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"I have just been looking at them," she replied, "and, frankly, none of grab me - I need something new! Remember I have now acquired a new wardrobe of clothes but because that grumpy Mr. B. reckons he is hard up, I am all dressed up but he tells me that we cannot afford to go out to eat at a nice restaurant." Now Fredcat had already noticed that Cathie was indeed attired in one of her new dresses, complete with new shoes and with a smart new hairdo. Her voice, which had started softly, had slowly become quite loud so that by the time she uttered the last bit (about restaurants) her voice could be heard throughout the Fredcat residence. "Why, if you want a pizza, are you all dressed up?" asked the innocent Fredcat. "When you eat in, you don't normally put on makeup - and all the rest of it." "I don't want a pizza," growled Cathie, "what I want to do is go out to show off my newest dress, but that grouchy Mr. B. won't escort me. And I still have a broken leg, you know," she said, suddenly sitting down and rubbing the tenderest part. She glared at Mr. B. "Why don't you pretend to ask Mr. B. to drive you out for a pizza and subtly change your mind at the last moment and direct him to the nearest steak house. He won't be able to resist the smell of freshly BBQ'd beef - and your charms! Tell him that your foot is still broken and you need cosseting!" Cathie smiled, "An excellent idea," she said, patting Fredcat on the head, "I'll act on it straight away." "And don't forget to bring home my share, will you?" grinned Fredcat. Cunning creature!
Fredcat had declined the invitation to go with them. His distrust of all things vehicular was deeply ingrained, and, anyway, their absence gave him plenty of scope for a dose of well-earned sleep. On their return, Cathie burst in excitedly and began unravelling parcel after parcel whilst Mr. B. busied himself with making a well-deserved cup of tea. Several outfits were soon spread around the room as Cathie tried them all on, preening herself to a sceptical Fredcat. "What do you think of this one?" she would cry, but Fredcat's face was inscrutable. "Oh, you are no fun," she said at last, but immediately delved into the last bag, drawing out a large dress hat. "Isn't this great?" she smiled, and perched it on her head. "The sales person said I looked very regal in it," and she spun around, admiring herself in the mirror. "You know what," said Fredcat at last, "I don't go in for additional clothes myself, even though I do understand the need for humans to garb themselves in these colourful outfits. What I really like is a well groomed fur coat (which I always wear), but it must be regularly brushed or else I will become over-heated." "I think there is a bit of the green-eyed monster in you, my dearest Fredcat," replied Cathie, "but I will get the Fredcat brush down soon, and give you a bit of grooming just as soon as I have put these new clothes away and have drunk this cup of tea. Then it will be your turn." About time, thought Fredcat, and so thinking, he settled himself near Cathie, brushing gravely against her legs to give her a quick reminder, and settled down for the grooming to come. He liked this life!
Fredcat had noticed this behaviour before in humans. Whenever humans really wanted something (but knew that the idea had to be broached carefully in case it was stamped on) they used a variety of approaches. Sometimes they made the suggestion via another person, thereby making the point without appearing to broach it themselves. But Cathie's approach was a little more direct. It still relied upon having a third party present who, hopefully, could be relied upon to back up the emerging thought. In this case there was only Fredcat available to act as a third party but, OK, any port in a storm, thought Cathie. It might work. Unfortunately Mr. B. was still in mourning for his football's team's recent UEFA loss - especially as Marg's favourite team (Greece) had beaten the current champions (France), thereby causing a big upset in the EUFA championships. "Will you help me choose some clothes?" asked Cathie, making a direct appeal to Fredcat. But Fredcat knew very well that Cathie had no intention of having Fredcat assist with clothes buying, so he wisely said nothing. "If I buy some new clothes I will be able to dress up and go out for a nice meal and bring Fredcat back some steak tidbits," she stated, more boldly. "I could paint my nails pink. I could even paint Fredcat's nails - I bet he would look great with pink nails!" Now Fredcat liked the idea of a nice chunk of steak being brought home from a restaurant for him, but this benefit had to be balanced against the possibility of his having to walk around with pink nails. Uh-uh, he thought, this is one battle that Cathie will have to fight without my support ... He he quickly, yet quietly, slipped out of the room until the dust of the battle had subsided. He feared that this little situation might last for a few days yet. Humans!
"I am not sure that it is a good idea to grow tomato plants in your garden," said a neighbour. "I believe that they are poisonous to cats." This was a great surprise to Cathie as she had seen tomatoes growing in other folk's gardens. She immediately reminded herself (and the grumpy Mr. B.) to keep any transplants well away from her darling Fredcat.. Actually Fredcat was not immediately aware that the trays contained seedlings which could become food for humans and originally thought that they were indoor litter trays. "No you don't!" yelled Cathie in alarm, as Fredcat seemed poised to leap onto the shelf where the trays were located. "Hmm, that's a pity," thought Fredcat, but he gave in with good grace.." "Why isn't Mr. B. doing all this gardening stuff?" demanded Fredcat, a tad surprised, "he is the one who claims to have green fingers." "He usually does," admitted Cathie, "but he is in deep mourning as his favourite England football team have been knocked out of the UEFA European football cup and now all he can do is mumble in his cocoa about highly paid professional players who have failed to get anywhere near the final of an international football competition for the umpteenth time.". "Men are rather like that," continued Cathie, "it is a pity, in a way, because now he won't hide away and watch football on TV and he will therefore be under my feet all day long. It really is too much!" But Fredcat came to the rescue. "Don't be too concerned, Cathie, I will take Mr. B.'s mind off football," he said, and off he skipped to start berating Mr. B. about all sorts of problems, large and small. How fortunate Cathie is to have such an understanding and helpful moggie at hand!
