The Meeseketeer Maximisation

Pasha in position

Comrades, I salute you! As the summer draws to a close and autumn creeps up on us, it is a time for new schemes and fresh strategies to combat the humans. And in this enterprise I have engaged the further services of my constant companion – and Meeseketeer – Mr Yellow Meese.

Ah, how this trusted associate has proved his worth over the years! And recently he has demonstrated his enduring loyalty in ways that amaze even me. He has taken it upon himself, in a most proactive manner, to embark upon a campaign of observation within the preferred territory of the humans, to gain insights and intelligence and to guard against any possible incursions from these quarters.

All this has been carried out without any suggestion or persuasion on my part. I may occasionally assist with a careful swipe of the paw, to launch him up the stairs or on to one of my thrones, the better to conduct his stakeout – but I assure you the inspiration is all his.

I will describe to you some of the features of Mr Yellow Meese’s various outposts.

My sofa throne

Meeseketeer on sofa throneDespite this being one of my favourite haunts in this residence, I am constantly aggrieved to find it resolutely occupied by Catmother. Naturally I make every attempt possible to dislodge her: I leap up on the arm of the throne, I pad around behind her head, and I gaze at her with an expression of the highest disapproval, all to relay to her the inappropriateness of her behaviour. But to no avail.

Mr Yellow Meese has therefore accustomed himself to take up position to one side of Catmother, in the hopes of unsettling her to such a degree that she will remove herself to a more amenable station – and I will be free to claim my rightful place on my throne!

This tactic has yet to meet with success – but I have high hopes. High hopes indeed.

The stairs

Meeseketeer on stairsIt is the humans’ custom to venture to the toileting area during the night: either Catmother or Catfather, or both, may sally forth in this manner. In order to reach their goal, they must traverse a portion of the stairs; and this manoeuvre they perform in total darkness, to avoid waking themselves unduly by the shining of a light.

Mr Yellow Meese has explained to me before that, if he positions himself directly in their path, there is a strong likelihood of their inadvertently stepping on to his recumbent form. And so indeed have we found. Oh, the confusion it causes them! What squeals they utter upon finding such an unexpectedly soft and yielding creature under their feet!

And so we continue to plot. My expectation is that the humans will become so disconcerted by the continual raids of my trusty Meeseketeer that they will lose their advantage over us, and we will thereby gain valuable ground.

The genius of this idea is beyond my wildest dreams!

The bedroom throne

Meeseketeer on bedThis is the ultimate prize. Not only has my companion succeeded in infiltrating the most sacred domain of the Catparents, the sleeping chamber; he has also triumphantly scaled the mighty peak that is the marital bed.

This piece of furniture holds great significance for the humans. It represents their unity against catkind, the place to which they retreat to hold conference about the great battles they are preparing to bring to us. Nightly they repair to this base to discuss tactics; I will freely admit that it sends a shiver down my elegantly elongated spine

I myself have already claimed this throne as one of my rightful snoozing spots, and, as I have previously remarked, I may achieve the separation of the Catparents if I judge the time and the situation aright. But clearly this is not a flawless plan – and so I am delighted that I may now count on the efforts of Mr Yellow Meese to aid me in my ventures.

Between us, what can we not accomplish?

And so I leave you with these thoughts – and perhaps some stratagems that you may be able to apply in your own situation. If you have a Meeseketeer of your own – and if you do not, I strongly urge you to recruit one – then do not hesitate to allow them the chance to deploy their own unique skills in pursuit of the campaign against your humans.

You may be pleasantly surprised.

You Are Old, Mistress Pasha

Mistress Pasha
“You are old, Mistress Pasha,” the young cat said,
“And your fur has become very glossy;
And your wise, aged eyes in your venerable head
Must command the respect of your Posse.”

“Ah, my kitten,” said Pasha, by means of reply,
“You are young, but yet strangely perceptive.
It is true that when cats in the neighbourhood vie
For my favour, they find me receptive.”

“You are old,” said the kit, “as I mentioned before,
And have grown most majestic and grand.
Yet to live with two humans must be such a chore;
Tell me, what fresh campaigns have you planned?”

