I don't like toast. I'm a cat, right? So I don't do toast.
I like ham, sliced ham but not that Lidl smoked shite. Apparently you lot think it's bad for cats and that it gives us the shits. So! Everybody needs a bit of the shits now and again.
Having a bit of Whiskas shit set granite hard to yer sphincter isn't fuckin' fun. I'm tellin' yer. So a bit of the loose stuff ain't too bad. Innit?
By 'eck it's fuckin' hot innit? I'm all over the house trying to find a good cool spot to park me arse.
I've tried all three bedrooms, the sewing box at the bottom of the stairs, the revolving leather chair in the kitchen should be perefect but fuck me, they've stuffed it with cushions AND sprayed it with something that stinks wank. I don't scratch that bastard. Don't want that hum behind me claws.
I like to sleep between the mini cypress bush and the cherry tomato plants, right next to the cat mint so if any bastard intuder comes wandering along, I can give it a gobfull. I haven't got any fleas either. Which is good because I hate that flea stuff they stick on yer neck, it puts me right off me nosh.
They've put another bowl of water near the door. Apparently he read some bollocks on the internet about getting cats to drink more to avoid kidney probs later on. It fuckin' works, I'm havin' a gargle every time before I go out for a slash.
I heard the dreaded S word yesterday, you know...s h o w e r. Fuck that. Just 'cos me paws were a tad mucky.
I'm angry. Go on then twat, ask me why I'm angry?
Well, I'll tell yer. I don't know. Me tail's thrashing about like a cat nip leaf in a gale. And I don't know why. Apparently it means I'm angry.
They've started buying plain food again, did I tell yer? That other shite they bought, beef & tomato, pollock & corgette, kippers & fucking custard, I mean what was all that bollocks about? I am a cat. I don't do corgette or unripe marrows or whatever they are. Come to think of it, we don't eat beef or cow as I prefer to call it. Watch my lips....they are too fucking big. Geddit? We are cats, we are small and the cow is far away. We eat mice and birds. So, begs the question: where is my fucking mouse & celery or sparrow & romanesco Felix cat food? Get a grip.
Hang on, I'm a fully paid up member of Canin and can talk to them. They tell me how to eat, shit, scratch, fuckin' allsorts. Really handy shit. I'll email them and tell them about the mouse and celery thing.
Anyway, I'm bolloxed. I'm off to the purrin' pit.
See yers.....yer fuckin' tosspots.
I'll think about yer when I'm having me next shit.
This is a mate of mine, it's Dad's a copper. He's from Manchester. I wonder if he knows Oasis? He's from Manchester innit?