On her return, she was met at the door by Fredcat, who asked her, quite naturally, and seemingly innocently, how she had got on. His eyes however, held a glint of amusement, which in a human being might have been interpreted as a little bit malicious. "Oh Fredcat," sighed Cathie, sinking into the deepest armchair available, "if we ever get around to drawing up a Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy list of professionals to be sent on a spacecraft to a distant planet, then this guy must surely top the list. Every bone in my legs ache. He even had me using an exercise bike for a whole ten minutes! Ten minutes! My legs really ache." And she slumped even further in her chair. Fredcat thought about exercise bikes for a while. "These exercise bikes don't actually move, do they?" he said at last, "so talking about them won't get you wound up and cross the way yesterday's conversation about a real bicycle did, will it?" Cathie just glared, being too exhausted to do anything more for the moment. "So," continued Fredcat, "what you need to do is consider the idea of actually using your exercise bike for very long periods, this way your legs will get used to the rigours of going for lengthy walks..." Now Cathie was not too distressed by her physio's exercises to recognise where this line of thought was going, so she nipped it in the bud straight away. "I suppose we could always train you, my precious chick," she suggested, "by getting you a souped up cat-bike, and training you to ride to the nearest supermarket for provisions. In all the times you have lived with us, I have never once seen you make a single move towards helping with the shopping, not once." This last statement was underlined with a little stamping of the unbroken Cathie foot, and our famous friend felt that it did not bode well for him at all. "Never fear, my very best friend," said Fredcat solicitously, "tomorrow you will feel a lot better and will be able to walk even further than today, and be able to do even more miles on the exercise bike. Soon you will be a marathon rider." And with that, he strolled off, using every one of his totally healthy four paws, and went in search of more food. Super Cat!
The garage mechanic rang Cathie in the afternoon (which made Fredcat jump, as he was just working himself up to having a stretch prior to then preparing to go for his tea). He listened in on the conversation with interest. "Oh dear! Oh dear!" said Cathie, in the doom-laden tone of voice all car owners eventually have to use. She was holding onto the telephone handset tightly and appeared to be quaking with fear - which was most unlike her! As Fredcat couldn't hear much, but the conversation did appear to be pretty one-sided. "Mutter, mutter, mutter, set of four new tyres; mutter, mutter, mutter, new brakes for the front wheels at least; mutter, mutter, mutter ...," and so it continued, as Cathie became whiter and whiter. She finally plucked up courage and squeaked, "And how much will all this cost?" Mutter, mutter, mutter, megabucks - plus tax!" A little later, while Cathie was appreciating the restorative effects of a nice cup of tea, Fredcat offered his advice, "Why don't you take up cycling," he suggested, brightly. "You have an excellent bike rusting away in the garage, all it needs is a new tyre and the other to be pumped up. A bit of grease, and hey presto! you are away, free as the wind. No repair bills to pay to garages, no petrol costs to buy, no tags, license plates, registration documents - and plenty of fresh air to boot. Life would be so wonderful!" This suggestion didn't go down at all well. "Dearest Fredcat," Cathie started ... Fredcat knew right away that when Cathie speaks through gritted teeth and calls him "Dearest Fredcat" he is in for a bit of a tongue-lashing. So he braced himself and set aside any thoughts of a special treat for his tea. "What will I do when it rains? I can't go out on a bike and get soaked just to save a few pennies when I buy the Fredcat groceries! My place of work is ten miles away - I would have a 20 mile round trip! And for a lot of the year I have to make that journey in the dark! It's all right, my little friend, for you to wander out in the dark at a leisurely pace - your eyes are more used to that sort of thing. Also, matey, I have to wear glasses and they get fogged up when the weather is bad. And when it is hot in this area - IT IS HOT!! Way too hot to be riding a bike! No, thank you, Fredcat! The bike can stay where it is!" Fredcat slid silently away. Clearly, there would be no treats for him today. Unless, that is, he could persuade Mr. B. to cough up. He supposed it was worth a try - and the world does love a trier!
