Mother has had a wonderful day, made even more special by the fact that the NHS Pensions Agency have found the ‘missing years’. What a present. She has been harping on about retirement since she was 40 and is running a countdown which drives people mad. You may think that she is wishing her life away, but she sees it as escape from purgatory. She once planned to dig an escape tunnel underneath the toilet of one of the wards she worked on. A bit like ‘Shawshank Redemption’ but without the Rita Hayworth poster. This attempt was aborted when the kitchen ran out of spoons…….
Archive for May, 2011
Today is the day when Mother has exactly five years to go to retirement from the NHS. She has a badge with ‘I am 50’ on it. In cat years she would be about 170 but nobody makes a badge big enough for this. Nor is there enough room to put 50 candles on her birthday cake. This is fortunate because I can see it having a detrimental effect on global warming.
She is off for lunch today but needless to say she ain’t takin’ me. I apparently don’t have the best table manners and people get upset when they see footprints across their pizza…………….
Humans apparently go mad for a sweet, cold confection called ‘ice cream’. It allegedly comes in all sorts of flavours. Mother is off on an outing today specifically to eat this stuff. I have reviewed the ‘menu’ and it appears to me that none of the flavours are meant to appeal to us cats. No Tuna, Mouse, Grass or Pigeon flavour. The people who sell this stuff are missing a marketing trick…………
In an attempt to get me to put on weight, her indoors has decided to subject me to the delights of Sheba Foil Trays. What a revelation. My affinity to Whiskas is now over. For at least two weeks when I suppose I will decide that I like something else.
She is also letting me have some cream occasionally. I am a bit messy with this and usually look like I’m wearing white lipstick every time I bury my head in the saucer.
Why are cats so fickle when it comes to food? I would like to think that it because we have such discerning palates but I know it’s because we like to be awkward. God knows why anybody buys huge boxes of ‘Kat-o-Food’ when the minute you’ve spent a fortune on it, we will decide that we don’t like it……At least it keeps the local cat shelter in food when humans decide to donate it (because you’ve ‘spent good money – shame to waste it’)…….
In my experience, humans are just big, fat fibbers. They’ll say anything to get their own way. I love being groomed, but I can guarantee the words ‘come in and be brushed’ can only be taken literally about 10% of the time. The other times it means (in no particular order)….
- I am going to lock you in a small box and take you to see a man who will prod you in orifices that should remain sacred.
- I am going to stick some flea stuff on your neck or flirt a tablet down your throat.
- I want to go out and I’d like you to be in
- I want to check you over for lumps, bumps, bites or other such anomalies
- ‘Get in this house, you know you’re not allowed out after dark’
- You don’t look like you’re about to play well with other cats, come in before you get into trouble.
Anyone with any tips on how I can work out if they’re lying should contact me. Otherwise, I’ll have to stick with the guesswork…………
Mother has just had vouchers from the Co-op for the grand sum total of £11.00. This would be useful if you could go in a Co-op and buy something for £11.00. On the back of them it says that you can spend them at Co-op Funeral Directors. Aside from the morbid aspect of suggesting that Mother might die (before 31st December 2011 which is when they run out), what sort of coffin is that going to buy? We could face the prospect of sending her off in a paper bag. Or a used Milk Tray box. Or what about ‘Bag for Life’ – ‘Carrier for Cremation’?…….
Mother has a couple new uniforms. She was dead pleased with this acquisition until she came to wash some of them. Rather stupidly, she left a white t shirt in the washer. It’s now light blue. Yet something else the NHS can’t manage – colourfast uniforms. It’s to be hoped that she doesn’t get caught out in the rain wearing em’, or she’ll end up with a dark blue torso. Of course, this could be the key to early ill-health retirement – present with a dark blue stomach, add in some flatulence, belching and a bit of selective memory loss and it could be the development of a new (very contagious) chronic disease. We could call it ‘tunicitis’…. cured only by a ‘uniformectomy’ and immediate cessation of work. Forever……
The NHS supplies department also has a problem with sizing. Mother admits to being a fat bird, but they once sent size 30 trousers which would not have looked out of place on Pavarotti. Mother is also a small fat bird, so the 33 inch inside leg didn’t go down too well either…