "Whilst at the hospital I handed out your business cards to all those who wanted one - and quite a few who did not! - to spread the news of your famosity (and yes, you grammar-correcting feline, you, "famosity" is one of my very own made-up words, but it is entirely apposite, no?!)" "How were the nurses and doctors, then?" asked Fredcat. "Well, Staff Nurses Donna and Kathleen, (RN), are clearly pet lovers, though the latter seemed to prefer d*gs - but we'll skip over that particular preference, people can change, after all!" replied Cathie. "Donna seems to be a real cat-crazy person, like me," Cathie continued, "She has two best felines. One is a 20lb Maine Coon cat, who goes by the name of Captain Tony - he was named after a bar in Key West, Florida!" "That sounds intriguing," muttered Mr. B. as visions of warm sandy beaches, fish and chips, Pina Coladas, and happy-hour bars floated lazily into his addled brain. "Donna's other cat is called Sailor," continued Cathie, "he is a large Rag Doll cat, who (disobligingly) hates to diet. I think his seafaring days are long gone - Donna and I both suspect undiagnosed feline thyroid problems for that sorry state of affairs!" "What was the hospital like?" demanded Fredcat. "Amazingly clean," replied Cathie, "everywhere looked as if the building had just been opened - I imagine that no germs dare live there! Information provided on the hospital tells us that there are some 1,200 volunteers working there, at the last count - it looks like a great place to work!" "Hmmm ..." mused The Famous One, "are there any cats living or working there? I could visit them, and we could swap tales of bravery and derring-do!" "Sorry, the place is far too clean for that, me laddo," said Cathie, "but it does have free car parking - and everything one needs appears to be on tap! Anyway, Little One, I prefer you here, I need someone to look after me whenever that grumpy Mr. B. lapses into one of his frequent moods." And she fell silent as she put on some George Harrison music to cheer herself up. "OK," said Fredcat, "I will stay by your side, until His Grouchiness' grouchy times pass. In the meantime, could I have some more of those nice new biscuits which are touted as preventing the formation of hairballs in my insides? I have no wish to have to visit my cat hospital v*t - at all!!" And with that entirely logical train of thought, he vanished in the direction of his feeding area.
Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie, smiled. "Not to worry, my hydrophobic heaththrob, I did ask Mr. B. to investigate the problem - and the results he has found will surprise and amaze you." Fredcat snorted so much that he fell off the table. "You shouldn't climb up there, anyway," said Cathie, reprovingly, "you know it only upsets the grumpy one." "Why do you think I do it?" sniggered Fredcat, with a grin. Cathie continued, "We had our well water tested by the lovely people at our state Laboratory of Public Health, and they told us that we do not have sand (silicon) in the water - but we do have more iron than we should! As I understand it, when iron comes into contact with the oxygen in the air it becomes iron oxide - which leaves a nasty rust discolouration everywhere." "Thank you for the basic chemistry lesson," said Fredcat haughtily. "So, I've been drinking iron in the form of rust all the time I've lived here?! So this is Mr. B.'s plan - poison me with iron. Very subtle, I'm sure." And Fredcat glared around him, looking for you-know-who. "Fear not, Fredcat," interjected Cathie, "we have the solution at hand; a device which will extract the iron before we all get to drink and wash in the water." Fredcat thought long and hard about this, then asked, "But as I don't wash in the house water and as I try to drink only puddle water then I won't be affected either way. Which means that all Mr. B.'s efforts have been in vain! His dastardly plan was a non-starter!" "Come now, come now" responded Cathie, "You do drink the house water - don't you recall that the best drinking water in the house comes from the glass that I put next to the bed each evening and from which you always sup first? That comes from our well, so you will feel the benefit of the improvement in the water!" Fredcat brightened, there was good coming his way after all, even though he knew that Cathie always secretly took a capped bottle of water to bed with her in case she work up thirsty in the night. Clearly she didn't want to turn rusty. Clever Cathie! Fredcat now understood that he, too, would benefit from the improvement in the water. Clever Fredcat! And it was the grumpy Mr. B. who had resolved the problem, so clever Mr. B. Indeed - clever everyone! ("Good grief," thought Fredcat, and went to sleep.)
