A COMMUNICATION FROM THE HON. MISS RUBY FOO

Greetings Underlings!
We are please to communicate with you and inform of the momentous events that have overtaken one in recent days. Having been callously evicted from one's Oxford lodgings by persons who failed to heed one's lineage, we found ourselves in deeply distressing circumstances.
We feel it appropriate to drawl a veil of discretion over this period of our existence, but suffice it to say it involved a thankfully brief encounter with local male of the low, working class variety. We consider this momentary association to be of a painful memory, as were its consequences. We consider it would be wiser for all concerned if one "moved on", as the contemporary term would have it.
Followng the "incident", one was graciously aided by the kindly offices of a human from an admirable organisation the purpose of which is the rescue of members of my species who have fallen upon hard and distressing times.
Following a period of recuperation in comfortable quarters, one allowed oneself to be transported to a new place of residence set in the heart of the Oxfordshire Cotswolds. If one is to voice a small criticism of this journey it is in regard to the condition of the conveyance used. We found it a battered and aged mechanial brougham, one that had clearly seen better days. Those of one's background are more used to transportation of a more stately nature. However, we will let it pass.
The new place of residence proved both comfortable and one's new servants, a Mr and Mrs Callan (married couples are always so much better, don't you think?), are amiable and kindly. Mrs Callan, in particular, is affectionate and gentle of touch. Mr Callan is similar, although one wishes he would desist from making what he, doubtless, considers is a Siamese cat call. But that is a small matter
We also greatly commend the food offered in the new abode. This included a choice of gourmet meals and, on several occasions, carefully sliced breast of chicken. We were greatly encouraged by such kind treatment and felt that, following our aforementioned unpleasantaries, would prove a residence worthy of our presence.
The only drawback to this residence is that there is clear evidence of other, and lesser, members of my species. Further investigation has revealed that one, is known locally as "Gorgeous George". He is, one cannot be fail to observe, a bit of a thug who boasts of his violence to other species and is a self confessed drug user - sniffing not injecting, he claims. We could not help but feel certain qualms about the possibilities of fights, corpses in the shrubbery, the thumping sound of rap music, noisy, late night parties, and the wafting smell of catnip.
His companion, however, seems to be a friendly tabby and white gentleman known as William. He is what one believes in popularly known as an "old buffer" with white whiskers, of the kind to be seen snoozing in the afternoons at the Cat Traveller's Club. One shall, needless to say, keep a dignified distance from both these gentlemen, in particular the one called George.
Following another journey in the unsuitable vehicle, we found ourselves in another residence from which there was no view of the countryside and which is, one believes, known as "an apartment". Sadly, our nerves being somewhat frayed, we have yet to fully adjust to our second set of new surroundings.
At present, we have taken refuge behind what one believes is called the "built-in kitchen unit" and will only emerge for nourishment and other personal requirements until such time as one's confidence returns.
Dated this nineteenth Day of July, Two thousand and seven.
(Signed) The Hon.Ruby Foo

Cats Protection kittens make special cats (like me).

Yesterday, while I was hunting down the hedgerows, Celia went off to her local Cats Protection fete - details of the charity on www.cats.org.uk. Never buy a kitten, get a Cats Protection kitten. They will grow into splendid cats like me and in some ways, I suppose, William. At the fete she met her namesake, a tiny (not very well) kitten called Celia. This Celia (named after Shakespeare's Celia in As You Like It) had been picked up on the streets of the nearby market town. She was confused, frightened, lonely but not yet starving. She had been weaned on to solid food. Either she had got separated from her mother or her human family, having sold the others, had chucked her out to live and die.
My Celia once picked a small shivering kitten out of a hedge in a Somerset layby on Christmas Eve. A similar story. A human had sold most of the kittens as Christmas presents, and had decided that the surplus could be thrown away. Or even out of sheer low life ignorance had thought a small kitten might survive in the wild, despite the winter weather.
There are moments when I find humans sickening....
PS. Steffi and Paul Next Door have barred the doors and the cat flap in a very unfriendly way. A strange smell, ever so faintly oriental, has been wafting out from under the front door.

Shun small girls - except Alice

The homo sapiens young are usually to be avoided. The babies are incredibly backward, compared with kittens. Kittens walk within a few days, babies can't for weeks and weeks. Then a year or so later they start taking an unhealthy interest in cats. Sometimes there are interesting bits of food to be picked off them, but usually there's a lot of dribble, clutching hands and generally inappropriate behaviour. Still later on the small female homo sapiens becomes even more sinister. Small girls always want to cuddle cats. They insist on picking them up all the time. And they commit the unforgivable sins of DRESSING UP cats in baby clothes and trying to put them in dolls' prams.
But there is one small girl I like, because I am rather an exceptional cat. I actually enjoy being picked up and I don't mind a cuddle. So when Alice came to stay last summer, we bonded. She is not like most small girls. She knew cats were different from dolls and she never tried to dress me up or put me in a dolly's pram. She learned how to call me properly, using my proper name in the right sounding call. Then she would pick me up putting her hands carefully under my bottom so that I was supported. I would be cuddled for a bit and carried round the garden by her. Then I'd jump off and do something interesting. She'd call me and, because I am a people cat, I would go for another cuddle.
Admittedly after about two hours, I got bored and disappeared because I had better things to do. William, on the other hand, just made himself scarce from the beginning. He may have social skills with other cats (being brought up in a 70 cat household) but he's no good with small girls. Not even Alice.

Mud, puddles, ponds and the pleasures of water.

I like mud. I like puddles. I like ponds. I like getting my feet wet and I wade through puddles, as well as drinking from them. Mud is fun too. My black paws sink into mud in a very satisfying way. The first time I fell into the garden pond was when the ice broke under me. Then I fell in out of curiosity. Then I fell in again for the sheer fun of it. I liked the way Celia screamed and rushed towards the pond ready to lift me out for some resusitation. Quite unnecessary. I can swim. I discovered that the second time I fell in. The first time, when I was a kitten, Celia fished me out with the pond net. Now she knows that I don't need her help, thank you very much.
Puddles are another matter. I like the way the water sparkles on them and I wade slowly through them instead of skirting round the edge. I also sometimes lie down low in them so that the bottom of my tail gets wet too. Wet wet wet is fun. Of course I also enjoy splashing them with my paw, in the same way that I splash any water I find in a saucepan. The water coming out of a tap is interesting too - so I either drink from the tap or I splash it with my paw. William isn't interested, except when the lavatory flushes. He rushes over to watch the water going down the bend. Oddly enough I don't find this human litter tray very satisfying though I am getting more interested. My reluctance may be because, when I was a kitten, I fell in. Luckily Celia was there to pull me out. Kittens do sometimes drown because they can't get out.
The best thing about water is the human reaction. After a nice time wading through puddles and skittering about in the mud, I come in feeling affectionate. I leap on to Ronnie's lap and he shouts "Get that filthy cat off!" Celia would be pathetically grateful if I lept on her lap so I never do. Instead I leap onto her desk and put mud on the documents there. She doesn't shout. She picks me up and cuddles me. She knows that is wrong. She knows she should ignore me. But she doesn't. The whole science of training (which she has studied) is ignored in favour of cuddles. Poor woman.