Why oh why do humans always have to spoil things? Life here was comfortable, reasonably predictable and more peaceful since my sister departed this life in May. Food service is regular if bit tardy. I have them tutored in supplying finest cheddar, butter, raw steak mince and diced chicken. The Aga is kept swaddled for my convenience- wouldn’t want me singeing my tail after all.
It started with the dog I suppose. They say its not his fault he is poorly. Well its him that smells strange so I think its his fault. I had to do some swift spraying to put my world to rights while his hormones wavered. She’s had him to a homeopath and he has bothered me less since.
Then HE decided they would go away for a weekend and leave my care to some small high-pitched child and his mother. I suppose she was alright. She fed me regularly anyway and kept my Aga dragon happy and stinky dogs bathed. I even let said child close to me now and then.
Then my family came back. With two furry interlopers. Jimi, my fellow house-feline shrugged his porky shoulders. “They are just kittens”, said he, “we can teach them”. He can if he likes. I am too busy guarding my dinner dishes and snoozing spaces. The one they call Spots is the worst. He had the cheek to snaffle my chicken breast breakfast today. Then came the last straw. The young blighter (I can’t say little because he is bigger than I am) started to walk across the Aga shelf. That did it. I have tried to be tolerant, if only because it gave me a coughing fit to hiss, but I could not let that one go. I launched myself at him, doing my best stiff-legged mini Aga dragon impersonation and cornered him under the table. I won’t tell you what I called him, you can guess. Let me say only that he dares not look at me now and slinks from my gorgeous emerald gaze. No-one gets to sleep on my Aga. I am Tiddler, the AGA dragon’s friend. The Aga is mine.