Furball Frankie

I went to lay on a cushion earlier, to stare at my hooman for a bit, while he did 'werk'. I kept staring at him. Then I blinked for a bit. Then I yawned. Then I licked my front feets. Then I sniffed the cushion. Then I don't remember anything. I woke up many catty hours later, with a craving for chicken biscuits and a vague sense of regret. I missed lots of staring and blinking. I'll have to make sure tomorrow is more productive.

I try to help my hooman out where I can. For example, I distribute my litter evenly on the floor — not just in one spot. I cannot help him with some things though. I was on cupboard inspection duty before, and had a proper look in one of them. So much stuff. Papers. Boxes. Clothes. Pictures of my hooman looking much younger. Weird colourful things. I meowed my concerns to him. How can he live like this? A cat could get lost in there. He misunderstood my meows and gave me chicken biscuits. I accepted them.          

I has a lovely, shiny, black fur coat. I makes sure I washes it regularly, to keep it in top condition. It always looks good. It goes with anything. I have my doubts about my hooman though. A recent inspection of his clothes cupboard casts serious doubt over his style choices. Pink? Bright yellow? Strange, wrinkly fabrics? Strange, woolly fabrics. And none of them were particularly shiny or sleek (I never see him lick them — I wonder how they stay clean). I has meowed in protest, and clawed some of the items. This seems to have fallen on deaf ears. I shall try again to draw his attention to the horrors of his clothes cupboard later today.

I has noticed something. It's getting chillier. I can sense it. My fur keeps me warm, but I still like to be as snuggly as possible. These means sleeping by, or on, my hooman, as he's made of warms. It also means finding the cosiest positions to sleep in. I has perfected this art. My preferred positions, as it gets colder, are... *Nose tucked into belly fluff. *A full 'catty doughnut' — asleep in a circle, with my tail over my nose. These positions ensure maximum warmth and cosiness. When I fancy, I may — as mentioned — sit on my hooman...but strictly on my terms.

So annoying. I had my dinner. Then I had fome bifcuits. I even had a drink. But now I'fe got fome bitf of bifcuit ftuk in my teef. I've tried licking them again and again, but it makef no difference — they're well and truly ftuck. I don't know what to do. I'fe meowed at my hooman, but he can't help. I'll just haf to keep trying to get rid of them. Bloody bifcuits!    

I is sitting in my hooman's napping quarters, relaxing. Occasionally I has a wash, then I go back to staring at the wall. My hooman keeps trying to bother me. From the other room, I hear him say 'Frankie! Fraaaaankiiiiiiiie!' I ignore this. I want peace. Then he comes into his napping quarters and squeals 'Frankiiiiiiiieeee!' I ignore this too. He makes kissy noises above my head. He clicks his fingers. He says 'You're so cute! Little floofy face!' I continue to stare at the wall. I have 256 muscles in each catty ear. That's what they're for — ignoring silly hoomans.