Some cats find great difficulty in drawing their human's attention to the fact that they wish to be stroked as they cannot easily reach up to their human - they have to resort to mewing and arching their back in an almost feeble attempt to be noticed. Once outside, however, these apparently timid cats become Masters Of The Universe and woe betide any creature who thinks otherwise. Unless a d*g is around, of course, then prudence takes over - cats are not stupid! For all his independence, Fredcat behaves just like this. The dilemma occurs when Fredcat meets his human friends outside the Fredcat house. Should he act like an intelligent cat - or should he behave like a kitten once more and seek friendship with his humans? That is when the Fredcat tail wags in uncertainty, as he tries to come to grips with it all. Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie, sees no problem. To her, Fredcat is always a cuddly kitten and he therefore has no option but to adapt, sometimes unwillingly, when they meet outside and she scoops him up. Fredcat is not in the position of the small human child who wriggles in embarrasment as mother coos and chucks the little one under the chin. On the other hand, reflected Fredcat, having a human as a mighty protector can be very useful. If he strays too far afield, he can always rely on Cathie (or even the grumpy Mr. B., if he is so minded) to scoop him up and transport him back to the safety of the house leaving more of Fredcat's energy available to tackle the enormous dish of best beef which appears, as if by magic. Fredcat never questions where food comes from, he only appraises its freshness and general quality before tucking in. That's as much as any cat should be required to do. Of course!
"It's OK," smiled Mr. B., "the tax returns have been completed on time, as this year I decided to put them all in the hands of a CPA (Certified Public Accountant) who is responsible for sorting out the mess of invoices and general papers which purport to be our annual financial transactions." "Remember that in the USA everyone has to prepare tax returns for two set of tax collectors, Federal and State, each of whom want their share. It's all very complicated, and woe betide anyone who tries to be adventurous (or even subtly courageous) with the information one submits! Fortunately, we may set certain allowances against our incomes, which does help. Allowances like mortgage payments, certain interest payments, and allowances for looking after other folk who are dependent on us." "As I appear to be dependent on you humans," muttered Fredcat, "Am I right in assuming that I am listed as a tax deductible item?" "I'm afraid not," said Cathie, "only other humans come into that category. In any case, you are far too lovely to list on a Inland Revenue return as an 'item'!" "Not so," argued Mr. B. "We could list you as a charity case, or, even better, as a very ancient item of unknown origin. Let me see, a moggie of uncertain origin, yellowing with age, with some white splotches, good for precious little except for staring at occasionally, and who works reasonably well as an alarm clock when it is time for our tea." Mr. B. chuckled very loudly at this witticism. Retribution was swift! Cathie took a deep breath, and started, "I hear that the Internal Revenue people are looking for someone to help their newest and keenest tax inspectors. These new inspectors need to interview those clients who have been rather free and easy with their listing of tax allowances - someone, in short, who can be a delightful source for these new tax inspectors to harass. Someone, indeed, who is sheltering behind a CPA and therefore thinks that everything in the tax-collecting garden is rosy." She continued, "It is well known that the Internal Revenue people's idea of fun is to take a vicarious pleasure in going over certain obstreperous customers' accounts to give help the IRS people gain experience ... I suppose Fredcat and I could time manage to bring you sandwiches from time to time while you are "assisting" these guys." "Er, well, it's tea time now," said Mr. B., as he shot off to the kitchen. Mr. B. may be grumpy but he recognised when to draw the line - and that time had clearly come, albeit earlier than expected!
"A load of twaddle, as usual," replied that gentleman, "I would have thought that you had better things to do with your time. Now then, I understand that in the USA there is a lot of fuss made about the Easter Bunny. Why don't you check him (or her) out, instead of wasting all this time on your so-called writing?" Fredcat thought for a while and said that if the Easter Bunny was as good as he was made out to be, then he would be the harbringer of lots of nice things to eat - like some best fresh beef or even some juicy prawns, neatly chopped up into bite-sized pieces, suitable fare for a famous cat.