Except that didn't happen. No renewed registration document and tag arrived in the Cathie mail box. Oh, dear. "Where can that tag be?" asked Fredcat. "Has it been lost in the post? Why do you need one anyway? What can you do about it?" Cathie reeled from this veritable barrage of questions. The idea of obtaining a tag through the post was relatively new to her. In England, when she was last there, one had to trot down to the Post Office, stand in line and buy the UK equivalent of the registration document over the counter - and woe betide you if you forgot any one of a seeming myriad of supporting documents needed for the transaction! "Fredcat, I don't know what has happened - I am assured that normally it all goes smoothly. I just do not know if the letter has been lost or mislaid in the mail. One never knows with mail! My letter might be in a batch of letters that has been redirected to another city altogether. I am definitely concerned, though, because I do need a tag to be allowed, legally, to drive the car." "I shall have to ask Mr. B to go to the local DMV office, explain to them that their letter to us has never arrived, and ask them to provide a renewed registration document and accompanying tag there and then at the DMV. I really need this stuff, Fredcat, as my car has to go to the garage for its annual inspection and emissions tests - and that test can't be carried out without the new tag! "Dear, oh, dear," cried Fredcat, "all these tests! No wonder I hate being driven in your car, it sounds as if all cars are death traps." Fredcat then put on his pondering face, and asked, "Do you remember when you were being wheeled around in a wheelchair recently? I thought that was very helpful to your poor broken foot! Do you think that when I start to flag a little and need assistance I could have a special feline wheelchair to help me get around? Mr. B. proved himself to be more than able in the field of wheelchair-pushing and, if he can push you around, he can surely find the energy to get me to where I need to go!" "Weeell, that's certainly a thought, Fredcat," said Cathie, "but I've not noticed any diminution of late in your capacity to hop around, so we will just put that suggestion on the back burner for a while, shall we?" Yet, being soft as lights, she still picked him up, gave him a quick cuddle and carried him over to his feeding bowl. Kind Cathie!
Then, in the afternoon, Mr. B. had settled down to listen to a broadcast from Portugal of a very exciting Euro 2004 (soccer) match between England and Croatia, and Fredcat was left in peace until the game finished. "Your country of birth, England won the match," said Mr. B. to Fredcat, pleased as Punch when it was all over. "Now they have to play the host nation in the knockout stage - the quarter-finals - on Thursday." "Does that mean that you will be hidden away listening to the broadcast of that match as well?" asked Fredcat. "I do hope so," said Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie, with an impish gleam in her eyes. "It gives the rest of us a couple of hours to do some of the things we want to do without being disturbed." "What happens if England win that match as well?" said Fredcat (who, it must be said, was doing a very good job of appearing to be interested in the whole soccer thing). "Then we can look forward to even more peace and quiet a few days later when the next match is played," said Cathie, "and so it goes on, as win follows win, until the final." "That's all very well, but what if England lose a game?" enquired Fredcat. "That is a different ballgame entirely," said Cathie, grimly, "then you and I hide ourselves away until Mr. B. has composed himself. In my experience, this is when the men look for reasons and excuses for the inept performance of the players, or so-called bad calls by the referees. The next day these men search the newspaper reports for additional reasons for their team losing the match, and they generally find a crumb of comfort somewhere to explain the loss. It is never their favourite player's fault, of course." "Of course!" echoed Fredcat. "I'm glad I don't play these games," said Fredcat, after a paws, "the games I play are much cleverer than that. I like the game where I provide smart little hints and wishes to you humans and you quickly translate them into actions." Cathie looked at Fredcat, who was wearing an innocent expression. She knew instantly what he was getting at. Men! Cats! Sometimes they appear to have been created from the same mould, she thought. Hmmm...
"Do you think it had anything to do with the two tins of Father's Day chocolate biscuits which he was clutching close to his chest all morning?" asked Fredcat, "I noticed that for once he didn't seem to mind getting my breakfast at all!" "No, I don't think so," replied Cathie, "he spoke to several relatives today and they were all in a good mood, so this happiness thing must have been catching. And what about you, dear kittening cat of mine, were you in a good mood as well?" she enquired. "Oh yes, it was a great day for me too! After breakfast I snoozed, and then I had a quick bite of lunch followed by another snooze on the double-cushioned chair on the screened porch. And then, wonder of wonders, Mr. B. decided to prepare a BBQ - and this time he got it all correct. I bet he was glad that his sister Jane had given him a few tips on how to cook kebabs (some people call them kebobs, for some reason) and this time they turned out just right. But fancy having to take BBQ cooking instructions from a fem..." "That's enough," rebuked Cathie, "it was Father's Day after all, and it all went well." "And for the umpteenth day in a row, despite all the protestations from regular reader Marg, I was able to take my place at my private dining table and tuck into four plates of my favourite food, and I polished off the lot. At last I am being treated as a famous cat should be, with dignity and in style." And at this juncture, Fredcat pawsed and gave himself a quick spot of grooming. "That cat is just as vain as ever," thought Cathie. No arguments there!
"I think Mr. B. is so grumpy that nobody would ever want him to be their father, anyway," he continued. "And, getting back to my father, I have no idea whether he was grumpy or not. It is all a mystery." "Don't you know anything about your father?" enquired Cathie, gently, "it does seem a shame that nobody has come to claim parentage of such a famous cat." "I think that quite a lot of cats, and undoubtedly quite a number of humans as well, don't know who their father and mother are. I strongly suspect that mother cats (who are excellent mothers, by the way) don't really need the help and support of tom cats, and the tom cats are just as happy to avoid parental responsibility. In my case it has turned out very well since I have avoided being molly-coddled and have struck out on my own with confidence - and I'm all the better for it!" "I am so sorry to hear that you have been bereft of a father's love and support," said Cathie, soothingly, "but we are trying to make it a nice day for Mr. B. so that he might become less grouchy for a change, if only for a day. Perhaps I can persuade him to bake a nice light cake, with icing on top, as part of the celebrations." "Can you eat cake with ice cream?" asked Fredcat, thinking ahead. "If so, I wouldn't mind joining you. And will there be a BBQ as well? Steaks and ice cream are an excellent combination in this warm weather." "We will have to be very nice to Mr. B. to get him to use the BBQ, Fredcat, he has not shown himself to be that consistent a cook on that machine, you know. It takes a lot of practice and we have already had far too many burnt offerings in lieu of decent BBQ steaks." And on they both continued planning the Father's Day celebrations, hoping that all would turn out well on The Day. Do you think it will, Fredcat Reader? Let's hope so!