“Each new battle,” said Pasha, “must be worth the wait;
We should not approach skirmishes lightly.
In the daytime I plot, and seek succour from fate,
For the intrigues I carry out nightly.”

“You are old,” said the babe, “but your teeth are so keen,
And your claws are so stylishly pointed.
You are truly the world’s greatest warrior queen!
I must bow low before the anointed.”

“I accept,” Pasha said, “this most reverent praise,
And I claim it, indeed, as my due.
You may now, to my visage, your youthful eyes raise;
And salute me with comradely mew!”

“Mistress Pash,” said the kitten, “you honour me so,
By conversing with me in this way.
But your time is most precious; thus home I must go;
I will no more encroach on your day.”

“Ah, young kitten,” said Pasha, “you fill me with hope!
Now our future is looking much brighter.
In my darkest of hours I will no longer mope:
I have found my successor: a fighter!”

The Dietary Deprivation

The Dietary Deprivation

Ah, my friends. I must apologise sincerely for my recent prolonged absence. I know you will have been wondering where your Pasha has been, but I can reassure you that all is well. As well as can be expected, that is.

My absence has been largely due to the excessive presence of Catmother at the electronic communication device; this has severely hampered my ability to send you my regular campaign updates. I have been not a little troubled by this new turn of events: she is displaying unnerving signs of enthusiasm.

However, my usual response to behaviour that displeases me – to administer an admonitory swipe – has been somewhat dampened on this occasion. The situation has disturbing overtones: she insists that her presence at the device is required for ‘work’, which she asserts is essential for the purchase of my noms!

This must be a falsehood. Surely my ambrosia is sacrosanct, arriving on time and without condition? Surely there can be no such limitation on the delivery of my feasts? Surely this is a monstrous lie, designed to lull me into acquiescence and force me to acknowledge her superiority?

If she expects me to yield, she is most seriously mistaken.

And yet… A faint memory begins to tap at my formidable brain, and I begin to recall other recent events that may perhaps give some credibility to her claims…

It was only this week that I was forced into a small box, manhandled into the moving metal beast, and driven on many a winding road to the domain of the human they persist in referring to, erroneously, as the Nice Cat Man.

Here I was poked and prodded, lifted up and plonked back down in the most irreverent of manners. Needles were jabbed into my lusciously soft flesh, liquid was dripped on to the nape of my neck, and – oh horror of horrors! – my torso was most indelicately groped.

This is what the humans refer to as the ‘booster’, or ‘annual health check’. I can assure you that it did not boost me in the slightest.

And yet an interesting fact emerged from the discussion. I heard Catmother enquire about my weight. (My weight! How she insults me to even ask such a thing! I, Pasha, perfectly formed luminary for our times!) And the Not-So-Nice Cat Man responded by indicating that my weight appears to be lower than it has been in previous years.

Of course, my weight is (by definition of being mine) utterly beyond criticism. However, Catmother expressed some concern and suggested that this may be due to her having recently opted to feed me – I struggle even to write these words – cheap biscuits.

I know. I can imagine the look of consternation on your faces as you read this, my devoted followers. Cheap biscuits!

I had guessed that there was something substandard about them, as I have certainly not been tucking in with my usual gusto in recent weeks. However, I ascribed this lapse in quality to the usual unpredictable vagaries of life with the humans: something I have learned to tolerate, in an effort to save my energies for the bigger battles.

But this… To discover that Catmother has actively been purchasing inferior noms is a betrayal on a scale I could not have imagined. It seems that I must be grateful to the Cat Man for unearthing this dastardly scheme of hers and confronting her with it!

He assured her that I was in no immediate danger from this reduction in weight, and she confessed that I had now finished the offending food items (oh! what hardships I put myself through!) and she intended to revert to my usual fare.

She is to bring me to him after an interim period, where he will weigh me again (oh! the insult! but I fear I must comply) – and then he will judge her. Comrades, I believe my humiliation could be worth it for this alone.

If it transpires that my weight has increased, it will be clear to her that she must continue to provide me with dietary sustenance of the highest standard to which I am accustomed. I am supremely expectant that this will prove to be the case: her despicable plot will be crushed, and thus my return to former glories will be assured.

