An introduction to a new member of the Cobweb family!

Happy Monday all! Flipping heck, it’s the 27th of September already…. and yet, I’m still living in March. I haven’t (inside my head) even reached the end of March because March is when ‘Lockdown’ began here in the UK. The only way I know what month it is, is to look down at the bottom, right hand corner of my ‘puter, or laptop screen, and it helpfully gives me the date.

The Dates of the Week are troublesome – when not on the ‘puter – too… but, thankfully, we have one of those day/date calendar blocks of wood things, on the kitchen windowsill, and Mr. Cobs is in charge of changing that daily so that we don’t ‘get lost’ in this sea of ‘what day, month, year are we living in?’ abnormality.

But … we aren’t here to talk about Covid 19 or Coronavirus or confusion. The news on TV talks enough about it, so we shall talk about things which make us smile. Things which bring joy to the heart. Stuff which, this week, isn’t craft.

I mentioned a couple of weeks or so ago, that we had a new addition to the family, but that I’d tell you more about this at a later date. Well, this is that later date!

On July the 14th 2019, our family grew by four feet.

I’d told Hugo, before this date, that Mommy was travelling quite a long way to look at a teeny tiny baby cow…. and that he could come with me, but he would have to sit patiently in the car for a little while, while mom looked at this very special baby.

I met this special baby, and knew straight away that she was meant to be in our family. I watched her scooting around the big garden, clambering over the other babies who were born at the same time as she was, and, joy of joys, I got to hold her, cuddle her and kiss her tiny little head and paws. Would you like to meet her?

Little Baby Tilly – D.O.B. – 18th May 2019

As you might have guessed from looking at the photograph, her name is Tilly. Well, actually, her name in full is: Tilly Twinkles Braveheart.

Braveheart – because the breeder (a first time breeder who was SO lovely that I wanted her to be part of my family too) had said she (Tilly) had proven herself to be a little Braveheart, and so she called her that. Tilly Twinkles was the name I chose for her because she looked like a Tilly, and she Twinkled – so Tilly Twinkles it had to be.

Hugo, Tilly Twinkles and Momma.
This sentiment is completely true – I KNEW straight away when I saw Hugo – and I knew straight away when I saw Tilly. My heart recognised them as if we’d known each other a life time already.

Tilly came home on Sunday, July 14th, and she fitted in straight away. Well, perhaps ‘fitted in’ isn’t quite the right words – it was more like she came, she took over and she trained us to her will.

Big brother Hugo, and his little sister Tilly Twinkles

Hugo adored her. From the moment we drove away from the breeders house with her, he loved her to the moon and back plus a whole heap lot more. Everywhere Tilly went, Hugo went too. He looked after her. Played with her. Shared even his most favourite toys with her. I could hear him saying, over and over and over again – “Are we REALLY keeping her? Is she mine?”

She was this tiny scrap of gorgeousness, who won the hearts of everyone who met her. The vets and all the nurses. The girls working in the pet shop. People in the street. Of course, Grandson Little Cobs, thought she was adorable. He loved to sit on the floor and have her on his lap – and Tilly enjoyed the adoration. Naturally.

When it was time for her to have a nap, we would put her on her bed inside her puppy play pen, and she’d go straight to sleep. Hugo, on the other hand, wouldn’t. He would sit right next to her, on the other side of the playpen, keeping watch over her. If she woke, his ears would go back, his eyes would take on a panic look and he’d look at me as if asking me to do ‘something’ because, in his opinion, she obviously needed something and I, as the mom, would know what to do. He loved her from the tip of her nose to the end of her almost none existent tail. (French Bulldogs are born without tails. They don’t have their tails docked because they don’t have a tail to begin with).

Her puppy playpen also came in useful for allowing the Cats – Alf Capone (Used Furniture Dealer) and Maisie Dotes (crazy, neurotic cat with many loose screws) to be introduced to Tilly, and also time to get used to her, and her to them.

Alf – well he’s pretty accepting of everything. He’s a laid back, chilled out, lover not a fighter – so he just got used to the way she smelled and then he was fine.

Maisie Dotes – she doesn’t have a screw loose – ALL of her screws are loose – so even after all this time, over a year now, she still can’t figure Tilly out. However – Tilly can’t figure her out either. Tilly doesn’t understand why the fluff ball of hissy fits rubs her cheeks up Tillys face. She doesn’t understand why the idiot cat rushes through the living room at breakneck speed, as if she’s in mortal danger. Basically … Tilly doesn’t ‘get’ Maisie at all. But she has learnt to distrust her, because Maisie can be all comely and silly and then change in a nano second into a Neurotic Idiot who should be on the next ‘special bus’ out of town.

Yes – that really is a dummy (pacifier for our US readers). She loves them. Hugo doesn’t love them – he just wants them in order to chew them up!

In short … Tilly Twinkles is like Mary Poppins – Practically Perfect in Every Way! She’s a daddy’s girl and will sit outside the door and howl if he’s on the other side of it. She is loving, caring, fun, sweet, crazy, and loves the pine cones that the squirrels throw down for her. She will race around the garden at 75 miles an hour and use the house as part of the race track she has going on inside her head. Every time the doorbell rings, she gets to the door before anyone else, and when the top half of the door is opened (we have a stable door) – she counts to two and then JUMPS high in the air so that she can just peep over the door to see who’s there. Frightens the ‘you know what’ out of the person on the other side of the door – but she (and we) find it huge fun.

Hugo had a first Birthday Party with Tilly – and enjoyed it all the more because Tilly made it super fun.

My handsome boy, Hugo, on his 1st Birthday

Hugo and Tilly are the bestest of friends, and still as much in love with each other as they were from day 1. They adore being together. Love to play. Love to tease each other. Love walking doggy walks together. Hugo protects her – but she really doesn’t need it. She genuinely is, Braveheart. She is scared of nothing and loves everything.

Hugo and Tilly watching her favourite film

She loves watching TV – and her favourite film is: The Aristocats. However, her favourite music is the Muppets Theme Music – and her very most favourite version of it is a new TV advert here in the UK, for John Lewis, which uses the Muppet Theme music, but without the singers. (click below to watch/hear it) Wherever she is in the house, if she hears that advert come on TV – she rushes in and sits watching, tilting her head from one side to the other, over and over again.

Our family is now complete. We have the most incredible two ‘children’ – and these two children are my favourites. But don’t tell our girls that – for if you do, I’ll deny it and then come and find you and dig up your garden.

Ok enough of me blabbering on … we’ve reached that moment when we have to have the Monday Fun…. here come the Jokes Folks!

Why did the Oreo go to the dentist?

Because he lost his filling.

~~ ❤ ~~

Why do bees have sticky hair?

Because they use honeycombs.

~~ ❤ ~~

I got my daughter a fridge for her birthday.

