I've just read one of those newspaper space-filling briefs that got me thinking about Cathead and his Keeper. Cathead is such a creature of probity (except when spying on Bloater Chops), that he may like to tell us why his keeper doesn't ever show his face, just to prevent us from getting the wrong idea of course.

Has Keeper had an alien emplant that can work independently of his humanality? Cathead has pasted two pics of aliens in one of his blogs that could be of his keeper, but he doesn't say. The Truth About Alien Abductions

There is another possible explanation; Keeper is awaiting Cat DNA implants.

An expert on alien abductions Keeper of Cathead, is an extreme variation of a "furrie" - a person who adopts the persona of a cat. Keeper has tiger-stripe tattoos on his body, dental implants sharpened to points to resemble cat teeth, and metal-stud implants around his mouth to hold his long, plastic whiskers. He has had ear and lip surgery to make his head more cat-like and wears contact lenses that make his eyes appear as ovals. He expects people to be more tolerant of him if he doesn't show his face.

I couldn't be persuaded to be present at the funeral or the 'putting down' of Bizet. My grief was too great and the morbidity of the veterinary clinic seemed to be directed at me. I walked out, turning my back on his anguished howl. I'd like to have given Bizet a final hug and told him he was a terrific cat, loyal and loveable.

My friends have seemed embarrassed or grateful to escape an emotional discourse, as though losing my cat represents some sort of vaguely unpleasant liability, not to be compared with the death of a human being.

Diane rang to confirm a coffee date but when she heard of Bizet's demise, made excuses to renege on arrangements.

Chiquita has been devastated, calling and calling as she continually searches the house.

"Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears." Wilfred Owen

Bizet's blog:

Today I’m feeling sluggish, perhaps because it's the middle of the winter solstice 21 June, and there's a gale blowing. Or is it that I'm getting too old to be bothered chasing Chiquita cat up and down the stairs, and round and round the furniture. She keeps patting my face, hoping to get a reaction. John and my protector are pleased that I'm loosing weight, but want me to drink more. However I'm happy just to snooze and to relive adventures in my dreams.

A year ago I decided to help the patrons of a nearby church to clear out vermin. Over ten days I went hunting for rats within the building, carefully bringing them home, one at a time. Some days Chiquita accompanied me and at other times she waited here, because she is nervous around strangers.

During the most exciting of adventures, the neighbours watched in horror as we dragged large rats along their adjoining back fences. They complained that we needed to be kept in check and should wear collars with bells attached. How ignorant some aliens are; because there's no way we could have rid the church of rats, had we listened. (Just to clarify a point; all creatures that are not cats are actually aliens, except my own two humans of course.) One woman became hysterical each time she saw one of us with a rat - just in case we let it go in her place.

Though my humans loved to receive gifts of birds and fish, they were catatonic when we pawed the rats to them. Neither of us could understand what they were shouting about. Then furniture would be shoved from one side of the room to the other, doors slammed shut and brooms bashed on the floor. In bewilderment Chiquita and I would sometimes re-catch a rat and slink outside with it. Some escaped by themselves, only to be fair game for us once again.

Early one morning after a successful hunt, I dragged in a super rat. Now I'm a particularly big cat, almost a panther, but still I had to fight to bring that trophy proudly home.

My humans were still in pyjamas and a bit dopey when I made my delivery. Following their usual demented ape antics they allowed the rat to escape into the laundry where it hid inside the washing machine. The machine was detached and upended. The rat escaped up the nearest pyjama leg, which happened to belong to my female human. All pretences of socially acceptable behaviour dropped off, including the pyjamas, and she leapt into the air like one possessed! (Censored)

Pond regards (thanks Cathead)
Bizet Cat

Birds' eye view of Auckland

"Here kitty kitty..." YOU'RE JUST BIG PUSSIES! I take umbrage at this macho posturing of New Zealand All Blacks! They've got no right to besmirch my species with their rugby promotions. I feel used!

Humans humiliate us in other ways too, by saying that we cats are bad news for native animals, be they skinks or birds. But all birds that are not honey eaters, feed on skinks (little lizards).

Many larger birds kill off smaller ones, a world wide phenomenon. I would feel very vulnerable if the NZ Falcon lived in Auckland, a relentless predator that overpowers full-grown ducks, hares and rabbits, and I suspect moggies too.

There is an even scarier NZ bird, the Kea, related to the nocturnis perhaps. The Kea is an alpine parrot whose strong beak can tear rubber seals from car windows, undo zip-fasteners on packs and even let air out of car tyres! They also wreak havoc at camp sites. And some people think cats are bad!

During the day I guard against Kingfishers from eating my sparrows and plundering my pond, while at night I am shut inside by my protector, presumably so that Moreporks (owls) can't overexcite me.

