The Swearing Cat

I've got wind. Probably. Infact almost definitely.
Well it must be me 'cos when he came into my bedroom to change into his shorts, I heard him say "Fucking hell, you dirty little bastard, what you been eating?" then he opened the window.
I don't think he was talking to her because she was downstairs on my settee knitting and Kibbeling was also downstairs, eating. 
Well I've learnt one thing; if I want the window opening in future, all I have to do is squeeze out a "Fuggit special" and bob's yer uncle. Living is learning eh?

Fuck him anyway, he does it. Loud! It makes me jump sometimes.
Everybody farts for heaven's sake. I bet even the Queen farts. I wonder if she ever makes them bastard Welsh corgis jump when she lets out a "brown windsor"?

See yer

This is me with my innocent "What...me?" expression. It didn't work but what the hell!

As Rolf Harris would say, "Kun yer giss wut ut us yut?"

This is Mick's painting of me getting a bit of crust from my bum. It's a right bastard when it hardens. Fuck knows what they put in that Whiskas, fucking cement additives or something. 
   

Oi, fuck off, I found it first. Well seeing as you've found me you might as well know this is my best mouse catching spot. They live in this compost bin, the dirty bastards. I can smell them and hear them but can I hell as like get to them. Occasionally one nips out for a spot of suicide or something but now winter's coming on they are ready to hibernate and I haven't seen neither hair nor hide of one for weeks.
I might try a bit of hibernating this year, it'll save all that decision making for a while like: "Do I eat the Whiskas supermeat or biscuits?" or "Do I sleep on the window sill or the back bed or on top of the wardrobe?" It's so fuckin' hard being a cat these days.
We've got a fly in the house and it's driving me fucking nuts zooming around from room to room crashing into the kitchen windows. The door is wide open for fuck's sake, what the hell is wrong with flies these days, don't they know what a bastard door is???

Anyway, that's it, now fuck off and leave me in peace.  

Competition time. Spot the difference. There is one difference in these photos, I was wondering if any bugger would notice it. 

Okay, do I have to do every bloody thing round here....? I'll tell you.
The top one was before feeding time and the bottom one was after. My arse looks big though. It's not really like that is it?

Again we are left in the dark. This time it's the bastard Chinky. And it was belting it down outside and I had to shelter under the neighbours porch (not a Porsche dickhead, even they can't afford one of them....a porch) but still got my arse wet. Well I hope they get the shits thats all.

It's been daylight all day today? Yeah, okay, but it's not funny. At two o'clock-ish, they buggered off somewhere in that noisy rotbox Nissan thing. At five o' fucking clock they turn up. It's pitch black, not a light on in the house, food overdue by a good 30 minutes, me and Kibb bloody starving to death and walking into things in the house 'cos we can't see fuck all.
Their excuse.....shopping.
Fucking shopping!!!
And you know what they got us? Some Morrison's Organic cat food shite.
I sat patiently on the stool, by my bowl, and they give me some cheap crap like that.
Well they can bollocks now.
I'm not eating it.
Fuck 'em.   

What? Me scared? Bollocks. You've gotta be joking. After all it's only a bowl of Felix.
And who wants Felix. Who wants that shite? Well, yeah okay, she's the boss, 5 years older, seniority and all that. But does that make me scared? No it fucking doesn't. I don't scare easily. The bin men, they are a noisy set of twats and the lawnmower is a bit scary. It's not as if I shit myself or anything but the vacuum cleaner has that certain je ne sais quoi about it. Unpredictable bastards they are. And bloody noisy especially when it comes into my room. 
But me afraid of Kibbeling? Well, yes......to be honest. She's a good little fighter, punches far higher than her weight. She's like the Ricky Hatton of the cat world. I'll miss our little contretemps.
What about my French language skills......fucking good eh?
Here, some more....le chat est dans le jardin....thats me, I am in the garden, well I'm not I'm in the house 'cos it's fuckin' perishing outside, but you know what I mean.
Anyway, fuck it, I'm off to bed again. Only came down for a gobfull of GoCat and a swig of water. Purr revoir

You know poor Kibb is ill, well she went to the vets yesterday to see how she was going on and the nasty vet stuck another needle in her back and said come back in a month. The bastard. Another £39 to a good cause eh? James Herriott eat your fucking heart out, this bloke is better then you, he has a sports car and we're paying for the twat.
She's still very ill with that bastard liver tumour but she's eating a tin and a half of Whiskas a day. Not bad for a little 'un. She's not drinking as much now, as she gets all the moisture from the food so we know her kidneys are okay.
All those bad things I said about Whiskas as well! Ha ha..well it's all bollocks on the TV isn't it, cats walking round ankles purring and all that shit? That's because there is a bowl of Devon clotted cream just out of camera shot. Fuck all to do with Whiskas I'll tell yer. And it's still shite. I reckon it's tripe and crushed fish bones with a shot of monosodium glutomate. It might say "Salmon" on the tin but it's not, take it from me, I know.....okay, call me cynical if you want. A cat is entitled to it's opinion just like you tossers.

Now about me....I need some fashion advice, if you click on the photo below you'll see me playing on the computer, but what I wanna know is, does red suit me or does blue jack you off? I don't like any fucking collar as I've said, but be honest now, does my bum look big in red or blue? 

I hate being woken up mid-dream especially when I was just about to kick the shit out of the grey cat 2 doors up the road.

I'll get  my own back though.
On Sunday. 
On their bed.
At 6.30.
When I'm soaked to the skin.
That'll piss 'em off bigtime.  

I thought I'd dress up seeing as it's bleedin' Halloween, but I've been locked in. Too many dickheads roaming the streets, he says.

I'm sulking on the chair near the front door. They've put a notice on the side door that basically says "Halloweeners, FUCK OFF", well, words to that effect anyway. They got it from the paper so it probably doesn't say exactly that, there might be a subtle adjective amendment.
Anyway, I'm near the front door, so what do the bastards do, yeah, knock on the bloody front door right next to where I'm trying to have a kip. I've been woken up 7 times so far. I hear the voices and try to use ESP to make them go away or stab themselves or something.
Soon it's fireworks. What braindead tosspot peasant invented them? I hate them.
I hate everything.
Bollocks.