I can’t wait to see her face light up when she opens it.

~~ ❤ ~~

Why did the nurse need a red pen at work?

In case she needed to draw blood.

~~ ❤ ~~

Thank you SO much for coming and sharing a coffee with me. I love seeing you, and really would love it if you said hello in a comment below. If you can’t find the comment box it’s because you’re either reading this from your reader, or you’ve landed on the blogs home page. All you need to do is click on the title of this post, and then scroll to the bottom – where you’ll find the comment box, waiting for you.

Have a beautiful, blessed day my friend, and a wonderful week, and I’d like you to do me a favour … at some point during your day, every day for the next week, think about three things that have happened that day which have made you smile. Something that has lightened your day or made you happy in some way.

You are more blessed than you think you are, and more loved than you would imagine.

Sending you many squidges and much love ~

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What I’ve learned this week . . .

Dear Diary . . . (and fabulous readers)

I’ve learned a few life lessons this week.  Not all of them useful in any major sort of way, but all of them are probably important in one form or another.  Let me elaborate:

I’ve learned (yet again) that there are some adverts on the Television that make my skin crawl and infuriate me.  This is the current one: (turn sound up a little so that you can enjoy it) …

That  ⇑  TV advertisement drives me insane.  And … it’s not just me.  Mr. Cobs admitted today that he  “. . . cannot abide this  &*%£*)@  advert!” – as he dived across the room to grab the remote and turn on ‘mute’.

I’ve learned this week. . .  that I really don’t much like my neighbours cat, Missy.  She’s an antagonist of the first degree.

Alfie (aka Alf Capone)  our HUGE great, black cat with a white diamond on his chest (looks like he’s wearing a tuxedo – in the style of James Bond) – is absolutely a lover, not a fighter.

Alf Capone.   Used Furniture Dealer 

Where-as Maisie Dotes, our teeny weeny, little wittle,  butter wouldn’t melt, wide-eyed, elegant looking, princess tippy toes, DIVA – is an out-and-out fighter of huge proportions.

Two unknown cats visited our garden a couple of days ago, when both Alf and Maisie were in the conservatory.  Alf looked up from his feed bowl (breakfast no. 4)  looked at them both, then sat down by the window, with a very soft body pose, not bothered at all that these two intruders were in our garden.  He was only interested in what the entertainment was going to be.

Where-as . . .   Maisie … oh…. my …  goodness!!!  She had been fast asleep, but had obviously heard the hiss and spit which began at a low-level.  So low that we couldn’t hear it, but she could.  Her head spun around like a possessed thing.  She glared out of the conservatory windows and took on an indignation like no other cat could have achieved with their posturing.

She was out of that bed, and at the door within seconds, demanding that she be let out.  “Ohhh ho ho ho… not on your nelly Miss Maisie.  You can fuss all you like, you are absolutely not going out there!”  I told her.

“But … but …. they’re in  our  my garden!!!”   She said, over her shoulder, but not taking her eyes off these two shocking, alien invaders.

Then ….  a third cat appeared.  Ohhh My Stars!!!  This was the one which got Maisie scratching and banging her paws on the glass door, demanding that it be opened because she had to kill that cat!

This cat we knew.   She was called Missy. 

Missy lives in the cottage to the back of ours.  In the next road along.  She’s a brazen thing and cares nothing for boundaries or correct, polite behaviour.  NOR does she care that we have a dog.  Her belief is that our dog is fair game and she’ll take it on if it dares to challenge her.

One of the ‘new’ intruders had obviously come across Missy before, and when she appeared on the top of her owners shed, right at the bottom of their garden, the one intruder turned slowly, and made its way carefully along the fence and away from any trouble.   Missy smirked.

The other cat obviously didn’t know Missy at all,  for he, the daft thing,  walked along the top of the fence and towards her.

Mr. Cobs and I were both now trying to talk to the cat and tell it to  ‘RUN AWAY… RUN AWAY!!!”  …  but it either didn’t hear us, or it just decided that it felt he could take this stroppy individual on single-handedly.

There followed a long drawn out period of BIG hissing, spitting, and meeooaawwl  growling, before I could take no more and walked to the conservatory door, and opened it and closed it again, fast and loudly.  The intruder cat jumped down and ran off …  but  Missy … well she sat there and told me to  “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough!”.

After 5 minutes of everything being quiet, I finally opened the door and let Maisie out … thinking that Missy would have got bored by now and gone home.  Nope.  Wrong.  Maisie jumped to the top of the fence and began a hunched over, “get ready, I’m going to box your brains out!”  warning sound, and started moving REALLY fast down the fence.

…  “Cobs!  Cobs!!! come and get her she’s going for it!”   Mr.Cobs had to rush out of the house, and grab her off the fence.  Now … she didn’t take kindly to this.  She didn’t want to come in.

He picked her up one-handed (she’s really very tiny, more like a kitten than a cat) – but she was having none of it.  She shouted  “Noooooooo”  –  and reached out with one paw and Velcro’d that paw to one of our big Pine trees.

Cobs Snr. tugged and tugged and couldn’t get her to let go of that tree.  His left hand was around her tummy and body, so with his right hand he reached up and unhooked her claws from the tree – only for her to reach out her other paw and grab the tree with her claws on that paw.  No one was going anywhere.

I glanced at Missy …. and I could actually see that cat smirking at our cats situation.

Mr.Cobs eventually won, and,  despite her best efforts to make him let her go,  Maisie was brought back into the house and the door was firmly shut behind her.

She was as mad as a box of frogs!  She whined and moaned for England.  Had it been a moaning contest, she would have won a Gold Medal.

So … although I learned that I don’t much like the neighbours cat, Missy, . . . 

I also learned that I have more dedication to the safety of our little cat Maisie than she appears to have herself.  Had there been a punch up – Maisie would have had her ears  well and truly boxed by Missy,  for Missy is a big, bold as brass, killer cat, with evil intent.  She runs this neighbourhood with an iron paw!

Well … that’s pretty much the major lessons I’ve learned this week … oh … apart from … …  why is it, when you’re having a great day and everything is going right … why does something – a letter, a phone call, someone or something ….  always come along just to be the fly in the ointment?  [insert grumpy face]. Yeah … I learnt that this week too.

Other than that … it’s been a truly grand week!

So … what have you learned this week?  Do tell!

Thank you so much for coming and sharing a coffee with me.  I love having your company.  Wishing you a wonderful Friday and an even better Weekend!

 

Things I’ve Learned This Week

Hap Pee Fry Day!  (say it out loud if it didn’t make sense just reading it) 🙂

My education has grown in height and in width this week –   and funnily enough, my figure has grown in width too –  there’s a strange thing!  Wouldn’t know why it’s happened.  It’s not like I’ve eaten chocolate every da……  ah.  no.  Ahem ….  Actually, I might know why that’s happened.  (suck it in Cobs.  Suck it in).  😀

So anyhoo … You’re waiting to find out what lessons Life has taught me this week, aren’t you?  So  I guess I’d better dive in and drag you under with me.  Put your Snorkel on Madge, and buckle down your Scuba diving equipment Albert …  we’re going in!