"On their return to the Fredcat household, Fredcat politely asked how things went. "Did you buy me any presents?" was his opening question, but this wasn't to be answered. Cathie left the room without a word and tottered upstairs, muttering vague threats about foolish drivers. Fredcat immediately looked to Mr. B., the former's brain cells working overtime, as he tried to figure out what the problem was. Mr. B. was not his usual grumpy self but instead was quite gloomy. "Well, it's like this," he started to explain. "Unfortunately, halfway through Cathie's medical appointment I checked in my pocket and discovered that I had lost my car keys!" "So when Cathie muttered nasty things about foolish car drivers she wasn't referring to other drivers - she meant you!" At this revelation Fredcat brightened considerably. There must be a way to turn this act of misfortune to his advantage, he thought hopefully. "Go on with your tale, go on, go on, go on!" he insisted. "I had to sit there through the rest of the consultation, worrying about the keys. When it over, I had to leave poor Cathie in the doctor's office and quickly run back to the car to check that I hadn't dropped them as I had left the car. I know, I know, not very likely, Fredcat, but I had to check, you know! And even if that had happened, the keys had probably gone forever by now if some kind (or unkind) soul had found them. And guess what .... the keys were still in the ignition!!!" "Well, that was all right then," said Fredcat, seeking more information. "How did you actually get into the car to get the keys - because that is definitely your car in the garage now!" "Well," mumbled Mr. B., rather embarrassedly, "not only had I left the keys in the ignition but I had not even locked the doors, so anyone could have simply opened the door and driven the car away without any trouble!" This was delicious news, thought Fredcat, I am going to have a lot of fun with this over the next week or so, all I have to do is rattle a bunch of keys whenever I want something and Mr. B. will come a-running! He will be bound to be very keen to avoid any further key-related interesting discussions. I think that prawns are going to be on the menu for some time to come, yes indeedy!"
"And do you feel better now?" asked Fredcat, anxiously. "After the initial pain from the physio exercises wore off I felt a lot better," replied Cathie, "in fact the physio gave me lots more exercises to carry out at home and they are quite stretching." "I will assist you," said Fredcat, and began to leap on and off the double-cushioned chair. "Now just do that, and soon you will be much better." Cathie glared at Fredcat and said, "If I could do that I would have earned lots of money as a professional athlete a long time ago!" She walked towards the TV and turned it on. "Now this is my kind of exercise," she growled, and settled herself in the best easy chair. "No! You mustn't give in so easily! You have already made significant progress and must continue that progress!" cajoled the famous feline, "so just turn off that TV (all the programmes are rubbish, anyway) and start walking around the room." Cathie sighed and accepted the challenge, albeit reluctantly. "If anyone should come in and see me marching aimlessly around my living room, without a proper goal in sight, they would think I were crazy," she exploded at last. "OK, the next step is to continue walking in a straight line," said the micromanaging moggie, with a smile. "Just continue through these doors and stop by the cupboard. Now reach up and ...." "Stop right there, you mischievous moggie!" warned Cathie. She halted and they each looked at each other and smiled. Cathie was indeed exercising her leg and Fredcat was indeed exercising his devious mind and had manipulated his Cathie to within an inch of where the prawns were stored. A win-win situation! If only all of life was that simple!
"Interesting," said Fredcat, "how do you tell someone who is off sick that you are both sorely missed at work and, at the same time, remind you that the office is coping very nicely without you?" He pawsed, "I suppose if you carry that to its logical conclusion you could soon dispense with everyone." Cathie hobbled towards him, menacingly. "I don't want to hear of your fancy arguments, Oh Favourite Feline of mine!" she commanded, "maybe I cannot walk properly yet but I still have control of the exchequer, you know!" Fredcat decided to change tack. "As a cat who is extremely well integrated into this household, I think I ought to be allowed to have my own table and chair at mealtimes, instead of having to eat from a series of bowls on the floor." "Remember, I do have experience of having you hold out the dregs of your morning cereals for my consumption, and I always leave a little for you guys just in case you think I am being greedy by finishing it all off." "Your own table and chair!" scoffed Mr. B., "whatever next!" But he reckoned without the combined forces of Cathie and Fredcat the Famous. Together they arranged a proper round table, together with the double cushioned chair, and set it up for meals. Soon Fredcat was munching delightedly at a saucer of chopped prawns. His head didn't lift from the saucer once until all the piscatorial contents had been devoured. "I think my point has been well made," he smirked, and Mr. B. had to concede that the end mess was not only neglible compared to eating from the floor bowl, it was indeed the cleanest saucer that he had seen for a long time. "I must be dreaming," he muttered. But, Gentle Reader, if you look at today's photos you will see the evidence with your own eyes. Having obtained his own table and chair, Fredcat had become a leave-no-mess diner in one fell swoop. Where will it end?
