I have had a poorly sick...

• Recuperating with my war wound

Oh my friends, what a terrible time I have had just recently! Woe is me! I had a very bad poorly sick and am only just getting back to some semblance of normality - thanks in no small part to some delicious fresh fish dindins and extra cuddles.

Just last week I was doing unsightly things both at the top and rear end of my (normally) lovely body. Things got so bad that even Tiddles disappeared for a bit due to the pungent aroma wafting around Baz Towers, I would guess. (Still, it would do him good to go back home once in a while, the cheeky interloper).

Miss C put me in the caged box and took me to the private puss cat hospital, where the best medics money can buy gave me the once over, shoved a thermometer up my bottom and then checked me into the hotel for the evening.

I lay there for a day - with one front leg attached to a bag of drippy stuff and the other clasped to my furry brow - until I perked up a bit and took some interest in a bit of fud. Miss C then collected me and I pretended to bit a bit poorly for just a while longer as, I must admit, the attention was rather good (esp when Miss C's pal came round with some delicious treats. Yummy).

I'm now feeling a much better, although my right leg is blemished by the removal of some of my gorgeous hair where the hospital needle (hiss) was inserted.

So, what was the cause? I, my friends, am a medical mystery. An enigma wrapped in another type of something meaning the same thing... (prompt Tiddles, please...)

The lovely doctor couldn't put her finger on what had created this abominable poorly sick, although it may have had something to do with a rather rich avian dinner I consumed shortly before... But who knows?

Anyway, I am now mending nicely and look forward to getting back to my normal, handsome self again.

I look forward to speaking to you lovely chums again soon! 

Basil xx

• That bandage in close-up. Note how lovely my fur looks...

For Kitty's Sake!

• Larry the Cat. Feline fine at No 10

Sometimes, when the going gets tough - you just have to call a cat in to do a man's job.
Poor old Mr David Cameron - he of the shiny forehead and the funny hair. Miss C has been shouting at the moving pictures box every time she see him recently. She does not like him, methinks.
Now, these political shenanigans do not normally pass my furry radar. I have much more important things to think about, like selecting dindins, carrying out ablutions and gentle perambulations around my garding. However, my ears pricked up this week at the mention of a puss cat being parachuted into No10 to help out poor old Dave.
After the disappointment of seeing that the cat was not 'actually' wearing a parachute but was carried in in a box, I watched with some pride as young Larry (or Lazza as Tiddles will insist on calling him) took up residence in Downing St.
Of course the cover story is that he is there to sort out the rodents (starting with Cleggy, I imagine) but the *entire* puss cat community knows that Larry will actually be running the country. 
First on the agenda will be compulsory fresh fish dindins, 24-hr warmed pipes throughout the year and fresh piles of clean laundry provided daily - for our exclusive sleeping on. Those who fail to comply will face terrible punishment (we haven't thought exactly what yet. Tiddles & I are pondering...)
Anyway, I may yet apply to Larry for the position of Home Secretary - as I *do* love staying indoors at Baz Towers :)
Anyway, I do hope all my lovely puss cat pals feel as proud as what I do to see Larry leading the country. He will make Britain great again, of that there is no doubt. I await your thought, mes amis!


A bientot xx


PS: You'll note I have written this entire post without the use of puss cat puns such as 'paws for though', 'catty remarks', 'fur flying', etc etc. I leave those japes to the tabloid hacks.  (Tiddles wrote the pic caption, for which I can only apologise...)