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.
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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
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.
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.
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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 .