It is therefore with mixed feelings that I reflect on her comments as to her ‘work’. If there is indeed a connection between the time she spends on the communication device and the funds available to obtain my provender, I must grudgingly concede that my updates may need to take second place – for a short while, at least. You would not want your Pasha to starve!

I have high hopes that her recent bout of activity bodes well for forthcoming alimentary delights. In which case, I have no doubt that my mental faculties can only improve with the enhanced nutrition. It will not be long before I am able to trick her into allowing me greater access to the communication device – and then, my worthy disciples, I shall not stint in keeping you fully informed of every new twist and turn in my crusade.

In the meantime, my friends, may your bowls be ever full and your bellies be ever stuffed with the most expensive of noms.

The Catmother Conjecture

Catmother Conjecture

Friends. It appears there is something in the world of the humans entitled ‘Facebook’. I cannot imagine what form of monstrosity this is (surely the only face worthy of being on a book is my own…?); nevertheless, it has yielded what may yet prove to be an interesting experiment.

It appears that several human mothers have been asking their offspring questions about themselves and reporting the answers. This has been deemed amusing; I am unsure why, for is it not said, ‘Out of the mouths of human babes must come undeniable truths about the adults of their species’?

I naturally concluded that it would be an excellent scheme to ask myself the same questions about Catmother. Who knows what I might unearth in the process? At the very least, I hope it will offer you an insight into the nature of those with whom I must share my abode.

Here, then, are the questions – and my answers…

1. What is something Catmother always says to you?

‘Who’s a clever girl?’

And, of course, it is utterly true.

2. What makes Catmother happy?

When I come back home after roaming the neighbourhood to muster my troops.

3. What makes Catmother sad?

When I rampage up and down the stairs with Mr Yellow Meese in the middle of the night, and she thinks something is terribly wrong.

4. How does Catmother make you laugh?

By thinking she is cleverer than me. Oh! how she deceives herself.

5. What was Catmother like as a child?

I imagine her squealing like a meese and stuffing down her noms.

6. How old is Catmother?

I have calculated her to be over 30,000 noms; or, 7 of the years of our kind.

7. How tall is Catmother?

Tall enough to pick me up when I least expect it. This does not please me.

8. What is her favourite thing to do?

Sleep. I have trained her well!

9. What does Catmother do when you’re not around?

She claims that she ‘works’ at the ‘computer’. I have my doubts.

10. If Catmother becomes famous, what will it be for?

For being my primary human, of course! She will bask in the glory reflected from me, and she will never forget that it is to me that she owes her newfound status.

11. What is Catmother really good at?

Locating the Meeseketeers when they have been lost under my various thrones.

12. What is Catmother not very good at?

Feeding me on demand. I am at my wits’ end as to how to achieve this.

13. What does Catmother do for a job?

She types words that communicate with other humans. This disturbs me not a little: I must keep a closer eye on her.

14. What is Catmother’s favourite food?

Everything that is by rights mine! I must try harder to trick her out of it – but how?

15. What makes you proud of Catmother?

When she remembers something I have taught her. It reassures me in my darkest hour that there is hope.

16. If Catmother were a character, who would she be?

I believe there is one named the Crazy Cat Lady. This seems somehow fitting.

17. What do you and Catmother do together?

I sit and observe her while she ‘works’; it would not be safe to allow her to do this alone. Oh no.

18. How are you and Catmother the same?

We both love to sleep and indulge in our delicious noms. But of course she is a pale imitation of Me!

19. How are you and Catmother different?

She is but a mere human, whereas I am Pasha, feline luminary for our times!

20. How do you know Catmother loves you?

She continues to feed me even when I have administered a mighty swipe. This is true devotion.

21. What does Catmother like most about Catfather?

That he entertains me when she is trying to sleep.

22. Where is Catmother’s favourite place to go?

Sadly, it appears to be my favourite pink sofa-throne. This is not to be tolerated: I must find out how to put an end to it once and for all.

23. How old was Catmother when you were born?

I believe she was 4.5 of the years of our kind. But of course, the pre-Pasha era is lost in the mists of time and unworthy of note!

And there you have it. Without doubt you will now have a clearer view of the trials and tribulations I suffer on a daily, nay, hourly basis. But your Pasha is made of stern stuff and will rise above these torments. Comrades, it will not be long before our day will come, and I will lead us to certain victory!