My Edumacationamilisation began last Saturday morning whilst in the shower.  DON’T WALK OUT!  OY!!!  This is not a mucky story, so sit back down and pin back your lug ‘oles!

I’d done all the body shower bit, and washed my hair,  and was doing a final rinse of my face.  I cupped my hands under the water as it rained down, and getting a little handful, I raised my hands to SPLASH the water all over my face when the accident happened.

I misjudged the distance to my face and in doing so, I scrapped my thumb nail up my chin.  Ooooo!  That stung.  “Cooo”, I thought, “I bet that will leave a red mark!”  I said to myself (and yes, I admit there was a bit of swear word in there somewhere … ‘dash’ and darn’.  That sort of thing because it did rather hurt).  After all the splashing I got out of the shower and looked into the mirror on the door of the bathroom cabinet.

“Hells Bells Woman!  You’ve done a grand job there!”  I said, looking at the red mark on my chin.  I stepped closer to the mirror.  “Ohh heck!“.  I looked in the mirror and could see that this wasn’t just a mark.  This was several layers of skin which I’d taken off, and it was bleeding  –  rather a lot.

Summing up … the outing I’d planned for that Saturday had to go ‘by the bye’ –  because Life taught me to: Be More Careful When Washing  my face, because my hands (and finger nails) are the most magnificent weapons of destruction.

A week later and I’m still sporting a nasty wound to my face.  It’s healing – but not as fast as I’d like.

I learned this week:-   that Florida has more bear hunters than it has bears.  Which led me to wondering why there were ANY bears in Florida at all in that case!   Just that.  Nothing more.  But I thought it was an interesting thought.

I also learned this week …  that  Nostalgia was classified as a disease by the Royal College of Physicians until 1899.  Yes, seriously.  It was considered to be a ‘Crippling Mental Illness’.

Emigrants and soldiers would often fall victim to nostalgia, and it was thought that if it wasn’t stopped fairly quickly, it would end in victims wasting away and losing their ability to adjust and cope with daily life.

However,  more recently, studies have been conducted on nostalgia and have discovered that there are actually some benefits to it—a far cry from the ideas that contracting nostalgia would make a person give up on life and simply waste away. Researchers at the University of Southampton have found that indulging in a bit of nostalgic reminiscing might make a person sad for a short period, but in the long run, it serves as a comfort.

I also learned that . . .  When you blush so does the lining of your stomach.  Yes, I thought it was an early April Fools Joke too, so I went in search of more details to make sure that I wasn’t believing in the ‘Money Tree’  . . . .   and this is what I found…

Blushing is a response that is the result of the sympathetic nervous system causing increased blood flow throughout the body. During periods of embarrassment, the body releases adrenaline, a hormone that prepares the body for stressful situations. Adrenaline also makes the blood vessels dilate in order to improve blood flow and oxygen delivery in case the body has to suddenly flee a dangerous situation. The veins in the face, as well as in the stomach lining and throughout the rest of the body, then have more blood than normal flowing through them, and they appear red.

Now this next bit of edumacationamilisation totally floored me.  BUT …. Before I share it with you I need to tell you about a place called Cornwall.  Cornwall is a fabulous holiday destination here in the UK. For those of you who have seen and watched the programme  Doc Martin – Cornwall is where Doc Martin is filmed.  It’s a truly lovely place and I have fond childhood memories of holidaying there.  It’s in the South of England.

A map to help you visualise where Cornwall is….

Cornwall is down in the south, at the far point on the left.  Next to it is Devon, another beautiful place, where, if you meet a local who’s been there for all their life, they’ll pronounce it:  Debun  (but it actually comes out as: Debn).  Next to Devon, along the coast line,  is Dorset – or ‘Darsit’, if you’ve lived there all your life.  Dorset is where you’ll find  Mr.Cobs and myself, and Little Cobs (and his Mummy and Daddy).  Mr.Cobs and I are generally trying to find as much fun and as many giggles as possible, all without the aid of alcohol.  (mostly)

But back to the plot:-

The world’s only Cornish pasty museum is in Mexico.  Those of you from the United Kingdom will perhaps now have eyes as wide as saucers and you’ll be scoffing at me saying this.  Yup … that’s how I felt when I learned about this.  So… me being me … I double checked …  and guess what … it’s  t.r.u.e. 

The world’s first museum dedicated to the “delicacy” is in the mining municipality of Real del Monte,  more than 4,500 miles away from Cornwall,  in Mexico.

The pasty has been in Mexico for generations,  having been taken to the country  along with football  and technology by Cornish miners in 1824,  as they helped build up the local mining industry.

For those who might not know what a Cornish Pasty looks like…..

 

A Genuine Cornish Pasty.

Genuine Cornish Pasties have their crimping around the side, as you see in the above photo.  However … when I make my own Cornish Pasties, I always put my crimping over the top, like the ones in the picture below.

Top Crimped Cornish Pasties, being made.

You can imagine how both funny and weird I found it when I learned that here is Cornwall, nestled in the UK.  A place of beauty  and wonder, Cornish Pixies, incredible people, great places to visit, AND … famous for it’s fabulous Pasties … and yet …  the only Cornish Pasty Museum is four and a half thousand miles away in Mexico!  There is something very strange about this.  Something has gone badly wrong.  The World has surely gone mad!!!

Nope .. still can’t make head nor tail of that one.

I also learned this week …

• That a group of Unicorns is called a blessing.
• A group of Shrews is called  A Whisker
• A group of Ladybirds is called A Loveliness
• A group of Snails is called an Escargatoire
• A group of Hippopotamuses is called A Bloat
• A group of Ponies is called A String
• A group of Hyenas is called A Cackle
• A group of Pekingese is called A Pomp
• A group of Owls is called A Parliament
• A group of Ravens is called A Storytelling  – or – An Unkindness
• A group of Husbands is called A Couch or A Bench
• A group of Wives is called …. A Nag  (the cheek of it!)
• A group of Guinea Pigs is called A Muddle
• A group of Caterpillars is called An Army
• A group of Parrots is called A Pandemonium.
• A group of Porcupines is called A Prickle.

I also learned this week …..

That even the wonderful Twillweld, that most brilliant of wire netting used on Aviaries, chicken runs, guinea pig and rabbit hutches,  is no match for a bloody minded mouse with food on its mind!

Not ‘our’ rabbit hutch, but ours is similar in design.  Ours has two doors and a central non-opening section, downstairs, and a larger bedding section on the upstairs section.

