Bawk Bawk Bawk

I’ve been mistaken for many things in the past: a supermodel, a dog, a hooman, even a horse, but this latest one really takes the cake.

I was happily slumbering away on the bed next to the hoomans last night when mum hooman sat up and looked around.

“One of the chickens from next door has escaped into our yard!” she hissed. “I can hear it from here!”

Chickens? What do you mean chickens? There were no chickens. There was only I, breathing heavily and a bit whistly, sounding just like a chicken roosting apparently.

She realised her mistake after a few sleepily confused moments and went back to sleep.

Me? A chicken! Hurumph!

Cock a doodle doo

My Chariot Awaits

Showertime. I loves it! Not what you’d think a large brown cat like myself would consider a source of joy, but then I am not your regular run-of-the-mill feline.

There is nothing I love as much* as first thing in the morning when one hooman or the other rolls out of bed and hops sleepily into the shower.

As soon as I hear that water running, I bounce off the bed and up onto the bathroom basin...waiting. Waiting patiently. Oh so patiently.

The water turns off, the shower door opens and the now-clean hooman steps out of the shower. My pupils dilate and focus, my body shifts and my paws twitch. Ready. That hooman better get their towel on and wrapped around their shoulders in a hurry or they are gonna end up with a scratchy surprise.

One...two...three...HUP!! I leap off the basin and onto the closest shoulder in a clumsy mess of paws, claws, fur and bulk. I hear the usual groan and the shoulder lowers so I can climb over a little onto the hooman’s much more comfortable and roomy back.

Up on my hooman chariot I balance precariously as we lumber into the bedroom. I watch from above as the floor seems so much further away than usual. Triumphant. Ahhhh. And then it all ends when I am rudely shoved off my perch to half jump and half fall with a scrambly thud back onto the bed from whence I came.

I cannot wait until tomorrow morning.



*well ok there are lots of things I love as much. See here and here and here. But today we are talkin’ 'bout the shower.

Giddy up!

Communicado

Hello evfurryone!

I now have my very own email address. No more taking over mum hooman's email account! So if you ever feel the need, you can write to me at darwinthebrownbaron@gmail.com. Looking forward to lots of emails from the bootiful lady cats – er – I mean everyone.

The puppy and I are getting on a lot better now. I still refuse to cuddle her (as if! I wouldn’t be seen dead smooching a dog) but I will now stand my ground and stay planted most of the time when she approaches me for a sniff. The problem is, she has such a big, long, wet sniffer that it freaks me out a bit when she pushes it forcefully into my face. But most of the time I understand that she can’t help herself, I’m just tooooo irresistable. Now if only she would stop giving chase when I decide to run anywhere within her sight...

Long wet schnozz - I told you.

Darwin: also known as...

For some bizarre reason, the hoomans like to invent new names for me all the time. I don’t know why. Darwin is a perfectly adequate name. It’s quick and easy to say and it isn’t as embarrassing as some names other poor kitties have to endure. Think of all those Fluffys or Tiddles’ getting the beatdown each night in the local alleyway because they have silly girly names. I will admit I do rather like the full name the hoomans gave me – Charles Darwin Longfellow III. I can’t understand why the hoomans giggle when they say it. They say (in between guffaws) they imagine me in a top hat with a tuxedo, monocle and a cane. What’s so funny about that?

They make up ridiculous names for me like Mr Brown and Spot and Darwin Wobble and sometimes even offensive names like Pest and Get-Off-The-Bench. Do I deserve these names? No, I do not.

Just this week, mum hooman started calling me Sir Purrsalot. I’ll give her the “Sir” part of it but that is all. I suppose this is better than the name big sis got lumbered with which was Dame Growlsalot.

I thought I'd see if I could come up with my own manly and handsome sounding nickname, so I went to a nickname generator on the net and filled out a little quiz. The nickname it came up with from my answers was...wait for it....Smoochie Cuddlekins. GAH!

What nicknames have your hoomans bestowed upon you? Or are your hoomans normal and just call you by your regular name?

The plane! The plane! And the poopy puppy

My plane is in the hangar for repairs! A certain puppy (who shall remain nameless, but let's just say her name starts with J and rhymes with grossie) thinks that chewing my aircraft's propeller makes for good entertainment.

This annoys me immensely. I don't go chewing on any of her stuff do I? Well OK, I *may* have stolen one of her beloved chicken necks the other day during one of my many missions onto the kitchen bench.

These bench missions are becoming more frequent lately. Everything I want is up there - chicken necks, Party Mix and no puppy!

Along with my bench missions, other things I've been doing plenty of to prove I am still the ruler of the house are:

• Meow-ling (that's a meow and a growl mixed together for those not in the know) a lot.
• Diving into the puppy's room and skulking about. I even used her gigantic doggy door the other day much to the hoomans' amusement (why is this funny?)
• And finally, I've been picking fights with puppy to get her into trouble. I meowl and stare at her and then she barks and wags her tail. This causes the hoomans to tell her off. Heh!

On an unrelated note, check me out in these two photos. They were both taken within about two minutes of each other a couple of nights ago. In the first, I'm chilling in a very dignified manner on dad hooman's lap (check out my hooman-like shoulders!) and in the next I'm standing on the coffee table in the way of the telly, looking ravishing. Who needs TV when you have me?

I am so very comfortable.

Gordon Ramsay, or me. The choice is easy.

Christchurch Earthquake

I realise this is a bit late, but with all this puppy walloping I've been doing I haven't had as much time as I would like to jump on and update my blog!

Anywho, I think most of you are aware that there was a horrendous earthquake in Christchurch here in New Zealand last week. Massive destruction (more than I could manage locked in a room with a Da Bird and 100 vases even) and lots of scared lost pets who have run away. The Christchurch SPCA needs our help to deal with the rush of homeless animals coming in.

I have copied Rumblepurr's ChipIn widget (I hope he doesn't mind, but I'm sure he won't cos he's a cool kitty) in the hopes that I can get some more furriends to donate to this worthy cause. Please, if you can spare a dollar and haven't already, click on the widget and donate :)

The way of the Paw

Paws. Good for climbing, walking, cleaning behind ears and whapping annoying puppies and big sisters. But most of all, paws are perfect for eatin’ NOMS!

Behold this footage of the evidence:

Anyone else partial to a spot of paw pigger outtery?