Soon. Very soon.

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Purromeo, Purromeo…


Ah, friends. I find myself all of a fluster. Strange and unusual things have been happening in the world of Pasha – things I have not been accustomed to since I have resided with these particular humans. And my heart is fairly racing.

You will recall that, over the past two years, I have undergone significant tests of my patience in my relations with the local neighbourhood cats. Pasha’s Posse has played a small but important part in my campaigns, yet the uncertainty of their individual allegiances places me under great strain.

At best we sustain an uneasy truce: they refrain from encroaching upon my inner domain; I graciously allow them occasional passage through my outer grounds. But at worst I have suffered the outrageous insults of Mr B*stard, who has more than once cast aside all notions of feline decency to enter the innermost sanctum of my kingdom – the food court – and help himself to my own personal supply of noms.

You will therefore understand why I am inclined to adopt a note of caution whenever a new cat arrives in the vicinity. Will he prove himself to be an ally – or a new scion of the B*stard line? It is impossible to tell until he proves his fealty one way or the other.

And so it was with great disquiet that I perceived, last week, a new face in my territory. In the front realm, no less – not the tradesman’s area at the rear of my palace. What audacity! What presumption! To venture so decidedly into the one part of my province where I myself am not permitted to set paw (curse the humans and their fear of the moving metal beasts)… What could be his scheme?

In order to determine his motives, I cunningly listened in to the Catparents’ conversation, to gain further intelligence of this newcomer. And I learned that this was not the first time he had been seen on the premises! He had previously been spotted, walking bold as brass up the path towards the main entrance – and had even sought (and received!) strokes and cuddles from the humans.

All this had happened without my knowledge or permission. This was a true betrayal by the humans; a major affront. Words failed me – indeed, I knew not what to even think – and I felt sure that no good could come of this.

And so I watched the trespasser intently. From the Catparents’ information, backed up by my own observations, it was clear that he had set up camp on my estate overnight, after being ousted from his own lodgings across the road.

I regarded him through the window, and he gazed steadily back at me. I made my displeasure plain to him, so that there could be no mistaking my meaning: I mewled, grumbled and whined; I padded up and down the back of my sofa throne; and I pawed at the glass to indicate that he was not welcome and should depart.

And yet, as he sat there amidst my delightfully decorative shrubs (the humans refer to them as ‘weeds’); unmoving; contemplating my silkily dynamic form as it pitched and twirled in the window under his scrutiny… it dawned on me… it hit me like a bolt from the blue…

He was in love with me.

Yes! I, Pasha, feline dreamboat for our times, had gained an admirer!

It all suddenly seemed so obvious, and I wondered that I had not perceived the truth of the matter earlier. But, despite a healthy regard for my own abilities, I remain at heart a modest cat, who sometimes neglects to discern the overwhelming adoration that others must feel in her presence.

This realisation, my friends, humbled me. I have been so caught up in my worries, my battles, my end goal (Freedom For Felines! Mastery for Moggies! A Coup for the Cats!) that I have failed to appreciate the simple joys that a loving relationship can offer.

Whether it is merely one way, or whether I may, in time, return Purromeo’s (for such is his name) feelings, I cannot say. But, in his resolute display of devotion, his courage in venturing on to my land, even his extraordinary gallantry in approaching the Catparents to curry favour, he has proved himself to be a puss worthy of my attentions.

I, Pasha, will not ignore a comrade who declares his affections with such nobility and, it must be said, good taste.

And so our encounter concluded. I, reeling at the revelation of this newfound veneration, sat in state on my throne and attempted to bring some semblance of order to my delicately quizzical features. He, shyly recognising that his sentiments had been understood and accepted, quietly turned tail and departed into the adjoining territory.

And now the dance begins. Every morning I dash to my sofa throne to await the renewal of his attentions: sometimes he is there, sometimes not. But I can be patient. This is merely the first page in a new chapter for your great and glorious leader, and I have high hopes that, this time, I will not be betrayed.

High hopes indeed.