You can see in the photo above how tiny the holes are in the Twillweld wire on the hutch.  We’ve had the hutch since my rabbit was born and never had a problem with it.  However … read on dear reader,  read on!

We found a mouse had managed to get into my rabbits cage, and had set up home in there, happily munching away on all the lovely rabbit food my bunny has, and made itself very snuggly in all the hay she has to eat, and straw she has for her bedding.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!! (and some swear words thrown in there because I’m so cross).

THEN … when Mr. Cobs had found the little blighter  –  it ran out of the hutch and passed Mr.C at a gazillion miles an hour, so that it couldn’t be caught. Now how this happened is a total mystery to Mr.C and myself … because not only was Mr.C on the case, wanting to catch said mouse and take it far away, into the woods, to leave it there – as per my instructions.   But our two cats were on guard duty – one at the rear of the hutch, one at the side, waiting, waiting, waiting – one of which was Alf Capone (Used Furniture Dealer) – who IS a killer of mice (and pigeons, garden birds, – and also a thief, as I’ve previously discussed), AND ALSO, bringing up the rear and checking for any escapees, was Madam Jack Russell, (aka: my little fat bitch – because she is.  Fat, and a bitch)  who finds mice and rats and the killing of, a pastime.  So how that cheeky mouse got past my army, I have absolutely no idea!  I know it went under the hutch, because I saw it go…  and so did my cats (Alf Capone was at this stage going crazy to get it.  He knew it was under the hutch) – but when Mr.C came back from his trip to his shed, bringing with him a long piece of wood which he ‘swept’ under the hutch, back and forth – absolutely nothing came out.  We had no idea where it went.  Nor did the cats.

So Miss fluffy bunny rabbit was totally cleaned out and everything was either thrown away or washed and put back into the rabbit hutch.

Two days later . . .  Mr.C found that mouse b*gger had only got back in there again and been busy stashing food into a corner behind the rabbits litter tray for itself.  Mr.C found it because he saw the mouse droppings around the insides of the hutch.  But upon searching, there was no mouse to be found.  So another clean up followed and some changes were made.

Dearest Mr.C has sealed off the lower floor of the hutch from the upper floor,  and he’s taken away the ladder, as my rabbit is quite old now and no longer used the upstairs part of her hutch as she didn’t find it easy to clamber up it any longer.  So by doing what he’s done he’s made sure that the blasted thing can’t get to my rabbit again,

So … she’s moved upstairs and only she is there.  Mr.C has then paid some attention to the lower part of the hutch and sealed off the Twillweld  (metal wire netting) in the lower part of the hutch so that mouse will have to go and look elsewhere for his meals.

Let all mice be warned … I’ve given Alf Capone complete control over the matter, and if there happens to be a mouse wandering through our garden, anywhere near that hutch, he’s been given permission to do with them what-ever he sees fit.  Bl**dy mice!

Ok…  we’ve finally reach that point which we’ve all been hanging around the back of the class room, waiting patiently for….  THE JOKES!

Ready?  Let’s dive in to a pool of chuckles …

The Jokes

My Czech mate is surprisingly bad at chess.

Last night I went to a comedy and philosophy convention.  Laughed more than I thought.

What is Beethoven’s favourite fruit?    Ba-na-na-na.

My wife told me I was a fool to build a car out of spaghetti. You should have seen the look on her face when I drove pasta.

Jokes about opticians just get cornea and cornea.

When my husband told me I had to stop impersonating a flamingo, I decided to put my foot down.

Why did no one bid for Rudolph and Blitzen on eBay?  Because they were two deer.

If you want a job in the moisturiser industry, the best advice I can give is to apply daily.

A woman told me she recognised me from the vegetarian club,  but I’d never met herbivore.

How did Mary and Joseph know that Jesus was 7lb 6oz when he was born?  They had a weigh in a manger.

I hate perforated lines, they’re tearable.

❤  ~  and finally …  ~  ❤

How much did it cost the pirate to get his ears pierced?   A buccaneer!  😀

Aaaaand,  those are the jokes folks!

Happy Friday, wherever you are,  and wherever you are, make it a good one.

You have two choices … you can either decide to have a good day … or you can decide to have a bad one.  Then you have two more choices …  fix to your memory one of your favourite jokes from the ones above, and then share it with someone today and make them smile.  Or, you can keep the jokes to yourself and not share the smiles around.

Each day is filled, from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep, of a series of two choices.  This or That.  Yes or No.  Stay or Go.  Here or There.  This outfit or That one.  Bath or Shower. Smile or Grizzle.  All the time, two choices.  Look out for them today and become aware of them as the choices appear.  Make sure you make the right choice.  Then once you’ve made your choice, don’t complain when you don’t like what you chose.

Have a truly fabulous Friday.  May the day be kind.  May all the people you come across today be even kinder.  May you not have too many choices to make where you don’t like either choice.  But … where you do make your choice, may you be able to find the joy.

Have a truly blessed day my friend.  I’ll be thinking about you.  Be safe and …  may your God go with you.

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Things I’ve Learned This Week

Happy Christmas (well, nearly)!

We’ve all got two more sleeps before Christmas, and I would like to remind you that Father Christmas is STILL taking note of his naughty list, so don’t you think you can get away with swearing behind your mothers back, or blaming your brother/sister for breaking the window … OR blaming Grandma for that noise! (or the smell which followed it!).

On my own personal Naughty List is the name of one certain blogging site who, I think, must be doing some changes or updates or geeky gizmo stuff which has prevented me from working on this post yesterday and scheduling it to post in the early hours of this morning!  I tried again to bring this post to the blog here, at around 9.30 this morning, but each time I loaded the admin pages, the whole thing stalled and eventually the window closed down.  Everything else worked perfectly – I could get up any page on the web I asked it to – from Google to Amazon to an online newspaper site which is heavy on images and script (and adverts) and they all loaded perfectly.  But WordPress … wouldn’t.  So WordPress is currently on the Naughty List.  Hmmmpff!

I’ve learned one or two things this week, and I’m here to share them with you.   Have you got your drink ready on the side?;  seatbelt on?;  suitcase packed and stored in the over-head locker?;  false teeth in the private cup to your left?  Ready?  Steady?  GO ….

This week I’ve learned that I shouldn’t give my dog – the beautiful Belly [on Legs], one of her Christmas Presents early.  I bought her an incredibly soft new blankey for her bed.  It’s vintage Christmas red on one side – looks and feels like the most expensive velvet known to man.  On the reverse is some sort of furry fleecy stuff which HAD to have been spun in Heaven.  I’m convinced that it’s the stuff which Angels must sleep on.

The whole blanket looks like I’ve stolen a throw from Father Christmas’s house!