"Wow!" Mr. B. continued, "I must be dreaming. Is that English chocolate? I love English chocolate!" And lo and behold, whilst he watched, the Easter Bunny made some sort of magical pass with his large floppy ears and was soon covered with chocolate bars from ears to toes. Mr. B. rubbed his eyes in disbelief. But it didn't last. When Mr. B's eyes next focused on the corner, the Easter Bunny had hopped it and had taken all the chocolate with him. What had beem a dream come true had rapidly become a nightmare for Mr. B., and as he stared at the empty space by the corner, all he could see was a grinning Fredcat. "Serves you right," grinned that moggie. "Remember when you were given a bar of dark chocolate recently? And you had to stay up for hours with a stomach ache, because you ate the lot without offering anyone else a single bite? Well, this is your payback time -there are no bars of chocolate for you my dearest, grumpiest, grouchiest Mr. B. So hard luck." Now Fredcat was smart enough to ensure that his getaway route was completely clear before he started on his smart alec comments so before you could say Easter Bunny he, too, had vanished. Smart cat!
Cathie asked Fredcat what he would be doing on Easter Sunday. "If the weather is warm I will be lying down in the shrubbery, taking advantage of the renowned North Carolina sunshine," he replied. "And I suppose that if it rains, you'll be spending the time in bed on top of a heated electric blanket," muttered Mr. B., sarcastically. "Got it, in one", said Our Hero, and wandered off. "I'll be back on Monday," he said. "If you are missing me, you can always read my heroics viz a viz Easter Eggs ..." And with that (none too subtle) hint, he vanished.
Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie, explained it all to Fredcat. "For many workers the opportunity to take an extended four-day weekend is eagerly taken - as the Monday following Easter Sunday (called, unsurprisingly, Easter Monday) was a day when many offices were closed. This state of affairs stemmed historically, from the notion that banks had to spend so much time and effort counting their enormous profits in the run-up to Easter that they gave their staff two holiday days, one either side of the Easter weekend. This practice was then eagerly leapt upon by workers in other industries, and now the four day Easter Bank Holiday weekend is a permanent fixture in the United Kingdom and Republic of Ireland." She drew breath, and continued, "But some countries take a different view, and in the USA many ordinary people do not have this luxury." Fredcat was quick to point out the advantage of the American system, "So if you go down to the supermarkets right now, on Good Friday, you will easily be able to purchase more of my favourite packets of juicy meat, or better still, obtain a few slices of fresh beef for my delectation!" "Well, that is possible, but is not required, as it happens," said Cathie, with a grin. "We do have a small supply of your favourite foodstuffs at hand - which makes it unnecessary for me to send Mr. B. out on such a mission. In any case, we need to stay in and watch some recordings of our favourite TV programmes." "In addition," she added, "I am very curious to see how you get on with tomorrow's Fredcat Tails, which I hope you will be dictating to me shortly. Mind you, it puzzles me as to why Mr. B. seems to always draw the short straw in your story telling." Fredcat had a swift reply to that remark, "He deserves all he gets, you just don't see the half of what he gets up to when he is supposedly getting me my early breakfast," he grumbles. "No more of that talk, Fredcat, or your Easter Egg will be noticeable by its absence!" retorted Cathie and Fredcat, sensibly, decided to let the matter rest there. Good idea, Fredcat!
