Which, roughly translated, means: WELCOME TO MY BLAT!
Why a Blat, and not a Blog? Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Blog rhymes with Dog. I’m not a dog; in fact I don’t like dogs at all. Nasty, panting, wagging, woofing things… (*) Blat, however, rhymes with Cat. So my Blog isn’t a Blog but a Blat.
So let me introduce myself. My name—at least, the ordinary one (my real one is, of course, known only to me)—is Simba, and for the past four and a half years I’ve been living with Louise and Cas, my two-legged human servants. I’m a Cornish cat, and for several months I had to stay in a rescue shelter run by Cats Protection. It wasn’t so bad—nice and warm, plenty to eat, and the humans all made a fuss of me. But there’s no substitute for a real home, and I’m pretty pleased with mine. I’ve got a garden, a wide choice of chairs, rugs, shelves, computer equipment and the humans’ bed for sleeping on, and I’ve successfully trained Louise to serve only the foods I particularly like. She really is quite bright, provided you’re patient with her. Mwow.
I’m a black cat, and very lean and large. A human I met once called me ‘a tall cat’, because if I stand on my hind legs, I can easily rest my front paws on the kitchen worktop. I don’t do it very often; it isn’t dignified. But if Louise is preparing a particularly appetising meal for me, I will make an exception now and then. My hobbies are sleeping, eating, sleeping, chasing things, sleeping, purring, squeezing on to Louise’s work chair when she’s trying to write, and sleeping. I talk a lot, too, though I’m sorry to say that my two-legs don’t speak Cat very well, so many of my wise words go unappreciated. Perhaps in a future Blat I should give some translations of basic Cat phrases, to help any other humans with a similar problem?
A lot of other cats live round here, and some of them visit my garden—not always at my invitation, though, which I think is rather rude. Next door is Miss Bella, whose human servant is called Diana. Unlike some cats I could mention, Miss Bella is very ladylike. She also has an admirer. His name is Stimpy, and he’s passionately in love with her. He sits outside her gate for hours on end hoping for a glimpse of her, but, unfortunately for him, she isn’t really interested. I call him her Toyboy. She calls him “SssssYOW,” which I can’t possibly translate in a polite Blat like this one.
Then there are George and Mildred across the road. I don’t see much of Mildred, as she doesn’t venture out very often, but George (who is black like me, though fluffier) often takes a stroll into the adjoining field to see if there are any mice or voles around. I’ve never seen him catch one, but he claims he does. QED, I say!
And of course there’s the ginger saucy piece from a few doors away. She’s quite a looker, and she knows it—what a flirt! Anything male and furry only has to glance in her direction and she starts purring and preening and pirouetting, blinking her big green eyes and…. MrrrROW! If you ask me, it’ll all end in tears. Or kittens. I think I’m better off keeping well away…
Well, this is my first effort at Blatting, and I must admit it’s been quite hard work. Cats’ claws aren’t really made for typing, and I’m still getting to know Louise’s computer system. I’ll master it soon, of course I will; though I must admit this thing called a Mouse is a bit confusing. For one thing, it doesn’t look the least bit like a mouse. For another, it doesn’t taste like one (I tried it). And when I creep up on it, it doesn’t even try to run away. Very strange! So now I think I’ll go and sit on the printer and meditate for a while. I hope you have enjoyed learning a little bit about me. And if there are any other computer-wiz cats out there, I would be delighted to hear from you, too.
I’ll meow to you again soon!
SIMBA
*L. You’re only saying that because you’re scared of them.
S. I’m NOT scared of them!
L . Oh yes you are! You’re scared of everything.
S. Hhhhh….
Filed under: Simba's Blat by Louise
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