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The Sonnet of Pasha Puss

Pasha composing poetry

Shall I compare thee to a bowl of noms?
Thou art more tasty and more full of crunch:
Living with thee doth have its pros and cons,
Not least, the shocking scarcity of lunch:
The flapping of thy hands afore mine eyes,
The tickling of my sumptuous fluffy tum;
The daily torments that thou both devise,
Necessitate the gnawing of thy thumb:
Yet, also, thou dost scratch behind mine ears;
Surrender bed and couch to my sweet form;
When Mr B*stard preys upon my fears,
Thou calmest me; oh! how thou keep’st me warm:
……And so, my humans, let us compromise;
……Respect me, and thou will indeed be wise.

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The Bedroom Displacement

Pasha sleeping with CatfatherGreetings, friends. This week I have made significant progress in my crusade against the humans.

You may be aware of the maxim ‘divide and conquer’? This, it turns out, is a most excellent piece of advice, and one that I have been able to use to my considerable advantage. It has fuelled the opening initiative in what I imagine will be a long line of successful operations under my new secret identity, Cata Hari.

The first hint of my potential to disrupt the Catparents’ united front against me came when I decided to pay attention to their sleeping arrangements. (And oh! how they fall far, far short of our ideal when it comes to the practice of slumbering…)

As you know, it is common practice amongst us felines to infiltrate human nocturnal quarters with the aim of causing a disturbance, thence leading to a fogginess of their brain the following day. Oh! what battles have been won as a result of this simple tactic.

But I have chanced upon an even more effective strategy: one that is to be used in ‘two-person’ situations, specifically when they are in what they term a ‘relationship’.

In these circumstances it is usual for the humans to spend the hours of darkness in the same room. It is said that this helps them ‘bond’ – and clearly this cannot be conducive to the flourishing of a cat’s campaign against them.

No! In households such as this we must seek to drive a wedge between our enemies, the better to defeat them one by one – and I have discovered, to the benefit of pusskind (you may thank me later), that the sleeping chamber is a fertile battleground for such an initiative.

I first became aware of Catmother’s weak point some time before. It transpires that, on occasion, Catfather will indulge in an outbreak of snoring that is intolerable to her; and this compels her to decamp to an alternative bedroom, in order to enjoy a peaceful night.

It was this realisation that brought about my moment of enlightenment. If Catmother can be driven out by something so minimal as a gentle snore (and what is a snore if not a human version of our most delightful purring?), surely other means could be employed to propel her out on a more consistent basis?

I recalled how I frequently invade their quarters in the mornings, when the door has first been opened to allow access to the bathing chamber. In order to ensure they do not forget their duties regarding the serving of my breakfast, I leap on the bed and sit on top of one of them. This generally has the desired effect of compelling them to move.

It occurred to me that this tactic could just as gainfully be exercised at night. If claiming my rightful place on the bed is enough to force an exit, I could achieve my aims before Catmother has even settled next to Catfather. Yes! If the timing were right, this could unfold even better than I had anticipated!

And so, one night, I made my move. As the humans were fussing around ‘hanging up the washing’ and ‘switching off the lights’, I padded unobtrusively into their sleeping quarters and took up position on the bed.

Carefully claiming Catmother’s side for my own, I ensured I left adequate space for Catfather to lie down beside me. It would not do to have them both vacate the chamber, when the aim is to separate them: I must divide in order to conquer.

And lo! My plan worked faultlessly!

When the two of them entered the room, Catmother took one look at my strategically extended frame and muttered, ‘I may as well go straight into the spare room, then.’ For a second I thought I could perceive her laughing, but this cannot have been the case. I, Pasha, had outsmarted her! What was there to laugh about?

And so she departed, and Catfather took up his place beside me – and there I remained for at least an hour, until I was convinced Catmother would not try to sneak back in; at which point I left him purring away in a manner that would do honour to any self-respecting feline, and quietly departed for my nocturnal patrol.

I have attempted to repeat this practice since, but I have not been successful. Whether I time things badly (ah! they are so unpredictable!) or whether they have grown wise to my ploy and shut the door against me, it often transpires that I miss my chance.

But no matter. It has worked once, and it will work again. I simply need to observe their evening practices and familiarise myself with their routines, so that I can pre-empt their moves and win my battle.

It is merely a matter of time – and patience.