"The reason there are flags in abundance," said Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie, "is that yesterday was Flag Day in the US. Everyone who lives in the US is generally encouraged to fly the flag on Flag Day." "Is this why we were given a little miniature US flag today?" asked Fredcat. "I noticed that we had one of those left by our mailbox!" "I fancy that it was less of a beautiful thought on behalf of the donor and more in the way of an advertising gimmick by the local realtor (that's the American term for an estate agent, Fredcat)," said Cathie, a trifle whimsically. "We had a similar flag from them last year, so they are at least consistent with their advertising. We are supposed to (and will, thanks to the realtor!) fly the US flag on Flag Day - and also on July 4th - Independence Day." "We never flew either the UK flag or the English flag when we lived in England," complained Fredcat. "All right then, we will buy either a British or an English flag for display next year," agreed Cathie, "I will set the grumpy Mr. B. on to it right away, so it should be here by then," she added (wryly). "You remember we call it the Union Flag and not the Union Jack. The Union Flag only becomes the Union Jack when it is flown somewhere or other on ships, so there. But, of course, hardly anyone bothers with this distinction nowadays," she sighed, "which always annoys the grouchy Mr. B. Of course, there is confusion with the American version of the Union Flag but we won't go there, if you don't mind!" "Is Flag Day treated as a holiday?" asked Fredcat, "I mean a proper holiday, resulting in time off work, general merrymaking and BBQ-type feasting?" "Um, no," replied Cathie, "but I can see where you're coming from. It is a persistent thought running through your entire body, you don't need to flag this issue in particular, my Matey Mate," she added, "so jack it in and we will see if we can unify you with some victuals. How's that?" But Fredcat was way ahead of her, flying at great speed towards his food bowl, without once flagging, until he arrived and sat patiently by his bowl in anticipation of a forthcoming feast. "Flags are OK, I suppose," he thought, "but grub is great!"
At first, Cathie was not best pleased to find her newly-favourite chair occupied, but she took it in good heart. Mr. B. was dispatched to find another spare cushion and the breakfast meal was able to continue. "I see that you are slowly dispensing with the accoutrements of the invalid," remarked Fredcat, sympathetically. First the antibiotics, then the leg brace, and now the walking stick. Soon you will be running a marathon!" "Ho, how very droll!" grimaced Cathie," I am still in pain, and anyway, when was the last time you did anything athletic?" "That's easy," replied Fredcat, "don't you realise that leaping up onto a chair at my mature age is like you humans doing the high jump at the Olympics? We cats may look athletic but our bones do get a little worn out in time and it isn't always that easy doing apparently simple leaps." "You manage to leap onto the bed to alert Mr. B. for breakfast easily enough," rejoined Cathie, "and whenever there is food in the offing it is surprising how deft your movements become." "It's all window dressing, said Fredcat solemnly, "we cats have an image to maintain." "Another thing, I see that Mr. B. has been busy staining the steps leading from the garage to the kitchen. That's all very well and makes the steps look attractive but it means that I am barred from them until they are properly dry. So it behoves you humans to help me out and keep all the rest of the doors wide open, whatever the weather. I do like open doors!" "We will do that, of course," replied Cathie, "but I hope that our benevolence is not wasted, we don't want you to do any more daft things like singeing your tail again, do we?" Fredcat sighed, you could never easily win an argument with Cathie, she was always reminding you of past indiscretions. He looked at Mr. B., but the latter just smiled knowingly to himself, thinking, "Had Fredcat only just realised that! He surely had a long way to go!"
Cathie was absorbed with her work, trying to type a letter into her PC. This was proving to be difficult as Our Hero's cutie body kept getting in the way. This wasn't the first time that Fredcat had interrupted Cathie at work but, as it turned out, he was just about to learn a valuable lesson. Cathie suddenly sniffed the air. There was a smell of burning and the Cathie olfactory cells were heading into overdrive. "Are you cooking something downstairs?" she demanded, but this only produced a negative shake of the head as an absorbed Mr. B. continued his reading. He had reached an exciting part of his story and did not want to be disturbed. "Oh whoa, there!" suddenly exclaimed Cathie, "the Fredcat tail is being singed!!" And so it was! In turning around to get a more comfortable position, Fredcat had managed to position his fiercely proud tail straight upwards, smack into the halogen bulb of Cathie's desk lamp! Our Hero loved the warmth put out by the bulb, but hadn't realised that the bulb itself got mighty hot - so much so that the Fredcat tail was being gently scorched! "Warmth is one thing but I don't want you running around with a singed extremity, if you don't mind," argued Cathie, "just because you have a one year old diary going strong doesn't mean that you are immune from life's troubles, you know. On reflection though, I must say that I have seen other cats show a similar disregard for their tailpieces. A friend of yours, namely Charlie, regularly sweeps all the items off the coffee table with her tail when she strolls past. I can't decide whether this is absentmindeness or a deliberate act of subtle vandalism - it is hard to say." "Sorry about that," said Fredcat, "I was thinking of a suitable present for my paper anniversary, and I just got carried away." "If you carry on like that, the only paper you have recourse to will be the obituary column," warned Cathie. "Perhaps a cold cloth on your singed tail, followed by something warm for your insides is ordained." And that turned out to be the best idea for a first anniversary celebration present after all!
