Truffles' Diaries , livre ebook

Andrews UK - Sheila Collins

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63 pages

English

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Truffles is no ordinary cat - in fact she would claim that she is very special indeed, and who would dare to argue with her? Her nineteen plus years of observing human behaviour, often mystifying and comical, have equipped her with all the wisdom and cunning necessary to use the human environment and its two-legged inhabitants to her best advantage and, as is the ambition of all cats, she has learnt how to make her existence as comfortable as possible. In this diary Truffles allows us to take a very privileged peek through her discerning eyes as she describes her thoughts and day-to-day activities (or lack of them!) Written in three weekly parts, the first from when she approaches her milestone sixteenth birthday followed up by catch-ups over the next two years, Truffles also recounts an assortment of amusing, true anecdotes from her past involving her feline and canine pals, but with the last laughs most often being on the hapless humans. What is quite clear is that twenty-first century cats are a far superior species in terms of getting what they want, when they want and with the minimum amount of effort, and the very humanised Truffles is no exception. She has her human carers well trained to carry out their expected feline-orientated duties to her exacting standards, is always one step ahead of them and knows exactly which buttons to press to get the desired effect... which only goes to prove that it is a cat's life after all!

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	17 juin 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781907792670
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0300€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Title Page

TRUFFLES’ DIARIES

The Memoirs and Mewsings of a Fat Tabby Cat

by
Sheila Collins

Publisher Information

First published in 2008 by Apex Publishing Ltd
PO Box 7086, Clacton on Sea, Essex, CO15 5WN, England
www.apexpublishing.co.uk

Digital Edition converted and distributed in 2011 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com

Copyright © 2008 by Sheila Collins
The author has asserted her moral rights

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition, that no part of this book is to be reproduced, in any shape or form. Or by way of trade, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, be lent, re- sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser, without prior permission of the copyright holder.

Cover Design: Siobhan Smith
Illustrations: Sheila Collins

Foreword

Anyone who has owned an ageing, fat, spoiled cat will immediately recognise the one in this book. Truffles is confident in her human slaves, snoozing on the sun warmed patio of her Cornish home and reminiscing about past events. When you read these feline memoirs, you will recognise some of the cast of four legged creatures but there are some new additions in the shape of several new kittens next door.
My own cats, Pugwash the Second and Arbuthnot would just love this book. What a pity they can’t read - or then again perhaps not. They might learn too much about controlling humans!

Ann Widdecombe

May I Introduce Myself...

Hello people, my name is Truffles and it seems pretty cool at the moment to write a diary - how popular are Bridget Jones and Adrian Mole? Before I start, though, just some background information so you will realise that I am, in fact, rather an important cat...
I am now fifteen years and eleven months old, so I’m looking forward to a big celebration when, in a week from now, I reach the magic age of sixteen - roughly comparable to about eighty in human years. I’m pretty sure that my personal humans who look after me are planning something nice for the occasion. They do try their best and generally we get on well, but sometimes they can be so obtuse about things that to me seem simple to understand.
My humans’ names are Sheila and Peter and I have lived with them since I was six weeks old when they collected me, together with my friend Tansy, from a refuge centre where we had been taken. I can’t remember my kittenhood prior to that time and I feel it was probably quite traumatic so I have never tried to relive it.
Tansy and I were picked by Sheila and Peter, I’ve always assumed, because we stood out as the best looking of the bunch. I have an immaculate tabby coat in variegated stripes of co- ordinating shades of browns and tans and I can say that, even now that I admit to middle age starting to creep on, my coat is as thick and glossy as ever. Tansy, on the other hand, wore a rather ordinary catsuit in black and white longish fur, but in my opinion it was rather sparse. Still, she had a very cute little face and I suppose that’s what attracted Sheila and Peter to her as well as me.
At first, and indeed for about fourteen years or so, we lived in a house with a very large garden, and even a woodland lake, in the heart of Cornwall. It was a paradise for cats. Apart from Tansy and yours truly we also had three other feline pals living with us - Lucky, a rather nice boy in a pale shade of ginger and white and Taro, a rather snooty aristocat, who claimed famous ancestors, and he did, I must admit, have rather unusually soft fur in trendy shades of cream and seal colour. Tansy and I often rather envied him his haute couture coat when the new season’s feline fashions came out. Last but not least, there was dear Robbie, another ginger and white boy who, sadly, had only one eye.
We all got on moderately well, though Lucky was always my favourite and if he asked me nicely I did allow him to share my basket and keep my back warm. He always had rather a crush on me which was flattering, and I was not averse to the odd edible gifts he would bring me. He may have had thoughts at one time of even daring to propose, but I soon steered him off that track as both Tansy and I had become celibate right from our time in the refuge. Still, it was nice to have his adoration and I used to notice that Robbie and even snooty Taro watched me with a certain amount of longing (you can tell you know) whereas they both treated Tansy as a naughty younger-sister kitten.

