So, who wants to help ... to rattle on in the cellar?


Another cheering Fishy on

Waaay too techie for me

Slammers however I can manage


It could be worse… At least I am not being aided by leopards!


I’m sure Twellsie would happily lend you some…


I would pay someone to take them at the minute

2 feckin hours to paint one hand’s nails!!!

Then 2 hours for the other hand!

As for capturing all the loose silver stars that come in a bottle to apply as you wish on wet polish well I suppose they will eventually all turn up and be hoovered

And I tell you never ever try a bitter chocolate colour of polish when leopards are helping in their own unique way

Nail polish is meant to be for nails not the bare leg you are resting the hand to be adorned on


Have you considered the possibilities that closing the door offers?


Ever tried wrangling leopards and moggies Fishy dear one?

Getting 5 felines on the other side of a door to their human who may be doing interesting things is a near impossibility

And you know the sort of stable door latches that have a bit you press with your thumb to lift the latch on the other side to open the door?

We have numerous of these

Leopards open them with eas

So the Bull got fed up with leopards helping with cooking

He drilled through the door and used a pencil to stop the latch lifting

The dear snow boy has nearly but not quite(yet) managed to pull the locking pencil out

Gawds help anyone who assumes leopards are not intelligent…




too ot

if anyone wants me i shall be roosting in the fridge


Bless yer innercence, Fishy. If a door is shut and a cat wishes to be on the other side of it, that happens, even if it requires dispersion and reassembly at the molecular level.

Which reminds me of a colleague who came back very depressed from various eye tests which had raised the possibility of, she said, ‘molecular disintegration’. It was not easy to keep a straight and sympathetic face. Fortunately, she turned out not to have macular degeneration after all. (Neither did she explode any more than was her wont.)


An Tip for you, Twellsy. Have a little dish with a couple of big dauds of cotton wool saturated with your favoured polish remover to hand. IME cats hate the smell of it. And they can be deployed with tweezers to mop up any leg spillage.

The cotton wool bits, I mean, not the leopards. Obviously.


“Side effects may include: accelerated proton decay.”


Not in my house, dearie. Cats living in the same house as me know that I am in fact the boss, who will feed them if they are good.


Well, all I can say is that you must have had an unfortunate succession of Incompetent cats. Pah! Mrs B. Cat sniggers into her whiskers at you.


I took Beverly Nichols as my model in the matter.


Never a wise move, dear Fish, in any context.


I admire a man whose cats had learned to obey simple commands, such as “down” and “basket”, and who, because he had to invent names all the time for his work as an author and he was bored with doing so, called his cats “One”, “Two”, “Three”, “Four” and so on.


Not sure a lack of imagination is that admirable a quality. And do you believe him about the commands? I am not at all sure I do.


On which note, from the Telegraph obituary of Norman Painting:

Looking back on their 52-year soap marriage, Patricia Greene said: "We recorded our last scene together on Tuesday. He had been desperately ill for very many years and he was brave as a lion.

“He was absolutely nothing like Phil Archer in his real self. He was more of an academic sort of person, but he threw himself entirely into the part. And he had that farmers’ unsentimentality. He never married but had dogs and goats and rabbits. Once I asked him if the rabbits had names, and he said, 'Yes. Pie One, Pie Two and Pie Three.”


I concur and this fact makes me completely unsuitable as a cat slave. My Siamese Sistas didn’t seem to mind my bossiness.

My stupid neck is being quite shitey, so I’m away to bed. Sweet dreams, all.
Soo xx


Gin, Soo

Bound to 'elp…



Thank you, Chatelaine.
Soo xx