Furball Frankie

I has come up with a plan. My hooman went away and left me. This made me sad. A nice lady hooman did come round to visit me, but I like my own hooman — he gives good scritches and can be pestered into giving out treats. When my hooman came home, he put his bag with lots of clothes in on our bed. This must be how he was able to go away and not wear everything all at once. I immediately sprang into action. As soon as the bag was empty, I sat on it. I sniffed it, then curled up in it for a nap. As long as I'm in it, my hooman can't fill it...which means he can never go away again. Any time I see the bag out on our bed and open, I'm going to nap in it.

I was on very important duties today. I was on guard cat duty. I stared at my hooman. I watched over him. I gave him gentle meows of encouragement. I sniffed his legs when he seemed unhappy. I made my fluffy belly available to him when he seemed stressed. I sat on things that I felt were getting in his way. I was a useful kitty.

An urgent situation cropped up earlier. I was having a semi-nap (like a full nap, but with one eye open) in my hooman's napping quarters. He came into the room, looking for something. I realised right then and there what I needed, to turn my semi-nap into a full one: I needed emergency belly rubs. I rolled onto my back, let out my cutest 'mrrrrrp!', stretched out my belly in full, and made it clear what my hooman needed to do. He said 'You're so cute', then duly obliged — giving me full belly rubs, from my chin to my rude bits. I stretched out further, let out another 'mrrrrp!', then curled up, so that he could still have belly access, but so that I was also in a cosier position to nap. I had a happy.

It's very important that I keep up my regular cleaning routine. I must wash my fur at least twice a day, so that it looks shiny and retains its catty scent. This involves lots of licks and lots of concentration. I also need peace and quiet, and space, in which to do this. I was having a good old wash in my hooman's napping quarters. All was going well, and I'd moved from concentrating on my side bits to concentrating on my belly. Then my hooman came in and squealed 'Frankiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie! Look at that gorgeous fluffy face!' This completely stopped me in my tracks. It threw my attention. I stared at him. What did he want? He walked out of the room again. Weirdo. But it was too late. He'd disturbed me. I couldn't remember which bit I'd been washing. So I had to start on my side bits again. Idiot hooman.

I had to make an emegency intervention before. I was lacking in attention from my hooman. He was putting more focus on his compooter than my fluffy little face. This had to be corrected. I jumped up to my hooman's level. I meowed. I purred. I sniffed him. I gave him catty headbutts. I demanded to be petted. I got what I wanted — face rubs and ear scritches. I then sat on the compooter.        

It is Sunday. The day is mine. I has the world at my paws. Should I stretch and run? Should I sing the song of my people? Should I attack the feather thing? Should I pounce of my hooman's feet? Or should I do an enormous yawn, roll onto my back, look cute, and cover my eyes with my paws? I think I'll do the latter.

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.