Feline groovy

"Good morning, fatboy" says the teenager as he wanders downstairs for his breakfast. I'm tempted to reply with "It's not fat, it's loose skin" but instead I shrug and adopt an expression that suggests I don't understand. Well, I've been up half the night partying and would rather get back to my dream about goldfish. Oh, how I love goldfish. A bit like sushi, except livelier. Sorry, I'm being rude. I haven't introduced myself yet. Mark's busy this week so I thought I'd step in and lend a hand. A paw, really. I'm Rupert the cat.

I know what you're thinking. (No, honestly, I do. We cats are all telepathic). What's a cat going to write about? Much the same as your regular columnist, I'd say. Admittedly I don't see as much of Ringmer as he does - these days I've put away my cat-nav and limit my territory to the end of the street - but I still stay in touch via social media. Oh, how I love twittering. It's like hearing a dinner bell.

Anyway, as I was saying, Mark's tied up with other work. Not that I usually call him by his chosen name. To me he is The One With The Food. This grand title means he is accorded worship on the sofa most evenings. Humans will suggest it indicates affection. We cats know better.

So with my waiter and your writer distracted, I'm able to offer a few opinions about the local area. It's certainly a popular destination for single cats and mismatched cat couples. Not many feline families. I blame the folk down the road at Raystede for that. Yours truly popped in to visit their animal sanctuary when I was a kitten and left a few days later with the distinct sensation a couple of important components were missing. (Every so often I have a look underneath to see if it'll jog my memory. It doesn't.)

When it comes to retailing, we felines are well catered for in Ringmer. Cat-ered?  Pah, never mind. You'll find a cat convenience store (known by humans as the 'pet shop') and a cat healthcare centre ('v-e-t'). Various shops for people, too.

I can also confirm there's no rat problem in Ringmer. There's no mouse problem, either. There's not even a crunchy vole problem. All are found in adequate supply if you know where to look. (If you don't know where to look, try lurking by next-door's decking half-an-hour before sunrise).

Still, I've got to dash now. The old chap's returning to his computer. That means I need to stop dictating and must just sit on the keyboard nonchalantly. Yes, dictating. It has speech-recognition software. Well, how else did you think I could write all this?   Me. Ow.

First published on vivalewes.com 22nd August 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/feline-groovy/