"This year, Fredcat," said his best human friend, Cathie, "the ceremony will be taking place in one of two cathedrals in the city of your birth - Liverpool! In Liverpool Cathedral - the largest Anglican cathedral in Britain, and one of great buildings of the 20th century!" "If I were present in the chedral or abey, would I receive any of this Maundy Money?" asked Fredcat. (Editor's note: Readers may be aware that Fredcat may be a famous feline but he always has a weather eye open for legitimate income.) "No! A hundred times, no!" exclaimed Cathie. "Indeed I am sure that she would regard it as totally mercenary of you to expect to receive Maundy money (despite all you did to help her many moons ago when you were involved in The Staring Contest)." "Talking of my "tails", Fredcat muttered to himself, "I hope people are ready to read my next Fredcat tails episode, called "Easter Eggs" which will be coming to a computer screen near you this Saturday and Easter Sunday." "Who gets all the Maundy money then?" demanded Fredcat, "and how much is it?" "Dear, oh dearie me," sighed Cathie in despair, "the point nowadays is not the monetary value of the gift, but the honour of being a recipient. It is the fact that these purses containing Maundy money are a special gift from the Queen; nowadays they are more likely to be kept as mementoes of the Royal visit, rather than to be used to buy groceries. The purses contain specially minted coins whose actual value is usually kept a discreet secret because, as you know, it is not good manners to discuss the monetary value of a gift." "Well, I was watching an old episode of the TV programme "Cheers" recently," said Fredcat, "and when Carla was given a tiny tip she broadcast that fact and her upset to the rest of the people in the bar, and managed to have the tip increased significantly." "That is quite different," exclaimed Cathie, in even more despair. She continued, undeterred, "One of the features of Maundy money is that the people who receive these gifts are all pensioners who have given valuable service to the Cathedral or the Abbey; this is why they have been chosen to receive this unusual reward. The other feature is that the purses are give to men and women equally." "How many people receive the Maundy money, then" enquired Fredcat. "Well, this year it will be 78 men and 78 women - because that is the age of the present monarch. Next year there will be 79 recipients of each gender." "So I wouldn't qualify there, either," thought Fredcat, though Mr. B. was about to say something not very complimentary about Fredcat's advanced age when a withering glance from Cathie stopped him in his tracks. "Don't even think about it, Mr. B., Fredcat is only 5 years old! He is ALWAYS only 5 years old," she said. "Anyway I have no need for Maundy money or, indeed, money of any type," thought Fredcat, "I leave the purchasing of material things to others - just like the Queen!" he mused - and that brightened up his day considerably. He had finally found something in common with Her Majesty! Well, well, ...
Fredcat had to agree with the earlier of these two sentiments. The local TV station's (WRAL) weather forecast for the next 5 days was for warm days with no rain, with daytime temperatures in the 70s. Now if there is one thing about North Carolina that Fredcat really likes it is that State's warm days, so he is developing his plan for a nice long spell of catch-up sleeping. The night time forecasts mean that numerous little creatures will also begin to stir - which implies that Fredcat will have some nightly chasing to do, not only to keep in trim, but also to keep the Fredcat household free from the patter of very tiny feet. "Bearing in mind that if I am successful in keeping our house free from other four-pawed creatures I will be able to make a little (that is, a lot) of extra noise at night and also happily present you guys (that is, Mr. B.) with the fruits of my chases - at any reasonable hour (say, for example, about 2am)." "Now stop your teasing," said Cathie, "with the advent of the warm weather you will need a good brushing." And, no sooner said than done, she commenced to get rid of thick swathes of ginger and white hair from the Fredcat body. Unfortunately, said activity was carried out in the study instead of outdoors - with the inevitable result that various pieces of electrical and computing equipment were soon covered in Fredcat fur, thereby demonstrating perfectly the theory of electrostatic cling. Well done, Cathie! And, of course, the more Cathie brushed the fur from where it clung, the more it clung elsewhere as the level of static increased ... "Help!" cried Cathie, in alarm, so Mr. B. had to seek out a wet towel to dampen the floating hair down. This was only partially successful and, even after damping down Fredcat himself, the air was still filled with floating fuzz! Cathie gave up. "Fredcat, I think you had better go outside and brush up against a few prickly brambles to lose all this loose fur," said Cathie, "at least when that is done you won't be tempted to groom yourself and get any hairballs as a result." That would never do!