I couldn’t wait to give it to Miss Belly [on legs] so I untied it from its red ribbon, and held it for her to sniff.   She got ridiculously excited . . .  so I unfolded it and draped it over her bed.  She sniffed ….  wagged her tail and jumped straight on.

Well, this obviously hissed Alf Capone (Used Furniture Dealer  –  and one of our 3 Cats)  off royally,  and to show his hissed offness he clambered all over The Belly until she got cross and got off her new blankey and came to tell me to make him stop it.  Sadly, Alf Capone (Used Furniture Dealer) by this time had snuggled himself into the blanket and when I mentioned his name (with a complaining whine to my voice) he gave me one of *those* looks which clearly said “You have NO chance of getting me off this blanket.  EVER”

Alf Capone snuggled down and pretending to be asleep on Belly’s new Christmas Blanket. tsk tsk.

The result of this was – the following day Mr. Cobs and I went back to the shop and bought two more of the blankeys.  Both of them in the same colour as this red one, so that none of our four legs  could tell the difference.  Now all the beds in the Living Room match, and they all look like I’ve mugged Santa.

Now comes a warning.

Meet Sewchi.  (Say it like you’d say Sushi – the Japanese cooked vinegared rice dish, normally combined with other ingredients such as seafood,  vegetables,  etc.  Other rice dishes are available – as they say on TV here in the UK).

The above photograph tells you all you need to know about Sewchi.  She’s not my cat.  She belongs to Daughter No.2.  Well, no, to be really truthful, she actually belongs to Little Cobs (Grandson), son of Daughter No.2 and Son-in-law.  Sewchi was bought for Little Cobs, and he adores her.  He’ll freely tell you that Sewchi is his “bestest fwend”.  But, as the above photograph shows, Sewchi is a few sandwiches short of the full picnic.

 

Little Cobs and his Cat.  Where ever he is, she is.  He loves her, and the feeling is entirely mutual.

Daughter No.2 has now proven what I’ve always suspected  . . .  she, like the cat, has a few screws missing.    Read on, dear reader. Read on.  For this is a story which must be told  . . .

No.2 is married to the handsome SiL, and they have miracle child, who most of you know by the name I call him:-  ‘Little Cobs‘.  She also has a dog and three cats.  I think she’s copying me, but if she’s going to copy anyone then I can’t think of a better person.  (yes, I really am joking).

She loves her animals and looks after them really well.  Tiny tidbits of treats now and again, lovely bedding, special beds, toys, etc.  They aren’t spoilt, but they’re very much loved.

One of the little ‘treats’ she gives her cats is Catnip. Catnip is another name for the herb Nepeta cataria  and  relative of oregano and spearmint.   Nepeta cataria is a pretty common plant, often found along highways.  HOWEVER ….  Don’t feed your cat any wild Nepeta cataria  which you might find along the side of the road, as it could contain an array of pesticides and very harmful chemicals.

There’s a substance in the make up of Catnip which it’s thought mimics a cat pheromone which binds to a cat’s olfactory receptors to produce catnip’s unique response.  The effects of catnip on pets range from arousal to euphoria,  and some cats drool and meow with pleasure.

 You can find more about Catnip  HERE.

No.2 was dishing out a tiny bit of catnip and turned around, forgetting that she’d left the lid off the catnip jar.  Using the photographs that Daughter No.2 took at the time, I’ll help tell the story of

What Happened the Day Sewchi Catnipped Herself!

Sewchi is a truly beautiful British Short-hair Cat with incredible fur of soft, smokey grey.  She really is a bit of a dopey sort of thing.  She behaves and re-acts to things in such comical ways, but her over-riding best character trait is that she’s an amazing friend to Little Cobs, and loves nothing more than to snuggle with him or sit by him while Little Cobs is playing.  However … like a lot of cats, she has a weakness for Catnip.

When she saw that the lid had been left off the Capnip jar she moseyed on over and ….

. . .  stuck her head into the open jar, and took a looooong deeeeeep  sniff.  However, she couldn’t reach it with her nose,  or her tongue, so she tried another way . . .

. . .  this gave her more success (as you can see by the bits on the floor) …  but it still wasn’t satisfactory to her.  So she ‘accidentally’  tipped the jar over.

Ohh, she rolled in it, rubbing her cheeks, her head, her back … everywhere she could rub, she rubbed.  She was so much in pleasure land that eventually,  this happened  . . .

See the pleasure in those paws?  She lay on her back, on a fluffy blanket,  and crashed into pleasureland.  Her feet were curled up all tight and she was so incredibly happy at that moment that nothing on earth could have upset her.  Nothing.  Mummy could have offered her fresh Salmon and she couldn’t have cared less.  She was the most ultimate H.A.P.P.Y.  she could ever have been.  A little later …. she slept it off, peacefully – if ever so slightly drunk.

And now ... she’s looking forward to Father Christmas bringing her own supply of the stuff of her dreams ….  but Mummy doesn’t hold out any hope.  Mummy says that she’s going to be fully in charge of catnip in future.  Sewchi wishes you a very . . .

So … let that be a warning to all you cat people out there.  Don’t expect your cat to be sensible about these things, because sensible doesn’t work when Catnip is involved.  😀  And I’ve learned that any Catnip toys I make for my own four leg family members will have to have very tough seams!

Oh … and it’s not just house cats or domesticated cats who like Catnip . . .

 

I’ve also learned this week:

US scientists calculated that Santa would have to visit 822 homes a second to deliver all the world’s presents on Christmas Eve, travelling at 650 miles a second.

If you have children or Grandchildren visiting or in your home coming up to Christmas day, there is a lovely Google Santa Tracker you can visit, both to track Santa’s progress and also some games to play and various bits and clicks, which you can find  HERE <— CLICK

NEARLY 60 million Christmas trees are grown each year in Europe.

THE word Christmas comes from the Old English “Cristes maesse” meaning “Christ’s Mass”.

KISSING under the mistletoe is thought to spring from Frigga, the Norse goddess of love, who was associated with the plant.

THE highest-grossing Christmas movie is 2000’s How The Grinch Stole Christmas, which has raked in £175m so far.  And … as a little bit of extra information …  I’m actually watching this very film as I type this!

GOLD-wrapped chocolate coins commemorate St Nicholas who gave bags of gold coins to the poor.

THE first Christmas celebrated in Britain is thought to have been in York in 521AD.

Do we have a ‘Christmas spirit’ network in our brains?

A Danish study has identified what could be described as a “Christmas spirit” network in the brain.  The researchers recruited a group of people who celebrate Christmas, and a group who do not.  Using fMRI scans – which detect blood flow in the brain to identify which areas are activated – they investigated which parts of the subjects’ brains responded to be being shown Christmassy and non-Christmassy images. They found that certain areas of the brain were much more highly activated in the festive group than the control group when they were shown the former group of pictures.  The Christmas spirit network exists in the sensory motor cortex, pre-motor and primary motor cortex and the parietal lobule; these areas have been associated with spirituality and recognition of facial emotion, among other functions.