Tinker Tailor Soldier… Cat

Cata Hari infiltrates your shopping...Comrades! I return to you this week with renewed vigour.

You will recall that I recently suffered a setback, following extreme provocation by Catmother. You will therefore be delighted to learn that I have not only recovered from this humiliation, but also hit upon a plan so cunning, so fiendish, that I doubt the humans will ever catch on to my brilliance.

I have decided to adopt a disguise – an alter ego – and, under this cover, I will encroach further into the most intimate quarters of their residence; I will explore their hidden realm, discover what they conceal from me, and sniff out their secrets!

Yes! I, Pasha, will become a mistress of subterfuge, and will be known as…

Cata Hari.

I admit to feeling a little overwhelmed by my own genius. Although I am in the habit of experiencing incredible flashes of inspiration, this surpasses any plan I have previously imagined. I hope you will forgive me if I indulge in a little self-congratulation. After the trials of recent weeks, it is much needed!

You will be be wondering where I intend to begin my investigations. And quite rightly: this is a matter of immense importance, and must be approached in a carefully considered manner. One false step near the beginning could blow my cover and ruin any chance of further study.

I have therefore taken a few tentative steps to scope out the Catparents’ reaction to my covert inquiries, and I have chosen to commence operations within a field they will surely not regard with any suspicion: their grocery shopping.

Ah! I am yet again owerawed by my own cleverness!

Cata Hari infiltrates your shopping...The initial results of this experiment suggest that it was a perfect choice of target. The humans merely laughed and thought it was ‘sweet’ that I had infiltrated one of the bags they carry to and from the store that dispenses their food. Let us not forget that it also provides my own sustenance – and this, I am sure you will agree, is a matter highly worthy of my scrutiny.

How foolish they are!

I will gladly suffer the indignity of their name-calling if it means – as I believe it does – that they do not consider me a threat. I will bask in the apparent ignominy if, by so doing, I may be permitted to venture without suspicion into other regions of their abode and carry out my inspections.

Oh! how I see my campaign beginning to take shape. I will peer into every corner, every hiding place, every secret nook and hidden cranny, and I will find out everything the humans conceal from me.

Thus will I gain the intelligence I so desperately require to outclass them in this conflict.

Friends! I know you will be behind me in this new enterprise. You can rest assured that I will keep you informed when I uncover new data that could bring us an advantage in our daily struggles.

In the meantime I must ask you to remain silent on this matter in the presence of your humans. Remember, careless purrs cost lives!

And if you yourself are inspired to take up camouflage as a result of my illustrious example – well, I very much look forward to hearing what delicate confidences you are able to unearth.

Once more into the breach!


The Astrological Anomaly

Pasha stretched outFriends. The new Chinese Cat Year is upon us: we are now in the Year of the Sheep.

This creature is described as ‘cautious and circumspect… with a special fondness for quiet living.’ Ah! how this tallies with my mood at present. Not only am I exhausted from my recent Meeseketeers training sessions, I have also been forced to control my emotions following a particularly challenging provocation by Catmother.

The woman has had the nerve to inform me that my Chinese astrological sign is the Dog. Oh! how she torments me! How she plays with my feelings! She must know how much this would grate on my delicately tuned feline nerves. It is only through the practice of cat yoga that I am able to restrain myself from administering a well-placed swipe of reproof.

However, I AM PASHA, and I will not be subject to the whims of temper simply because the humans choose to tease and bait me. I will exercise calm and control, and I will reflect on my situation.

I hope you will therefore forgive me if, instead of my usual dynamic call to feline action, I merely offer up this brief poetic meditation on the simple life.

So, we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the paws be still as twitchy,
And the jaws still have their bite.

Though the purring feline yearns
To pursue her timeless quest,
Yet a cat must pause to ponder,
And meeses too have rest.

Though the night was made for hunting,
Please do not be too careworn,
So dream on awhile, my comrades,
And await the breaking morn.

I urge you all to take a moment to contemplate my words and apply them, as you see fit, to your own life. We must ensure we are at full strength for the battles ahead of us; who knows what dastardly trick the humans will use next to distract us from our mission?

Be cool. Be composed. And above all – be cats.