Fredcat muscled his way to the fore, "It's not only the sound that's wonky, haven't you seen the lines which have started to appear across the screen?" "I don't think so, you silly sausage," said Mr. B. "don't you realise - the scene we have just been watching was shot in a dimly lit room with the characters trying to see by flickering candlelight because their electricity had failed!" "That wasn't candlelight, you old skinflint," yelled Fredcat, "that was the sun, the large fiery furnace of a major celestial star that is supposed to blaze down on us and keep us warm and help plants and grass grow! And stuff like that! I need my daily few blades of grass, you know, to aid my digestion. Your TV is showing the sun dimmed so much that it looks like a 15 watt lightbulb! On its last legs! In the middle of a rainstorm!" "As I said earlier, why are you so all-fired keen to buy a replacement TV when we can easily bring one down here from the bedroom upstairs?" pleaded Mr. B., anxiously. "Oh, no, you don't," said Cathie, "I need the TV in the bedroom so that when I have my lies-in of a weekend, I can watch my favourite programmes, sitting comfortably tucked up in bed, whilst I eat my cooked English breakfast which you guys will prepare for me. No TV in the bedroom means my having to come downstairs and eat in the dining room and that would be (how shall I put it) less than joyful. Then everyone would doubtless suffer - because if Cathie's unhappy, then ... everyone's unhappy!" Fredcat and Mr. B. looked at each other in alarm, and with one accord left the room, intent on doing her bidding. When Cathie is in this kind of mood, it's best to do whatever she wants, without question. For once, they both were in total agreement - keep Cathie happy ...
"Why do the Americans and the British have this difference of one week in spring when the Americans move their clock forwards one week later than people do in the UK? There is no difference in when the two countries put their clocks back in the autumn, is there?" "AND," he stressed, "It isn't even summer yet! In fact it has only just officially become spring - so why is it called summertime?" "Don't worry about the naming of this event, just accept the effect," smiled Cathie. "As it happens, I am about to settle down to watch the Aintree Grand National steeplechase horserace, in Liverpool, England, and the broadcast comes to us an hour earlier than the usual five hours time difference between the two countries, because of UK versus US summertime clock changes." "How on earth are you able to watch the Grand National?" enquired Fredcat, amazed, "the race is not even shown on TV here in the US?!" "It's all down to the magic of the internet and live video streaming - if you know where to look!", said Cathie. "Does that mean that if I know the result of the race an hour before Mr. B. does, I could strike a bet with him as to the winner of the Grand National, and easily win that bet - without any risk? That would indeed be a very sweet victory over Mr. B.!" "I think not, lovely boy, as Mr. B. would be in exactly the same position as you, with regard to knowing the progress - and outcome - of that world famous horse race. So I would be very careful about placing any bets with Mr. B., as he appears to have moths fluttering around his rarely-opened wallet, I can assure you!" Fredcat thought about this but was too tired to develop the theme further. He decided, in the end, to lie down and have a nap. After all, lots of folks did that, in the afternoon, especially if the weather is warm and forgiving - international and inter-continental summertime clock-adjustments or not! Nice ...
Actually Fredcat wondered why she was being so careful about this. He wondered whether she might be secretly hoarding bits of him so that one day she could clone him. "Would it be possible to clone Mr. B.?" wondered Fredcat, "then I could have two of him to boss around! There would be two of him to look after me. One could be responsible for looking after the house and garden, whilst the other would be programmed to stay close by me at all times and pander to my every whim. Waking two of him early each morning would give me double the pleasure!" "Yeeees, but look at the down side," replied Cathie. "There might be two of him to help push you out of the door on a cold and frosty morning when you would rather stay inside! Not to mention two sets of boots to keep clear of when you are walking around the house, and so on." Fredcat agreed that a spare Mr. B. was probably unattractive, but then suggested that two Cathies could be fun. "Two Cathies could give me twice as much attention as one, twice as many cuddles and strokes, and twice as many songs would be sung to me." "I don't think that that would be a good idea," said Cathie. "I am not willing to share you with anyone else, not even with a cloned me. No, thank you! So, just forget it and have a bite of this nice warm piece of chicken." Good idea, thought Fredcat, and promptly forgot all about cloning and set to doing what he does best - consuming.