Exchanging Christmas cards could be a form of social-climbing

Far from being an act of generosity, exchange of Christmas cards is sometimes used as an opportunity for social-climbing, as people are more likely to reciprocate card-giving with people they are interested in scoring points with. Previous research has shown that people reciprocate card-giving even with complete strangers. A study conducted in 2000 at West Texas A&M University took this a step further, arranging the exchange of nearly 600 Christmas cards between strangers of different social classes. They found that perception of high status increased the likelihood of a sender getting a response, and the effect was even more pronounced among low-income receivers of the cards. High-status strangers – such as doctors, lawyers and CEOs – received responses for 1 in every 5 cards they sent, with few recipients so much as asking about their identity.

Candy canes used to be “pure white”

Few things say Christmas more than those sugary sticks of red and white deliciousness. There was a time, however, when they weren’t red and white.(Although we imagine they were still pretty tasty.) The familiar Christmas treats started popping up around the 17th century as Europeans started using trees to celebrate the Christian holiday season and made special foods to decorate them with. Candy canes first appeared around 1670 when a cathedral choirmaster would hand out the all-white confections to children to keep them occupied during Christmas mass. While no one knows exactly who gave candy canes their stripes, one (unproven) theory has it that the “J” shape was once meant to stand for Jesus and the three stripes represent the Holy Trinity. (Red is meant to represent the blood of Christ).  Chew over that the next time you bite into a candy cane!

~~~~~~

Mr. Cobs taught me something this week which I didn’t know before and I wondered if you knew this … so I’m including it so that you can quote this over Christmas, and everyone will knocked out by how clever you are.  Not Christmas themed, but ….

Do you know where the ‘sleep tight’ bit came from when you say  “Night night. Sleep tight”?

It derives from the fact that they used to use ropes on beds to support mattresses.  And the tighter the rope, the more comfortable the sleep.  Hence … Night Night,  Sleep Tight.

I’d never heard that before!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few jokes to tell once you’ve had your Christmas Day Sherry …

Knock Knock

Who’s there?

Wayne

Wayne who?

Wayne in a manger…!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Knock Knock

Who’s there?

Oakham

Oakham who?

Oakham all ye faithful…!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Knock Knock

Who’s there!

Anna!

Anna who?

Anna partridge in a pear tree.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Knock Knock

Who’s there?

Igloo

Igloo who?

Igloo Suzie like I knew Suzie!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Q: Whats the difference between the Christmas alphabet and the ordinary alphabet?

A: The Christmas alphabet has Noel.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Q: What do you call people who are afraid of Santa Claus?

A: Claustrophobic.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

What do you call an obnoxious reindeer?

RUDEolph.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Q: What do you call an elf who sings?   . . . . .

A: a wrapper!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Why are Christmas trees so fond of the past?

Because the present’s beneath them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Why does Santa Claus go down the chimney on Christmas Eve?

Because it soot’s him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

and finally . . .

What do reindeer hang on their Christmas trees?

Horn-aments!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

All that is left for me to do now is . . . .   wish you a very happy Christmas.  May Peace fill your home and love fill your heart.  Presents are just such a lovely way of someone showing they love you enough to go to the trouble of shopping with you on their mind.  However, the very greatest gift someone can give you is their time, for in giving their time, they are giving you themselves.  So just because someone might not spend money to say I love and care about you,  if they’re giving you their time, even if it’s just to stop and have a few friendly words at the front gate, then that’s a show of their respect and admiration for you, because, right now it’s a busy time of year, so if they spare a few of their minutes to share with you, then I think that’s the most wonderful, caring gift.

If I could send you a gift, I would send you a box of 365 rolled up little notes and quotes.  One for each day of the coming year.  Each note/quote would be designed to make you smile as you read it.  For I would love to know that I could make you smile even on those days when a smile is the last thing you think you can muster.

Sending you the happiest of Christmas Wishes.  Be good to each other.

Friday Post: Things I’ve Learned this Week

Friday has come around all too quickly in Cobweb Towers. Y’ know . . .  I used to laugh at my Grandma when she said (in her Lancashire accent)  “Eee, the days fly past so quick!  I wake up on a Monday and by the time I’ve had a cup of tea, it’s Friday!”. 

Then as my Mother grew older, she too would say similar things, and I told her that she’d turned into Grandma! 

And now … I’m saying those same things too.  Where has the time gone?  When did I grow ‘old’?   I didn’t notice time slipping by.  Was I too busy?  What on earth was I doing which made me not notice that I was growing older?   I used to laugh about the Grey Hair – I actually even liked it.  It added hi-lights to my dark hair.  But … I swear I’m not actually as old as my birth certificate says  … because I still feel like a child.  My inner child is there in everything I do or say.  Very much in evidence.  When someone is not nice to me, I still cry like a child would.  I have a belief that everyone surely is nice . . .  (and yet … the news tells me a totally different story!).

I used to laugh about me saying things my mother used to say, and I’d tell our two girls:  “Oh my goodness I think I’ve swallowed Nanny!  She’s just popped out of my mouth!”  …  and they’d laugh their funny, chuckling, little girl laughs.

However …  I noticed a few years ago that both of my beautiful daughters had begun to have my  sayings ‘pop’ out of their own mouths, and I’d laugh as I told them to  “be careful girls …. you’re turning into your mother, and you really don’t want that to happen!”.    And yet, it’s the funniest thing –  because,  for some strange reason that I really can’t fathom, they seem to always be just a tiny bit pleased that they’re hearing me ‘pop’ out of their mouths. They hear themselves saying the very things I used to say to them when they were growing up and they appear to like it.  It kind of tickles them in some odd way.   [shakes head and chuckles to self].

Anyhoo …

As I said, it’s Friday and we all know what that means …  it means that I’m sharing with you the things I learned this week.  So … are you ready?  Here goes:-

1.  I learned that the average person falls asleep in 7 minutes. I learned from this that I’m not an average person.  [sigh]  It takes me about an hour, sometimes two and occasionally more than that, to fall asleep.  Don’t feel sorry for me, it’s just me.  Do these people who fall asleep in 7 minutes have nothing they need to think about?