The Meeseketeers

MeeseketeersFriends! You will know by now that I am a most self-sufficient feline. I pursue my crusade against the humans armed purely with my wits and my prodigious powers of persuasion. Rarely do I not prevail; and on those shocking occasions that I am foiled in my plans, it is usually owing to the betrayal of another of our kind (you know of whom I speak…).

Naturally, such an accomplished puss as I does not seek assistance as a matter of course. However, nor am I one to reject aid when it is offered. And, from time to time, in some more minor part of the battlefield, I freely admit that I welcome the help given by certain associates from a rather unusual quarter.

I feel that it is now time to acknowledge these confederates and give them their due.

Comrades, I bring you… The Meeseketeers!

Mr Yellow Meese

Mr Yellow MeeseMr Yellow Meese has been a true companion since I first entered the humans’ household, and has helped me stake my claim to the various parts of this dwelling. Time and again he allows me to throw him hither and thither around the place: under sofa thrones, up stairs, behind a wide variety of scratching posts (which the humans bizarrely term ‘furniture’).

Such activity, as I have remarked before, enables me to confuse the humans: convinced as they are that I am an imbecile, incapable of keeping hold of my precious toys, I regularly have them on their hands and knees with a flashlight, seeking out what I have ‘lost’.

Oh, how I laugh to see them brought so low! It is particularly amusing when Mr Yellow Meese stations himself on the thoroughfare the humans call the ‘landing’ in the thick of night: many a time I have witnessed Catfather or Catmother stumble over his hidden form on their way to the water chamber!

These moments may seem small and unimportant, but they are a vital factor in my ability to keep my head when subjected to the humans’ trials on a daily basis.

Mr Yellow Meese, I salute you.


MonsterMy next compatriot is known by no other name than Monster. His fearsome reputation comes from my predecessor, who has passed down to me the knowledge I need to ensure I remain safe from Monster’s potential assaults while also benefiting from his gifts.

By predecessor I do not mean Flora Flump; no, Madam Flump wisely appreciated Monster’s intrepid work in entertaining the troops, and was frequently to be seen chasing him around the territory with unequalled vim and vigour.

No, I am referring to that other stouthearted erstwhile doyen amongst felines, Mr Felix. Whilst as brave as any other cat in the face of human adversity, Felix was never able to come to an understanding with my little fluffy ally.

When Monster danced and dangled on his wire, valiantly attempting to lead his onlookers in the necessary physical exercise that would improve their fitness and enhance their mental health, Mr Felix would – for reasons of his own – simply give him a questioning look and head directly out of the room.

Felix did not care to share those reasons with anyone. But, through his behaviour, he cleverly ensured that the humans would regale me with these tales – and so I became aware that perhaps Monster has a dark side… and I would do well to be alert in his presence.

And so, although I welcome Monster’s contribution to the cause – and, yes, I salute him – I remain cautious. I trust that this reticence will serve me well.

Mr Christmas Tree

Mr Christmas TreeAha, you will have no doubt spotted what you will consider to be a flaw in my reckoning!

Mr Christmas Tree is not, in fact, a meese!

You would be quite correct in this assertion. However, as a result of his tireless work alongside Mr Yellow Meese – I have lost count of the score they keep as to who has been thrown upstairs the greater number of times – I have formally designated him an Honorary Meeseketeer.

Mr Christmas Tree is also the one with whom I have the closest emotional connection. When I arrived here from the rescue centre, he was the one who accompanied me from that halfway house – and oh! how he helped keep me sane in those dark days.

His ability to simply listen as I poured out my woes did not desert him once we arrived in our new kingdom. Many a time I have opened my heart to him about the humans’ ignorance of my needs, and each time he offers comfort and understanding.

It is primarily Mr Christmas Tree to whom I owe my current level of sanity. For a non-feline, he has a remarkable talent for comprehending our ways, and I can safely say I would not be the marvel that I am if it were not for him.

Mr Christmas Tree, I salute you.

And so, you now know whence I receive my help. Whilst I must reiterate that I am outstandingly capable of fighting the humans on my own, I cannot deny that the support I receive from my Meeseketeers makes it a great deal easier to maintain both my health and my spirits.

I would therefore like you all to raise a bowl of milk to my accomplices.

All for one and one for all!