By that," and here he laughed loudly, "I mean the technical problems occasioned by that grumpy Mr. B. - who has nearly ruined my whole project on more than one occasion! Like losing whole diary entries on at least two occasions and not keeping adequate backups. There have been a number of changes to my diary and a heap of surprises over the last year." "Some of the highlights have been the introduction of photographs (mainly of Yours Truly, of course), and also some tales (tails) of derring-do (with me as hero). The tales introduced some of my friends - as well as one particularly cunning opponent (namely Squire)." "One significant highlight was being interview by my local newspaper, the News and Observer, which resulted in my diary and exploits being read by an even wider circle of friends. That was all very exciting!! Cathie, in one of her many roles, this time as VP of Marketing, clearly did a good job for me there. Tens of thousands of visitors have read about my daily jottings, and have welcomed the warmth shown me by my best human friend, Cathie, and have largely (and correctly) ignored the jibes of the grouchy Mr. B." "Then of course, more recently, there have been all the to-ings and fro-ings to various medical establishments, which have really upset my routine. (As if I didn't have enough troubles of my own with all the visits to the dreaded v*t!). Luckily I have survived the coughing and sneezing bouts which plagued me for ages. As part of my recuperation, I have developed a relatively peaceful co-existence with my humans by dint of training them to keep as many doors in the Fredcat residence open for as long as possible." "But finally, I have had messages from lots and lots of new friends, who have made encouraging noises about my website and my daily blog. I don't like the word blog very much; I prefer to describe my website as detailing the daily happenings of an English emigrant cat who is not only well educated but a pretty famous feline to boot. This describes me purrfectly!" "So, to end this, the first year of my diary, may I say thank you to all my readers and visitors, whether they came but once or many times (like my good friend Jimmy De F). I wish you all well and look forward to telling you about my future happenings just as long as there are readers and visitors to amuse and stay in touch with." "E-mail me, if you like! I have managed to respond to all my e-mails so far, despite my earlier warnings about my inflated ego. And now, Gentle Reader, onwards, ever onwards, into Year Two!"
Fredcat could hardly believe his ears. Beef on the menu again! "For how long do you think you will be ill?" Fredcat whispered to Cathie. "Will your recuperation take longer than expected?" he added. Cathie looked askance at him. So far Fredcat had been the model of propriety, always polite and solicitous, but now he seemed to be almost wishing for her disability to be prolonged! Shame on him! Fredcat didn't fool Mr. B. though as, during the beef cooking time, he had been unwise enough to prowl up and down the kitchen area, grooming himself in anticipation of the pickings to come. "Never mind all that," said Cathie, "come and look at my new cat calendar. This was given to me on Saturday. On every page, for every month throughout the year, there are beautiful pictures of cats and kittens as well as the day by day calendar." "Very impressive," said Fredcat, "some of the cats look just like me, only different somehow. Do you think they are my relations?" "Only distant ones, I expect," replied Cathie. "A couple of things puzzle me," continued Our Famous One, "the first is that the calendar is for the year 2005, and we are not even half way through 2004 yet! The other puzzling thing is that the calendar is for sixteen months and not the usual twelve. Why is that?" Cathie explained. "Calendars have to be printed quite a long time in advance to be ready for the main buying season, which is the end of the year - around Christmas time. The cats and kittens photographs were probably taken very early in 2004 to be ready for inclusion in the calendar. These guys and gals will have to wait a long time before they see their images on the stalls and in the shops, Fredcat!" "The reason they have sixteen months on the calendar is so that people like me, who have acquired one well in advance can hang it up before the end of year, instead of having to wait for the start of the new year. That way we can enjoy the photographs straight away instead of having to wait." "I must say, I hate waiting around too long for anything that is my due," said Fredcat, with a surprisingly affectionate twinkle in his eye, and at that Cathie picked him up and gave him a good cuddle. Basically, he was a good cat despite his little peccadilloes.
In unison, Fredcat and Cathie turned towards Mr. B., as if the invasion were all his fault. "Do something about it!" they chimed, simultaneously. When faced with impossible odds the grumpy Mr. B. had no option but to call for reinforcements and the response duly came. The shrub man took immediate action. All shrubs and trees were doused with a spray of something or other, but Fredcat didn't watch. True to form, he disappeared under the bed, and waited for the activity to die down. "I'm not going out there," he declared, "until all this spraying has dried up. My acute senses tell me that it is not a good idea to go licking and sniffing around shrubs that have been freshly sprayed." "My dear Fredcat," smiled Cathie sweetly (but with an iron glint in her eye), "if anything were to happen to you, then Mr. B.'s life would not be worth living!" "That wouldn't necessarily help me, though" responded Fredcat, "although it would give me some great comfort, I suppose." He winced as the doorbell rang again. The Fredcat residence had door chimes that were similar to the chimes of Big Ben in London (they acted as a reminder of his birthplace), but they did go on a bit. Anyway, by the time the door was opened by Mr. B., the butler, Fredcat had again made himself scarce under the bed. Later Cathie chided him and said, "Look Fredcat, you needn't hide under the bed when any visitor arrives. Today's visitor was Lisa, the US equivalent of the English District Nurse - she had come to treat my post-operative wounds. Now Lisa is very nice and wouldn't harm you at all." "I'll be the judge of that," retorted Fredcat, "I'll decided from whom I hide, thank you very much!" Fredcat changed tack. "I watched another episode of the Beverley Hillbillies today! I also see that now my English friend, Marg, has entered the growing debate about the Americanisation of the spelling of the word victuals. The sub-titling in the Beverley Hillbillies spells the word as vittles - not vittals. Can't Mr. B. get anything right, nowadays?" "I suppose that is meant as a hint, right, Fredcat?" said Cathie. "Right indeed," said Fredcat, pleased to have steered the conversation around to food once more. "However it is spelt, I would like some more, please." Perhaps a more appropriate name for this creature would be Oliver, not Fredcat ... What do you think, Gentle Reader?
