The baby changing room

We were carried to the "Baby Changing Room" in a rush as soon as Papa's car stopped at the service station in Oxford. Mama quickly locked the door and Papa immediately filled the basin with splashing water. Before I could even have a second to recover from any shock and disgust, I was soaked in soap and water against my will.


"WHY..........."

"WHY.............."

"WHY ME............"

My deep cry of misery resonated in the cold night air and across the Oxford service station through the "Bay Changing Room".

"WHY.............." (Sobbing)



Herewith I dedicated this song to the traumatic incident.



"Midnight, Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
She is smiling alone
In the lamplight
The withered leaves collect at my feet
And the wind begins to moan

MISTY, All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
Life beautiful then
I remember
The time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again


Every street lamp
Seems to beat
A fatalistic warning
Someone mutters
And a street lamp gutters
And soon it will be morning


Daylight, I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I mustn't give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin

Burnt out ends of SPARKY days
The stale cold smell of morning
The street lamp dies
Another night is over
Another day is dawning


Touch me,
It's so easy to leave me
All alone with my memory
Of my days in the sun
If you touch me
You'll understand what happiness is
Look a new day has begun..."


(To be continued)

Misty

Bum-py country road

Rumours say that cats do not travel. Well, I have actually travelled a bit before I settled down in this town north of London. Believe it or not, before I came here, I have actually made a round trip between Gloucestershire and North Finchley, twice. Twice! I almost lost one of my lives!

It happened when my sister, Sparky, and myself, were about 1 year and half. Papa had an unpleasant incident and decided to join a relative in London for a couple days. He made this sudden decision so we had to pack and leave at “midnight”. My Papa is a descent man but what urgency on earth made him set us off travelling at midnight, in a cage? I could only described the Papa at that time was as mad as a cat in heat.

The upheaval of the country road was a torture. We protested, “Meow!!Meow!” But Papa did not stop the car. We moaned, “Meow!! Meow!!” He continued. “Meow!! Meow!!” We screamed. “Meow!! Meow!!”

As our journey persisted in the dark country road, I quieted. There was only us and the smooth classic FM in this expedition. In this weird tranquillity, Sparky made an abrupt funny voice out of the blue. Her “Meow!!Meow!!” was gentle but they actually sounded more like “Blur!!Blur!!”.

Mama cried, “Listen to that funny noise, Papa!” Papa and Mama burst into laughters. How naïve...

Little did they knew that Sparky was saying, “Mama, Papa, I am swallowing my sick.” Her “meow” was distorted because she was trying to inhale her sick.

Papa and Mama did realize – a few seconds later - when my miserable cry for help “Meow!!” echoed in the car simultaneously with the burst of Sparky’s roast chicken dinner, on my bum! I could not help but cry like a human baby as this was the most humiliating moment in my life. It stunk! The odour of Sparky’s roast chicken dinner filled the air . “MUAOW!!!!”

Before Papa could find a service station, Sparky started to lick her puke from my bum.

“No…” Mama cried for help, but there was nothing she could do to stop Sparky redigesting her roast chicken.

(To be continued…)

Misty

Family weekends

I like weekends because Papa and Mama stay at home on weekends – most of the time. We enjoy few family weekend routines. For instance:

1. Mama collects and washes the bed covers and sheets, and I find a soft spot in the white duvet mountain for my nap. She does not like the fact that I leave fur on the duvet but she is too kind to say no especially when she sees my happy face.

2. Papa eats packs of fresh prawns (because neither of the hungry parents can be bothered to cook lunches), and I have my share. I can detect the smell of fresh prawns as soon as they come out of the fridge or from the shopping bags. Papa says that they are too salty for me and often only give me a few. But I am absolutely crazy about prawns and I would eat every bit of it – even the empty shells if Papa doesn’t stop me.

3. Most important of all, being a family means that we enjoy being underneath the same roof, even we just do our own things. I enjoy sitting in-between Papa’s and Mama’s laptops. I enjoy Mama resting me on her shoulder, and I enjoy having a duel with Misty. And when I am happy I purr like an Italian scooter.