2. I’ve learned that the average chocolate bar has ….  [get ready for this one. . .] . . .  8 insect legs in it.  Oh.  My.  Stars!  Never has anything been such a wonderful dietary aid.
3. The Electric Chair was invented by a Dentist called Alfred P. Southwick..  (Still want to go and get your teeth looked at in that nice comfy dentists chair this week?)  🙂  Mr. Southwick was present on August the 6th, 1890 when a gentleman by the name of William Kemmler was executed by electrocution.  It was reported that Mr. Southwick said:  “There is the culmination of ten years work and study.  We live in a higher civilization from this day.”
4. A cat has 32  YES – THIRTY TWO – muscles in each ear!!!  AND … I also learned that that fold of skin forming a little pouch on the lower part of a cats ear has a name!  It’s call Henry’s Pocket!  Isn’t that just the sweetest thing?! lol.
5. I’ve learned that some Doctors are complete and utter nincompoops.  I shall say no more on this subject, you’ll just have to believe me.
6. And finally we end where we begun;  on the subject of sleeping:  …  I read this on the internet somewhere this week, and it’s been one of those things which has been on a loop inside my head.  So in the spirit of sharing and with a nod to the Olympics  …  I hand the baton to you!

And there you have it.  Things I’ve learned this week.  Not entirely sure what I’m going to do with these ‘facts’ but at least I’m full of … what? …  knowledge? …  things?  …. stuff?  …. well… I’m full of something and it’s not what Mr. Cobs just suggested!!  tsk tsk.  He’ll be spending five minutes on the naughty seat for that little bit of bad behaviour.  If he carries on, I’ll phone his mother, THEN he’ll know what trouble looks like!  🙂  Mrs. Cobs Snr. loves me.  She tells me so every time I speak to her.  (I think she’s just grateful that someone took ‘himself’ off her hands!) fnar fnar.

So …  Is there anything you’ve learned this week?  Maybe some fun stuff?  Or … have you:- Done stuff?  Bought stuff?  Won stuff?  Anything?  I’ll pour the coffee … you tell me about it, and we’ll share a laugh or two between us.

Have a wonderful weekend my friends.  Remember to make a memory as you go about your days.

Heaps of love and squidges from my corner to yours….

 

 

On-line Dating ~ for cats – The Reply

For humans reading this:-

This blog post  ‘On-line Dating ~ for cats – ‘The Reply’  is a response to a feline ‘approach’ from an admirer called Neurotic Cat, (who is the owner of Mrs.P & Beloved).  Who wrote a letter of love to one of my cats : Alfie  ‘Two Toes’  Capone.  If you haven’t read the loving advances of Neurotic Cat,  you can find them on Mrs. P’s blog: Craft Odyssey .  You might want to read Neurotic Cats blog post before you read my own cats reply so that it all makes sense to you.

I hope that this is as much fun for you to read, as it was for me to type.

Of course,  all that you are about to read was dictated to me directly by Mr. Capone himself.  I am merely his personal assistant,  or, as he calls me:  ‘his servament’ ~ . . .  ~ C ❤ bs.

I now hand you over to Mr. Capone – all HIS own words.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Alf Capone’s reply to Neurotic Cat.

Neurotic Cat,  Princess,  …

Your profile has piqued my interest, as has the photograph of you flashing your tummy!

I feel I should let you know somethings about the real ‘me’.  The REAL Alf Capone.  So find yourself a comfy spot and I shall begin;

I was born at an early stage in my life and have now attained the grand age of 4 in human years.  However in cat years I’m now in my prime and aged 35.**

I’m built along the lines of a small Puma,  and stand approximately 38cm (15″) from floor to top of shoulder.

Can you see my snowy  white shirt peeping out of my Tux?

I have a luxurious black fur coat and wear a tuxedo which reveals a hint of white shirt on my muscley chest.

My nickname, ‘Two Toes’,  relates to me having two white toes on my (left) back foot, and was given to me by my human family of ‘servaments’ (servants) when I moved in at 8 weeks old.

See my two white toes?

As I matured I developed kleptomaniac tendencies, often returning home with purloined goods from the neighbourhood, including cat toys, socks, bread rolls, meat from barbeques, long strips of silicon sealant – which I resolutely refuse to divulge where I obtain it from,  and leaving them all as surprise gifts at Mrs. Cobs feet.

I am also a trained Assassin.  Bringing home various dead bodies . . .  of shrews, mice, rats, and even a large, stupid bird, which I later found out was called a pigeon, whose corpse I stashed under Mrs. Cobs chair for her to find.  I’m not sure if the noises she made when she found it were happy ones.  But I was content and that’s all that matters.

Peeping Tom?  No, I’m the Neighbour Watch Chief Officer!

I’m part of the Neighbourhood Watch and like nothing more than keeping an eye on the neighbours through their windows.  “Peeping Tom” is another phrase which has also been used to describe my activities, but I have no understanding of this term.

I like to ambush Mr. Cobs and ‘Bellie’ the K9, as they return from their morning strolls, by laying in wait and leaping out of various driveways as they pass.  I then escort them to the front door to make sure they’re safely home.

It’s a quiet road where I live and the residents know that when I’m lying in the road, then they’d better drive around me – or suffer the consequences.

Look into my eyes.  Not around the eyes, not above the eyes, no, look into my eyes.  You WILL do what I request!.  You are my servament!

I enjoy food, particularly if I go out and come back in again – even if it’s only for two minutes.  I believe I am telepathic, and try to convince Mr. Cobs to feed me by staring into his eyes from a distance of two inches.  If this doesn’t work, I walk onto his tummy with all four feet and stand in front of his face so he can’t watch the TV.  This works every time!

I am partial to cream, ice cream and yoghurt – which I only seem to get in very small amounts from Mrs. Cobs, and only if I lick it off her finger.

The K9 unit.

I lurve the K9 unit, Bellie, but she doesn’t seem to reciprocate it.  I show her my lurve by scent marking her, or as she calls it ‘head butting’,  sucking and padding her blankets and climbing onto her bed with her.  There’s not enough room for us both, so I lay on top of her, keeping her warm, padding,  and digging  my sharp little nails into her, showing how much I appreciate her little, roly poly, warm, soft body.  For some reason she takes umbrage at all of this and grasses me up to Mrs. Cobs as if I’m doing something wrong!  What a nark.

Mrs. Cobs read a poem to me a little while back, and I  liked it so much that I remembered it because I agreed with it whole heartedly,  so I’m going to share it with you:-

Cats Sleep Anywhere

Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair.
Top of piano, window-ledge, in the middle, on the edge.
Open drawer, empty shoe, anybody’s lap will do.
Fitted in a cardboard box, in the cupboard with your frocks.
Anywhere!  They don’t care!  Cats sleep anywhere

Author: Eleanor Farjeon (1881 – 1965)

I’m quite a laid back and can sleep anywhere, and apparently, from photographic evidence which has been submitted to me, in absolutely any position.

Fast asleep

Too big to fit that circular bed on the top of the cat scratching/climbing/sleeping/hiding combination ..  my tail, back legs and bottom are hanging over the edge of the circle bed and from just over half way along my body .. those parts are hanging over the other edge of the circle bed and I’m fitting myself onto what’s available .  Both of the Cobs were heard to say … “THAT cannot be comfortable” … and yet, as you see,  I obviously am!