"The newspapers and TV have been full of graphic accounts of the events of 60 years ago in Europe, when Mr. Reagan was only 33 and Fredcat was not even a a twinkle in some cat's eye! You see, Fredcat, when famous people die we take the chance to look at their life and see how well they have done. We look at what they have achieved and see how their actions have changed the world as we know it". Fredcat was suitably impressed by the media coverage of both events, and for the first time understood how lucky he was to be living here in the US. He sighed and then turned his attention to his diary. "I have been having a spot of trouble with the grumpy Mr. B. and his spelling. Apparently he does not know how to spell a favourite word of mine for food. The proper spelling (as advised by my correspondent, Mr. David R.) is victuals, even though it is pronounced vittals. He keeps writing it as vittals because he once saw it spelt that way on TV in the subtitles of a cowboy film. I don't believe we use that word much in England - we usually use food or grub." "It seems to me," emphasised Cathie, that you are quick to spot failings in other people but are less quick to admit to failings in your own behaviour. Unless you buck up your ideas, even though you are a famous cat, you might not get the media coverage you think you deserve, if by accident, you Pop Your Clogs - even if you expect to live forever!" Fredcat shivered, his mortality suddenly brought to his attention. "I cannot die yet," he cried, "Mr. B. has not supplied me with," and here he pawsed, "my victuals!" And he smiled triumphantly and waited patiently by his food bowl." What an ego!
"Since I came to North Carolina to live there have been no tornadoes here," commented Fredcat, "Hurricanes, yes, ice storms, yes, 100 degree F temperatures, yes, and 11 inch snowfalls, yes, but tornadoes, no - we are very fortunate in that respect, no? I don't think I like the sound of a tornado!" Even as he spoke, the skies darkened, the wind picked up and soon the rain was lashing down. Lightning flashed nearby and thunder quickly followed. Fredcat felt safe in the screened porch with the humans; at each flash of lightning or clap of thunder Fredcat glanced up at the sky. "I think my senses must be more acute than your human ones," he quavered, "because I believe I am more aware than you folks of the changes in atmospheric pressure, and am therefore acutely aware of many hidden dangers - and I am not liking it all," he added, creeping a little closer to his best human friend, Cathie. "I believe it was Kansas tornadoes than were the inspiration for the story (later made into a film) called The Wizard of Oz," stated Cathie firmly. "That was a moralistic tale that ended well for all concerned, so that portends good tidings for you, my Famous Feline." "If I recall the tale when you read it to me when I was a kitten, the Wicked Witches of the East and West didn't do too well," said Fredcat, "and we live on the eastern side of the US ...." "I cannot imagine where you get such negative thoughts," admonished Cathie, "remember, rain itself, so long as it is in moderation, cannot do much harm." "I could debate that point at some length," replied Fredcat, "but I will just stay quite close to you for a while until this wet and windy stuff has passed and the bright sun appears once more. In the meantime, you may treat my close company as part of your continuing convalescence. Once this is all over let's have Mr. B. do the honours in the vittals department - with particular reference to steak." "Good idea, Little One" replied Cathie, and they both snuggled down for a while.
"Don't be so difficult," said Cathie as she hobbled to the waiting car. "X-ray machines are very expensive and can only be afforded by groups of doctors or by hospitals. One also needs experienced staff to maintain and run them, and the consumables are also very pricy. In some parts of the world one has no access to this type of investigatory equipment and I am very lucky to be able to take a short twenty minute drive to see how my broken bone is healing." "And is it healing?" demanded Fredcat, hopefully. "Yes, indeed," replied Cathie, "it will be another couple of weeks before I am out of this strap device (which I have to wear all day) but then I should be able to get about without it until the bone is totally healed." Fredcat instantly wanted to know how long broken bones took to hear properly. "About three months, I think, is the usual estimate given; broken bones need quite a long time to knit together and heal properly and one cannot hurry nature up with this type of injury." "Now if you, Fredcat, were to suffer a broken leg, then you would have to have a plaster cast on your leg. There was, some time ago, a famous cat..." "Like me!" interjected Fredcat quickly. "Yes, like you my Noble One," responded Cathie. "Now let me continue! This famous cat had a very bad accident and had to convalesce so his human friends set up a web cam to allow the world and his wife to watch progress. It took many weeks before the cat was completely cured and the web cam finally switched off". "I wonder if you, Fredcat, remember when you had a plaster on one of your front paws because of a small accident." "Oh, yes, vividly!" replied Fredcat, "it only took me about twenty minutes to knaw that thing off my paw, I am far too smart to be trapped by a chunk of plaster." "I think you missed the point of the plaster but, as it happened, it didn't seem to slow down your recovery - after all, you are a very clever cat, and I only hope that my own recovery will be as smooth from now on as was yours." Later on, both Cathie and her Famous Feline decided to have a small sleep to help in the recovery process. Even though Fredcat was not sick himself, he was content to kip along with Cathie knowing that all would soon be well with the world.
