I've got a new dealer.

All drug users need reliable dealers and it can be tricky finding the good stuff. Some of the catnip sold in pet shops has been cut with artificial chemicals. Indeed some sell sprays that are entirely artificial. I don't go along with the idea that catnip can be safely made in laboratories. I don't do the stuff in cans. It's too hard line for me and I don't trust it.
What I enjoy doing is organic pure and natural catnip, made into small bundles with a bit of string attached so I can pull it around. That's exactly what came through the post the other day. My new dealer, called Maureen, lives in Lancashire, rescues cats for Cats Protection. That's one of her rescue cats, Duffy, in the picture. (There are more on www.prestoncpl.com ) He looks a bit like me - not quite so handsome, of course.
Maureen makes a mean catnip mouse. I mean she calls it a mouse. It is actually a little sack with a string attached. Mmmmm. I took a good long sniff and it went down well. I could feel it hit my lungs and that curious feeling of irresponsibility and crazy kittenhood, began to course through my body.
Non drug users won't know what I mean. Some cats stay clean and sober all their life. They just don't get turned on by the stuff. But catnip users know these clean and sober cats are missing a lot. I clasped the new mouse in my front paws and lay on my back and thought all sorts of weird deep thoughts. Then I scrabbled with my back legs, chewed it, thrust my nose as near to it as I could and inhaled. Of course I inhaled. Don't believe those cats that say they didn't inhale. If you don't inhale, you don't get the hit and where's the point in that?
William, who was peeved that I monopolised both the mice, told me I should join Catnip Anonymous. He thinks I've got a drug problem. He's very judgemental but I know for a fact he likes a sniff on the side, when he can get it. He hides his drug using. I am open about mine. Who's the addict, then?
Phwoar....that catnip.

George cheated... he tried to take credit for my weasel

This is my weasel. I, William the bold hunter, caught it. Over the years I have caught several. It takes skill. They are very fierce, fast moving and, if you get it wrong, they can give a very vicious bite. They go for the throat. Luckily, I have never yet got it that wrong. This one I caught the other day, and left on the lawn. Because I was brought up without a cat flap I don't bring prey inside. (It's difficult enough doing the cat flap without trying to do it with a mouse or a weasel in my mouth. I only got the hang of it a couple of years ago when Celia installed one for the first time.)
Anyway I caught the weasel. I brought it home. Placed it on the lawn to admire it. (You don't eat weasels unless you are starving.) And what happened? George bagged it and brought it through the cat flap and deposited it in the dining room. Celia and Ronnie came back to find it. "Look what George has done" she crooned. "He's caught a weasel. He's such a good hunter." I felt sick to my stomach at this betrayal.
It was left to Ronnie to put her right (as he often does). "Nonsense. George may have brought it in, but William caught it," he said stoudly defending my hunting prowess. I like Ronnie. We have a man to man relationship.
To mark my skill, they put it back on the lawn and took this picture. Not every cat can catch a weasel. George for one can't. He's just a rotten cheat.

Where's the best place to leave this dead mouse?

I have been inspired by Smudge's last comment to tackle the question of where is the best place to leave a dead mouse - in order to delight or horrify our humans. I suggest the following possibilities:
1. At the side of the bed, where the human foot will land on it as a human gets up in the morning.
2. Floating in the lavatory.
3. In a bedroom slipper, concealed so that it will only be discovered when toe meets mouse.
4. Under the human's pillow near the nightdress.
5. On the pillow at night just near the human nose.
6. In the shower
7. In a handbag.
8. In an envelope file on the desk.
9. Inside a filing cabinet.
10. In the toaster. Only one mouse at a time. If you have a human who only toasts one piece of bread this has the possibility of toasted mouse first thing in the morning.
Any more you can think of? The aim is maximum surprise and human emotional reaction. All contributions in comments please.

Major TV network reads this blog.

I blogged the floods with a picture (blog below this one) and gave my survival tips. NBC, the major (and best) American TV network, read it and sent a camera crew to do those ridiculous labradors.....
I've been on the TV, of course, before this. But not on camera.
Maybe a presenter's job beckons...

How to survive flooding - take to the beds

Rain, thunder, stormy winds and floods hit Oxfordshire. I did the only thing a cat can do. I found a nice dry place and settled down to sleep through the crisis. William and I took to the beds, not the boats, as sensible cats do in these circumstances. I bet that the two cats in Noah's Ark were tucked away somewhere warm sleeping out the journey - perhaps behind the Aga in the Ark kitchen.
I expect Noah had trouble with the dogs, specially if they were labradors. What ridiculous creatures they are. During the flood they were jumping in and out of the water, getting in the way, and generally enjoying the crisis. (You can just see them in the picture). They could have got on with rescuing cats from drowning but instead they went chasing after balls and making fools of themselves. But when they left the water and shook themselves all over their humans, they gave me an idea I hadn't thought of before.
We napped and the rain pounded down for hours. We gave up going outside and started using the litter trays. After all, that's why they are there. Who wants to venture out in driving rain or sink paws into the wet earth in the soaked kitchen garden? There were small floods on the paving just outside the cat flap, larger pools near the garage and a lake near the garden shed. The pond overflowed, as usual, and the garden was boggy throughout.
Later, when the storm became a little less fierce, I ventured out, got very wet and rushed back inside. This was the only fun moment in the day. I leapt on to Ronnie's lap and shook myself. His reaction was gratifyingly extreme - loud shouts of "Get that bloody cat off me."