I  like to put myself to bed.  A trick I learned from the K9 unit.

See?  Like the poem said …  cat’s sleep anywhere!

We have an ‘elder’ in our family.  She’s a black and white feline, who is now 22 in human years, which means she’s attained the great age of  105 years old  in Cat years.  I look out for her.  I am . . .   THE BODYGUARD!

The elder is a good sport and lets me have three-quarters of this bed, while she squidges up in any space left.

I spend a lot of time with her, especially when she’s in the front garden asleep under the Hydrangea bush.

I protect her from any other cats.

If The Elder is out there, I’m there too, guarding and protecting her.  No one DARES to come near her when I’m there.  Not even that  Ginger [expletive deleted]  from over the road!

She’s half my size but … if she wants my food then I let her have it.  She is The Elder.  I know my place.  P.S….  she’s the one who taught me to ask for food every time I go out and come back in the house again.  It works for her and so far, it’s (almost) working for me.

I exercise by chasing my considerably smaller sister round the house, usually around 10.30pm, but also if my food is two minutes late!  I call this: ‘Playing Cowboys and Indians‘.  Mrs. Cobs calls it:  PANDEMONIUM!  I have been known during this game to clear the width of the sofa – from end to end – in just one leap.  Impressive eh?

My sister  –  a.k.a.  Princess Tippy Toes.

This is how Princess Tippy Toes asks for her dinner.  She lays around the kitchen looking pretty.  pffft!

I am aware when Mr. C is about to play on his  X-Box, and five minutes before he goes to play …  I re-locate to his gaming chair. 

Mr. Cobs Gaming Chair. fnar, fnar, fnar.  More like MY Comfy Chair!

I pretend to be asleep and Mr. C doesn’t remove me, so spends his time playing his game, sitting on the floor to play.  He appears to have great difficulty getting up from this position after he’s finished playing.  Watching him and listening to the noises he makes and the muttered imprecations concerning feline behaviour, is absolutely bally hilarious!  But the fun doesn’t end there … for  . . .  as he turns off his game  . . .  I vacate the game chair and go instead to sit with Mrs. Cobs in the living room.  Mr. Cobs appears not to find this aspect of my behaviour endearing.  (He has no sense of humour!)

I’ve got a healthy pink tongue, and, Mrs. C. says, big chubby cheeks which help me to give the bestest cheek rubs ever!

 I’m single, in good health, glossy coat, rippling muscles, eat well and healthily (most of the time) and I’m adventurous.  I’m caring, protective, loving but maintain a real macho facade.  I have great eyes, teeth and claws, and like to help around the house by checking that the carpets are firmly attached to the floor, and that the rugs are in the correct positions.  (Having good claws comes in handy for this job!).  I like to  ‘chill’  in Mrs. C’s craft room, on a big comfy cushion which she’s put on the floor under one of her desks.  It’s a great room.  It’s cool, airy and quiet – apart from Mrs. Cobs continually talking to herself and asking me my opinion on ribbons, bits and bobs and ‘stuff’ – of which I have no interest, unless they fall on the floor.  THEN I’ll have an interest in them.

… an all action shot of me with my Crack Coke  Cat Nip Banana

I have only one vice …. I very much like Cat-Nip.  It gives me a warm, fuzzy, psychedelic feeling and I have been known to seek out my Cat Nip Banana and steal it, even though Mrs. Cobs has hidden it from me!  (How very dare she!)  Mr. Cobs calls it  “Crack Coke for Cats”,  but I don’t know why because I don’t  drink it.

Mrs C asked me to ‘pose’ for a moment so she could photograph my paws.  Apparently they’re big.  Can you see my ‘thumb’ … sticking out from the side?

So Neruo Cat …  if you’re looking for an all action, caring, sharing Hero …  I’m your Cat.

Cheek rubs  ~  Alf.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And there ends The Reply to Neurotic Cat.  I do hope I have typed his every word exactly as he spoke it to me.  🙂

This wonderful, fabulous, loving, quirky, characterful, amazing, magical, gorgeous, friendly (to everyone) , truly beautiful hearted Cat, walked into my life and continually renews the foot prints which he leaves all over my heart.  He’s such fun and so adorable.  Yes, I admit, he does have his moments, but it’s all part of the great stuff which makes him ‘him’!

What he fails to mention in his reply to Neurotic Cat is that he has the ability to see Fairies.  Yes, he really does.  He plays with them when they come out to play in the evening.  He will scoot up and down the hallway, stopping every now and again to sit upright, taking all his considerable weight onto his bottom and back legs, and will reach up for something which cannot be seen with a human eye, but is quite obviously definitely there, and he’ll tap and play in what appears to be empty air, using soft paws (no claws), and everyone looking on can see that there is no fly or midge ..  so what the divil is he playing with?  What is it which is keeping this stunning creature amused in the way he is?  After perusing all the options,there is only one answer to this question.  He’s playing with Fairies.  Fairies which only he can see.   They must come into the cottage through the Fairy door we have to the side of our own front door. Yes, we really do have a fairy door there.   You don’t believe me?  … take a look …

Can you see it?

Now can you see it?

Have a wonderful Thursday my fabulous blogging friends. –

**To convert cat age to an equivalent human age, an accepted method is to add 15 years for the first year of life. Then add 10 years for the second year of life. After that, add 4 years for every cat year. This means that by year two, a cat has matured to about the same as a 25-year-old human.  There is a website which will work it out for you: www.CalculatorCat.com .

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On Line Dating …For Cats

Dearest fabulous followers and magnificent readers of the Cob Blog,  …  Mrs.P, who’s a wonderful mummy to a cat (and a rather handsome dog),  happened to come across the post I made some time back, about one of my furry craft room companions;  Alf Capone.  (aka Alfie-pops – DON’T tell him I told you that though). (Link to the original post by me HERE. it will open in a new window/tab for you to read when you wish )

Mrs.P. must have not noticed at the time that her cat, who’s name is: Neurotic Cat, had been perusing the screen as Mrs. P. was reading.  Well.. while her mum was off doing other things, Neurotic Cat did the following…..

Life At The Cottage On The Green

Have you ever had the experience of perusing posts when BOOM an image of what could be the love of your life appears on screen ??? There was I peeping at Cobs blog when I saw him ..Mr Alf,

Go on admit it …isn’t he just the Bees – knees

I was going to be all lady like and wait for his slave Mum to make an introduction on my behalf ..then I though ” I’m a modern Woman … I can handle this myself” so I’m taking things into my own hands, so here is my online dating profile :-

My name is Neurotic Cat, I’m a dainty 6 yr old  black ‘ghost tabby’ complete with a white bib & tummy, I have a meow on par with a car alarm …which is a good thing when you require the attention of the highest calibre, I also have  healthy…

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