It's been TWO months

I'm in Blog heaven!

Loyalty or stupidity - you decide

From Ananova: 'A cat has stowed away on a lorry to rejoin her owners - after they left her 700 miles away in France. Anthony Lewis and wife Sam gave their cat Maisy to the buyers of their home because they did not want to put her through the upheaval of moving to Jersey. But they were amazed when Maisy then turned up in the van delivering some of their belongings to the Channel island. She had sneaked aboard the truck and gone without food or water for two days as it travelled across France.

Her journey began in the Languedoc region near Spain and ended with a ferry trip to Jersey. Delivery driver Tim Morley told The Sun: "I loaded the van up in the middle of the night and when I got to Jersey left it in the depot overnight. When I went back I could hear faint crying from the van and saw the cat. I put food down and she came out. Then I rang Anthony and described the cat. He said it sounded just like Maisy."

Anthony said: "We were overjoyed. We always knew she was a clever cat. We really didn't think we'd see her again - but we're glad she's back." '

I hate to think the number of times I just want to be as far away from the Gruesome Twosome as possible. But, hey, you can choose your friends but not your family. I do love them really.

And I know which side my bread's buttered on. Except I don't eat bread. But you know what I mean...

Anorexia

They're both on diets, and they seem to be working. But I'm not. My weight-loss is, frankly, a little perplexing. I'm probably just off my food a little. I feel OK, though. A bit like Geri Halliwell but with much more talent.

(tuneful) "It's raining men, hallelujah, it's raining men, amen..."

Nocturnal disaster

It's not my fault. I just want to make that 100% crystal clear. It's just not my fault.

Firstly, they had another stranger around and he was sleeping in the spare room. This, coming so soon after the funny red-headed woman, really knocked my equilibrium for six.

Secondly, she shut the bedroom door again and didn't open it before she fell asleep, so I was trapped.

Thirdly, there's only so long that a cat of my age can be expected to cross her paws when she needs liquid relief.

So, I peed on the bed. And actually, once I started, I couldn't stop. There was just loads of it. Well, you know what it can be like on a Friday night. And just because I've tanked up on soft drinks doesn't help the situation. You know how water can just go through you. Right?

Anyway, she woke up and went into some kind of craze, reappearing with sprays and sponges, ripping quilt covers off the bed and all sorts. He lay absolutely motionless. In some ways, I admire his cool under pressure. Or, he's a lazy arse. Still trying to decide. Eventually, he stirs when he realises that the quilt was going to be laid out to dry and they had no covers. He made a quick detour into the spare room, returned with a quilt and everything settled down again.

However, I'm in the doghouse. And I'm a cat. How does that make sense? Especially as it's not my fault.