Thoughts of Chairman Meow

Archive for November, 2011

Get outside

Mother says I am turning into the feline equivalent of a child who spends all day in front of a computer. I don’t want to go outside.

I would like to remind her that, thirteen I may be, but if I was a human I would be 68. Would you shove an old age pensioner out through the door in the cold and tell them to go play? By rights, I should be getting meals on wheels and have a free bus pass…….



Precariously perched

Granny has had some ‘perch’ stools delivered. She is now able to sit by the kitchen and bathroom sinks and do the necessary. These stools appear quite sturdy so, unlike in the famous Monty Python parrot sketch, Granny will not have to be nailed on the perch to stop her falling off. The nice man also installed a frame around the downstairs bog – this will allow Granny to get of the toilet without too much effort. Mother is rather pleased with this as she knows that there would be little chance of getting a crane in such a small space should the need arise…….

On Thursday, we have a ‘Blue Badge’ assessment. Now, for the past 12 months, Granny has been telling anyone who will listen that she cannot walk across the kitchen without several pit stops, so if she suddenly decides to breakdance, Mother says that she’ll never speak to her again………

Doctor, Doctor

Mother has taken Granny to the doctor this afternoon. We have now found out that constipation is number 78 on the 100 complaints to suffer before you die.

It’s a good job that she hasn’t asked for a District Nurse to visit about it. Courtesy of ‘targets’ there are now lots of questions to ask if people say they’re a bit stubborn. By the time you get to the end of the list, the bowel has become comatose with boredom and needs a stick of dynamite to get it going……….



Granny is going to get plastered. No, she hasn’t broken anything or got pi**ed on the cooking sherry. She is going to have the kitchen walls resurfaced.

Tiles have been falling of the kitchen for the past couple of years. Every now and then you hear a ‘ping’ and another one bites the dust. Mother thinks that one day she’ll turn up and find Granny buried under a set of mosaic pieces.

You wouldn’t think it but you can get many a good tune off the tiles in Granny’s kitchen. You just keep tapping them, and depending on the state of the adhesive you get a different note. Before she came home this afternoon, Mother gave her rendition of ‘When a Child is Born’. Tile Knocking is the new Carol Singing. I wonder how much money she can make out of it………….


Well, new mattress is in situ and I have, of course, gravitated towards it like a fly around poo. Her indoors has also removed the old ‘feather bed’ thingy, which has folded up pretty small and gone into a cushion cover. I now have superior level sleeping quarters upstairs and down.

Mother has spent her first night lounging on the new bed and has several observations about it.  It is so much higher up than the other one that she needs oxygen (and a ladder to get in). If you sit on the edge, you will probably fall off. And turning over in bed may well be a thing of the past. Unless you have a winch to pull you over.

Still, I’m comfy so who cares?……………….


Bog of death

Mother has just taken two telephone calls from Granny about her broken bog seat. This is because she plonks herself down on it so hard that the plastic screw which holds it in place has finally given up. Brother in law is sourcing a new one……….

Woman from council has been round. She is getting Granny a stool thing to sit on when she is washing the dishes. When this arrives, Mother will be waiting for the phone call to say that Granny has fell off it. This woman is also getting a raised bog seat for the downstairs convenience. It will be like having a pee perched on top of Mount Kilimanjaro………..

Tinkling Away 2

Mother has been to Manchester today to see Uncle Dave. Now, her bladder is so weak, she spends quite a bit of time in a variety of public conveniences and she has been doing a survey on the hand-washing habits of fellow piddlers.

Not once today has she seen anyone wash their hands properly. There are those who fail to introduce their hands to the tap at all, those who run their hands under water for 2 seconds and consider themselves clean and those who pretend to wash their hands but who haven’t actually used any soap (why bother going through that charade?)

Then there’s the drying routine. Those who shake water all over everybody and those who use toilet roll because they can’t be arsed to use the blow dry thingy (why do they think that’s hygienic?)

And people pull their faces at cats when we lick our bottoms……………….

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