Lucky, my hero!

We had quite a houseful in those days as, apart from we five cats of all different shapes, sizes and colours, we also had to endure two other major irritations! One was a large St Bernard dog called Hennessy who was for ever loping around and shaking off his fur all over us and drooling over our heads when he felt affectionate. The other was the sound of a large, foul-mouthed blue and yellow Macaw called Geronimo who made our eardrums rattle with his screeching. To complete the menagerie, there were tropical fish in a glass tank indoors and outdoor fish in the pond. The indoor variety seemed unreal to we cats, but we did have a bit of fun stalking and frightening the ones in the pond.
Now, sadly, all my old pussy companions are gone, and I even shed a tear when the slobbery old dog went to that big kennel in the sky, but I must admit I wasn’t too sad when that wretched Macaw moved on to a place full of other Macaws and screeching parrots - how absolutely ghastly that place sounds!
So the humans and I have now moved to another house in a different part of Cornwall. I must admit I do like it here and of course I am now the sole kingpin - or should I say queenpin - in the new house, and I make quite sure that my carers never neglect their duties as far as my welfare is concerned. I like to think they enjoy looking after my diet, coiffure and litter tray, and I expect - and get - lots of pampering too. I am satisfied that they know my rules by now.
I make sure I take good care of myself by getting plenty of sleep and only eating healthy, life prolonging food. I never exert myself more than is absolutely necessary (why keep servants and do things yourself?) and I do make sure I test their patience from time to time - you must keep humans up to the mark at all times!
Anyhow, now you know something of how I came to be here today so I hope you will find some pleasure in reading my diary for the week. It may even inspire you to keep one yourselves.

My Week

Early Summer 2004

Sunday

8.30am
Was awakened from a rather nice dream - I was chasing a mother mouse and her three babies - by Peter stumbling down into the kitchen where I sleep. At least I do get a lie-in on Sundays as normally he rudely awakens me at the unearthly hour of 6.30am on weekdays - something about going out to earn money, whatever that is.

8.35am
Found myself propelled towards the back door, my personal cat flap opened, and before I knew it I was through it and standing out on some dewy grass. He always does this to me - I tell you, would you like to take off your fur-lined knicks in wet grass early in the morning? Of course not!

8.36am
I came back in.

8.37am
Went on cat litter and performed. I like to see Peter’s face when I do this. I particularly took the time to scuff up the litter so that quite a lot fell over the sides of the litter tray and onto the carpet. Then I sat and watched as he brushed it up into a dustpan and then made the top of the cat litter nice and clean and flat again. He was muttering a few words under his breath that I normally wouldn’t like to hear in public, but when he glanced at me I gave him an encouraging nod and he got on with it and it was soon cleaned to my exacting standards once more. I don’t know why he always ‘kicks’ against doing this particular little task - it is, after all, quite clearly detailed in his job description.

8.50am
Now it was time for my weekly appointment with the furdresser. (This, again, is another ‘hat’ Peter wears.) He is quite good at styling my fur. Of course he’s done it for years and he knows exactly how I like it. I’ve never been able to do my own fur - Tansy, if I recall, used to do hers quite stylishly, generally with a few carelessly placed knots in it, but Peter always then came along and undid all her handiwork. At this time of year I always shed a lot of excess fur and this, too, doesn’t always go down well with the carers - they seem to take it as a personal affront if it settles on the sofa and Sheila sometimes utters those same words I heard Peter say earlier if she finds some of my fur on her skirt. I can’t think why. I would have thought they would have been pleased to have gained some nice fur - after all, they don’t seem to have any themselves. Well, my fur coiffing went quite well so I had no need to scratch Peter this week.

9.15am
Decided to have some breakfast. I wish I could choose my own food. Generally I like what they give me, but if I eat a meal up quite quickly they keep repeating that menu as they think I really love it. Not true - I like variety and trying new tastes. I now tend to eat a little at a time and make the plate last most of the day until refill time. However, no food is wasted in this household - there is an eager mouth ready to devour everything I leave (more of that later!) T