Furball Frankie

I likes my hooman. I likes him quite a bit. But I has my limits. He's been around a lot over the last few days. This has meant plenty of belly rubs, ear scritches, head pats, chin tickles, and snacks. But... It's also meant lots of him running into rooms and saying 'Hiiiiiiiiii!' in a really high-pitched voice...or talking nonsense, like; 'Who's a gorgeousy worgeously schmoopie doopie floople?' On top of this, he also runs into rooms and gives me kisses on the head, before I even has time to react. And he smooshes my face between his hands. And he rubs my head so much that I has a confused and has to do a catty headshake. It's all too much. It's time for him to go back to what he was doing. It's time for him to return to 'the werk'. Then we can go back to normal amounts of fuss.

I likes to keep clean. It's important. I has dignity. I has regular washes. I usually does my body first, then my feets. I'd got to my feets earlier, and was working on my back feets. I was nearly done. Then my hooman came into the room and shouted 'Frankiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie!' He ruffled my head. I stared at him. Then he started touching my feets. Why? Idiot. I gave him a bunny kick. Then I had to clean those feets all over again. So annoying.

Hooman came home yesterday, and he'd been somewhere different. I could tell. His legs were bare. He was in those short trowsers he wears when it's hot. And those legs smelt different - they smelt funny. They smelt of salt, and fish, and mud, and dirt. They smelt a bit oily too. And stuff was coming off of him. When he removed his feets covers, a fine grit fell on the floor. Then when he took off the feets covers he has underneath his main feets covers, even more grit fell out. I sniffed it. It was like the stuff in my wee tray, but thinner. My hooman saw me sniffing it and said 'That's sand, Frankie'. I blinked at him. I woke up this morning and there was even more 'sand' on the floor. It's everywhere. I don't like it. I hope my hooman gets rid of it. Weird gritty stuff.

My hooman is loud. I know he likes to talk to me in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. I'm not sure why hoomans do this - it's annoying. Where I can, I ignore him. I is too busy cleaning my feets, chasing dust, or napping. If I needs food or fuss, then I sometimes listen. But if he's simply calling my name across our home, then I generally ignore him. It's not worth twisting my ears round for. Too much effort. I like them to stay as neat, forward-facing triangles. If I hear a packet of food open, or my hooman comes home, or someone is talking outside, or I can hear a bird...then it's worth twisting my ears. Other than that, they stay in the one position.

I likes to sniff things. It's part of my job - to make sure things are in order in our home. Today I was particularly busy. I sniffed chairs. I sniffed cupboards. I sniffed the table. I jumped up and sniffed bits of the kitchen. I sniffed my hooman. But something was particularly whiffy - I could smell it from a distance. I went into our napping quarters. The smell got stronger. I located the smell. It was a pair of my hooman's trowsers. I don't mind them smelling of my hooman, but these have been hanging around a while. They're too stinky - too strong for my little catty nose. I meowed my concerns to my hooman. He just said 'You're so cute!'...and stroked my head. I meowed my concerns again. He booped my nose. Idiot.

It's been a hard day. After an initial flomp onto the bed, I had some thinks. I sat and thinked. I thinked about other cats. I thinked about chicken. I thinked about my hooman. I thinked about naps. I thinked about biscuits. I thinked about ear scritches. I thinked about belly rubs. I thinked about squirrels. I thinked about birds. I thinked what I should rub my face on next. It was exhausting. I had a sleepy. I napped.