"It would be a great help if you would find that brush and give me a thorough combing," stated Fredcat. "If I have too much fur on my body, and I am shedding, I am likely to lick said fur off when grooming myself. I may then end up with a hairball, which, as you know, is very inconvenient. Even with my excellent ability to communicate with you friendly humans, you sometimes misread my signals and proffer me more and more food when, really, I'm a little bunged up inside with a hairball!" Mr. B. was therefore ordered to seek and find the brush. His mission complete, he then passed it to Cathie and Fredcat for inspection. On examination of the brush, Fredcat was rather surprised to find some black hairs on it. "I don't recall having that colour hair," he said, looking accusingly at Cathie. Mr. B. was quick to jump in. "A lot of men-folk I know have sometimes found themselves in trouble with their girlfriends when things like that happen. It seems to me that Cathie has fallen from grace once more, by pretending to help other cats in fur-lined distress." Fredcat was not amused, but Cathie quickly came to her own rescue. "Look here," she began, "you have been shedding so much fur recently that I was considering collecting all your cast-off hair, washing and spinning it, and making myself a little mini-Fredcat. I just needed a little colour contrast to distinguish the home-made Fredcat from the real one. So I borrowed some black hair from a passing moggie. It was nothing really. All I now need to make this excellent plan work is a motor to make the home-made Fredcat move!" At this news, Fredcat and Mr. B. stared silently, and in some concern, at Cathie. Mr. B. thought that this was a likely tale! but decided to keep quiet since if he didn't he was sure that Cathie would quickly recall some unfortunate, but similar, experience from Mr. B.'s past that would be best left unspoken. "Quit while you're ahead!" sounded like a good idea. For his part, Fredcat decided to back away s-l-o-w-l-y from Cathie and hopefully earn some brownie points by maintaining a discreet silence. And so it came to pass, his food bowl was magically filled - and no more was said on the subject. He's a bit worried about Cathie, though ...
The other main April Fool's Day rule is that pranks have to be completed during the morning hours of April 1; they must end at noon. Anyone trying to carry out an April Fool jape after noon automatically is the April Fool. Needless to say, these rules were frequently breached. Many jokes were infantile and completely lacking in humour, and were often acutely and painfully embarrassing - and the noon cut-off was often ignored. Apart from that... Fredcat listened to all of this with fascination. He had to work fast if he were to play a trick on Mr. B. (who else?). He rushed to the computer and dashed off an e-mail to Mr. B. which notified him that a fatal computing error had occurred in his PC and he was to close it down immediately for several hours to let the machine cool down to prevent a fire. Mr. B. went into an immediate panic and shut his PC off. After a while, his level of panic having significantly increased, he decided to call in his resident expert, Cathie, who hot-footed it home from work (!). It didn't take her long to spot the spoof, but she decided to play along. "Have you saved all your work?" she teased. Mr. B. dithered before replying. "Well, I was just about to save the Fredcat files when this message occurred and I am now stuck," he replied, unconvincingly. "'Just about to save ...'!! So - when did you last save all these critical Fredcat files?" she continued, wickedly. Glumly, Mr. B. admitted that his administrative work wasn't quite up to date. "Well, colour me surprised! "chirped Cathie. When Mr. B. subsequently discovered that he had been tricked he was not best pleased. There was little he could do about it, of course. Fredcat was unrepentant, "Look here, you know that I am a particularly good IT advisor," he stated, "when you wanted your keyboard raised at an angle so you didn't have to type on a completely horizontal keyboard, who was the one who discovered a discarded section of wood on which to rest the keyboard? The result was keyboard at the perfect angle!" "Weeel ... I don't think that that qualifies you to claim to be an IT consultant," began Mr. B. but was swiftly was over-ruled by the rest of the family. Poor Mr. B. ... |
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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.