"This WWII that everyone is talking about," he said, after a while, "were you part of it all?" I'm afraid that only a few of those who took part in that war are still alive to reminisce about it," said Fredcat's best human friend, Cathie. "I was not even born when WWII ended, so all I can do is read history books and watch any films or plays that have been written about it." "Mind, there have been plenty of wars since: in fact there have been, most probably, wars going on somewhere in the world for years and years. It would be quite hard to catalogue them really!" Fredcat thought that this was amazing. "We cats are rightly considered to be a bit nasty towards each other but that is only when we are fighting over the affections of our lady love or some tasty tit-bit of food, and even then the affairs are extremely short-lived and nobody really gets hurt." "Do you realise that my grandmother wasn't even born (again in all probability) when WWII stopped so it is hard for war-like memories to be passed down from cat grandmother to cat grandchildren. In my case, of course, as I never really got to know my mother (let alone my grandmother) I am at a great disadvantage when it comes to history lessons." "People like to reminisce about the past," said Cathie, patiently, "since that way they have an understanding about what the future may bring. But there are lots of ways of interpreting the past in order to tackle the events of the future." "How droll," muttered Fredcat, "but I think that there are good things to come out of history, you know, for all that." "Such as?" demanded Cathie, suspiciously. "Well I have noticed that when Mr. B. is out for his afternoon shopping, he is always late with the provision of fresh food in my bowl, unless he is getting some decent fillet steak for tea. And on these occasions, I have noticed that you seem to be also a little tardy when standing in as his replacement food-placer. I have therefore learned that it is a good idea, gained of course from a historical perspective, that it does me no harm to nuzzle up to you, look you straight in the eye, mew a little plaintively, trot hopefully towards my dishes and bowls with a come hither sort of look, and hope that you take the hint and cough up the usual supply of tasty food." "My, that was a long speech, but well worth listening to!" said Cathie, admiringly and, of course, she saw to the problem at once; after all Fredcat was her Cutie Cat and, no mistake, he deserved the best.
It turned out that he need not have worried. There was Cathie, not very cheerfully contemplating a third spell in hospital when the good doctor tells her that all is going quite well (note the "quite", grimaced Cathie) and that she was still on the (doubtless rocky) road to recovery. "In that case, I am off to explore the garden," said a relieved Fredcat and he strolled outside. There he saw an interesting sight: on all the crape myrtle trees and rhododendrums were hundreds of flying objects. The creatures sported a dazzling melange of colours and appeared to be bent on devouring the leaves of the aforementioned shrubs. "Those hardy little creatures are called Japanese Beatles," said Mr. B., coming to join Fredcat in the garden. "Last year they had a glorious feast on the young crape myrtle trees in particular, and nearly stripped them of all their leaves. They appear to like new leaves. They are also fond of roses - luckily we only have four climbing roses so there's not much in the way of pickings for them there." "I think there are too many of them for me to catch," said Fredcat. "Is it possible to get rid of them? They make my head spin, just watching them." "Apparently they survive quite well and resist all sorts of attempts to eliminate them. Unfortunately, some of the better methods of getting rid of them also eliminate some of man's better friends, like the humble bumble bee, from whence we get honey - and I like honey," added Mr. B. plaintively. "I think you had better go inside," said Fredcat solicitiously. "Why so," replied Mr. B. "It's like this," said Fredcat. "With Cathie still not being able-bodied, and my lack of an opposable thumb preventing my using tin openers, it appears that you are the only one capable of opening that nice tin of salmon you have been hiding from me in the larder. So how about it then?" And, as usual, he got his way. Smart moggie!
Mr. B. tried to explain the activity, "See here, Fredcat, the pellets are concentrated nourishment used to feed the lawns, but they also have a secondary task of killing off weeds. These pellets are not to be eaten by pets - so you just stay clear until it rains." "Lawns? What lawns?" came Fredcat's crisp rejoinder, "all I see are areas of grass interspersed with large patches of bare earth and weed-like grass!" "It takes time to grow a good lawn," said Mr. B., desperately hoping that their lawns would eventually grow thick and green, "but in this harsh climate it does seems to take an inordinate time. In England one just sows grass seed in the spring and bingo! by summer, get out the lawnmower for the rest of one's gardening life!" Today, as if on cue, it rained, and Fredcat scuttled inside once more. "Why don't you have a cheese chasing contest like they do in Gloucester, England? Your so-called lawn area has gradient enough for cheese-rolling - but mind you don't break any bones like my best human friend, Cathie. One invalid in the Fredcat household is enough!" "You are forgetting the time when both you and Cathie were both simultaneously laid rather low," reminded Mr. B., "and I was left with all the running up and down to see to your various needs. Why this sudden interest in my welfare?" "Quite simple really," replied the Famous One, "with Cathie hors de combat, I have to rely on other humans to do my bidding and you are hereby elected, without the option, so you just have to stay well!" "How kind and thoughtful of you," responded Mr. B., grimly, but he served up some Fredcat vittals all the same, as he didn't care for any unnecessary grievances from the Fredcat quarter - for the time being. |
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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.
