O.M.G!

Small polar bear with more muscles.

God, I'm happy.

How's my posing?

My life as a cushion.

Itchy-kitchy-coo? - don't you dare touch me.

Room for one adult in there? Please?

Sleeping cosily together are Trevor, Morriss and their brother whose name I can't recall. I gave them all back to the cat home soon after, as I was worried my girlfriend wouldn't like living with cats (I got them while she was away). Actually, she had no objection so I went back and chose two of them back again. Why not three? I'll never understand. Stupid decision. Morriss lived until he was 8, and died of some horrible cat illness and Trevor, well, he made it to 18.

Wicked.

Devil (on the left), and Angel. I remember little about Devil except that he was run over and killed when he was a kitten still, and Angel, well, she broke my heart by disappearing as soon as her broken leg had healed - it cost me a small fortune in vet fees.

I'm Trevor. And I'm Morriss. Now get lost.

Trevor, on the right, or is it left? I can't tell them apart at this age, lived until he was 18, and was, I claim modestly but with sufficient grounds, possibly one of the Top 10 Cats Of All Time.

Only a man could lie like that

Border Patrol

Off to explore the world.

I rule.

So Alfie, watch me and learn how to inflict the maximum destruction.

So, this is how I get her mad. You take her most valuable plant and stretch right up and scratch the thing to pieces. It's always a laugh. You go and try over there.



You've got it - now get shredding, start on her sofa.

Checked out the accommodation - it's not up to scratch.

Well, as it's not intended for you I'm glad you found it wanting.

Right, where's the carpet, where's the underfloor heating... what a slum!

This is Alfie, my neighbour's kitten checking out the luxury fittings in the cat house I built on my garden bench last week, and which I promised my wife I would remove, but which now has a bedroom extension, thermally lined, to the right of the sheltered porch. Harley, the white cat who is supposed to hang out there, has no interest in the bedroom extension, which is a pity as I have a kitchen and wine cellar planned leading straight off the bedroom. After all, he's a bachelor.

My plastic bag world

My house. My way.

So basically what we have here (see below) is the veranda or porch, and if you take a peek to the right inside you'll see a thermally-lined and cushioned bedroom that opens out onto the veranda. Unfortunately I'm too weird to actually sleep in the bedroom and prefer to freeze out here on the porch. Despite the effort that young man went to to build and craft me such a cosy little container.

I'm on a diet.

Well, who did you expect to find sleeping in the recycling bag anyway?

I think her name is Blondie. She has decided, with no encouragement from me whatsoever, I must add, to adopt our paper recycling bag in the outhouse as a warm and toasty place to curl up in for the night.

Less Windy City

I added a veranda to the housing project (the part on the left) and a small cardboard door, also on the left, to keep the worst of the bitter winds out. To the right, swathed in orange protective plastic, is the cat box I use to take Yoshka to the vet. It is now lined with thermal reflective material, cushions and a blanket.

The idea was this: Harley sleeps in the cat box, all cosy and warm during the night, and in the morning steps out onto his veranda to greet the morning. Maybe with a cup of tea.

He has refused to go near my lovingly-crafted cat house since.

Golden autumnal leaves, azure blue skies, falling cat

Autumn camouflage

Windy City

I rebuilt the temporary homeless cat hostel on the garden bench to include extra cushions on the side, but worried it might be too small for him now. "Do you think he'll find it too tight?", I asked my wife, who's basically had it up to here with my cat nonsense. "Why don't you hand him a complaints form?" (Dear feline customer, as you know, excellence has always been paramount going forward as we strive to meet our target for housing deliverables.)

Worried about my future...

This Tin Roof is not Hot, it's only Warm - get my agent.

Neighbourhood watch duty

Harley goes undercover

Now that I have permission from the owner to look after him a bit more, even let him into my house (which I won't - yet), Harley needed some protection from the rain. He loves sleeping on a cushion on the garden bench, and remains there all day, even in the pouring rain. He loves the outdoors. So I interfered anyway, and made a hasty protection canopy out of a heavy cardboard box and a prop. He looks happy, and I can sleep easier as a result.