Peno

The story of a bed

I remembered the day when Papa and Mama welcomed me, and my sister, Sparky, to the home in Tewkesbury. They prepared a little bed that was soft and blue with printed grey and brown kittens just like the pair of us. At the time, we were less than a quarter's size of the bed. We cuddled our tiny bodies, slept and played together in it.

The little bed eventually could not hold both of us as we grew and grew. We had to take turns sometimes, yet, I never grew out of my attachment to its comfort and protection.

I had slept in it, wrestled and won numerous kitty fights in it. Occasionally, I buried my head underneath the bedding and passed liquids and solids in it when I was desperate or distressed. I had taken drug in this bed and vomited. At those nights without Sparky, I embraced it, thinking of her. This little bed in blue was mine, mine, mine until Yuki came and gave birth to Peno, and Peno gave birth to her first four babies.

The little bed was washed again and again. Time after time, it became ragged. One day, I made a mess in it again - because I was particular that I would either shit in open air or in this little bed. It was a no fake-sand day. And on that exact day, Mama decided to retire the little blue bed that had seen my transformation (enlargement) over the last five years.

Bye bye, my sweet little bed.

Misty

Piles of sick

Papa and Mama came home a bit later than usual. Mama caressed me affectionately as I opened my arms and legs while Papa walked into the kitchen just about to prepare some meals. Suddenly, he cried to Mama that N had left a note.

"Hi Mrs. XXXX,

Just to let you know, one of the cats had brought up sick (or something) and there were piles around the house.

Ground floor

• As you walk in front door by radiator
• Computer room on chair + on floor

First floor

• By radiator near cats water bowl

Second floor

• By tall mirror in bedroom

I’ve cleaned it as best I could but you might want to try some stain remover too. (PTO)

I cleaned it up with toilet paper + flushed it down the toilet – your first floor toilet doesn’t appear to be flushing properly though.

Hope this is all ok + I hope you are still happy with my cleaning – please let me know if there are any problems.

Enjoy weekend! See you next week.

N... X"

Papa and Mama convicted me of mess construction. “Guilty,” they declared. Hey, but there’s no greater agony than holding back a sick.

Misty the Innocent

Being fabulous

Being fabulous is exhausting. Being a fabulous cat yet demands the acquired taste of indulgence. To prove that point, I lingered in bed in my own posh style while Papa and Mama got ready for work in slow motion. It was a cool and wet morning.

Mama gave me a bowl each of Purina and Whiskas milk. As I a am lady who is mindful of her figure (you have to if you had given birth to two litters!), I have just a bowl of special P (Purina goes extremely well with my alter ego whose name is also P!) for each meal. I am a bit fed up with the Chicken & Rice flavour recently to be honest. Papa knows that Salmon & Tuna is indeed my favourite.

Just before Mama shut the door, I fled through a narrow gap to welcome the sprinkling showers outdoors. If the cat flap were not half shut, I would have dashed in and out through that secret portal between the rain and no-rain zones in frantic manner. Being a fabulous cat is exhausting.

Peno

The black seed's blog debut

Mama said that my debut would deserve a headline in The Big Issue as the story of my birth was darker than The Star Wars.

My name is Peno, le fils de chat, Noir. I am the biological descendent of Public Enemy No. 1 from the Block, the flap-breaking gangster whose whereabouts had become a mystery. It was said that he lost in a severe gang fight and exiled to the North.

Papa knew what he feared had come true on the day I was born. He speculated that my biological mommy was offended by this dark lord – and my feet, as dark as the night sky, confirmed his suspicion. And my hind legs, at later day, do prove to be of feisty nature.

Peno

"Mio amore!", he sang.

Papa forgot to close the back door tonight. After midnight, Mr. Black-with-White-Patches (Peno's long term boyfriend) came and sang a loud love song. Papa woke up in desperation and had to erase the remains of his love act with bleach.

Mama could not believe that I would stay at home with the back door wide open. Papa said that I had turned homey but speculated my aging process or fear towards Peno's boyfriend. I just particularly enjoyed the comfortable cushion that Mama bought me from Pier tonight.

Misty (August 13, 2007)