Two blackbirds continually scratch up our lawn, the most ubiquitous of birds. When I give chase many more suddenly appear and dive-bomb me, screeching dire warnings.

It's such scary stuff that I prefer to sit inside and meow in a slightly threatening manner.

Sparrows, blackbirds, and thrushes uncover the roots of rose bushes and kick garden soil and bark chips over the drive daily during fine weather. Both Chiquita and I rush to protect the garden from marauders. Any birds we catch we deliver to our protector who is always happy to receive them, even if they're 'damaged goods'.

Tuis, NZ songbirds, drink nectar from Banksia flowers high above my pond. I do my best to dissuade these big birds with their frilly white cravats from polluting the pond, but to no avail. They plop on everyone's heads.

Yesterday my humans visited Farm Cove where Pukekos thrive, omnivorous purple birds as big as chooks that strip fruit trees and gardens. These cheeky birds leave visiting cards all over paths and fences. Can you believe it; my protector likes to handfeed them.

I think we need to adopt some method of bird breeding restraint, immediately.

New Zealand birds

Black cat Bizet's blog

Oh my silken furry paws,
Comb my whiskers with my claws.

Elegantly I extend my right paw out over the rippling waters of the pond, then smile and wait awhile. Soon hungry, gold shapes come swirling around with smacking mouths.

A quick flick and I've caught me a fish!

Chiquita Ocicat rears up on two legs to appraise my trophy, though in the above photo she's lying down on the job.

Suddenly the calm is shattered by a roar from caregiver, John. Chiquita fades into the shrubs while I leap to the top of a high fence, long black tail trailing.

John scoops up the Comet and places it in a net suspended in the water, and visibly upset stomps back inside.

All I am is a non-judgmental, lovable, loyal companion attempting to lower my human's blood pressure readings, by entertaining him!

With kind pantheris felix regards,
Bizet

My name is Bizet and here I am Cathead, about to introduce myself and my attendant humans. Firstly I need to inform you of my seniority; you are only 6 while I am 10.

I am an elegant, svelte, ebony Oriental, though the neighbouring fat faced Burmese has attacked my pointy ears. My curiosity and intelligence have led me into some fur raising adventures.

No longer need I put up with the humility of dragging my protector (female) around on a leash, like you do. Secretly I’ve become rather too rotund for the harness.

John the other human is also a caregiver, but he has some difficulty in understanding my needs and in appreciating my knowledge and activities.

Then there is Chiquita, my feline consort, a wanton hussy who flaunts her dark chocolate Ocicat spots and rolls around on the carpet, waving her paws in the air. If I’m around I bite her belly in disgust.

Actually I work really hard to please both of my humans. If it wasn't for me there would be no space left in the pond for all their goldfish. John has placed sensors around it that emit a high pitched whistle, a deterrent to other cats, but not to me, though my catches have dwindled from two or three per day to two or three per week.

My protector used to be so pleased when I delivered live fish to her, cooing and calling me a good boy. But she insists on cooking all my food, while I crave fresh fish and so now I demolish parts of them before dropping the remains on the lawn for the birds (for me to catch later).

My protector has become almost as unpleasant as John who shouts at me. Disappointed, I give those black looks and disappear.

Humans need help to do all sorts of things and that is what I pride myself in, helping humans by helping myself.

(More about that later)

Jeanette

I know of an enormously fat woman - fair, fat and forty - whom men find alluring. She enjoys doing everything that is fattening, including getting pregnant. Having read Cathead's graphic description of Bloater Chops and Amazonblonde's blog, I began to think about Jeanette.

During the workday when the smokers slip outside, Jeanette hides away to feast on cakes and Sally-Lunns (extra large buns coated in thick pink icing). In the staffroom she drinks black coffee and nibbles rice wafers, while demanding twice the elbow room of anyone else. But the most unpleasant aspect of Jeanette's weight is that she sweats so easily, leaving an acrid smell as she rolls and sags by.

Below are a few tips for the Solidly Upholstered.

Walk with a pedometer.

Live on water
Live on air

Deny reality
Keep Lent

Keep Ramadan
Call Jenny

Join Weightwatchers
Join Overeaters Anonymous

Waist yourself with hunger
Tighten your belt six notches

Live on iron rations
Visit the vomitorium

Join a cannibal society
Practice the avoidance of swallowing

Lose your head
Quiesce your database

Have a secondary bowel movement
Begin the World Vision 40 hour famine now

Refrain from stealing chocolate judder bars
Undergo cranial diathermy

Become an imaginary playmate
Keep out of fat rooms

Become a cryptorchid
Become a eunuch

Dine with Duke Humphrey
Have a Barmecidal feast

Allow your teeth to leave your body, more often.

In her head - an addled mess;
In her stomach - an insatiable rumble that renders her deaf.

My partner

My partner has just completed carving a concrete fish, his very first sculpture. Locky fish is basking in winter sun on the edge of the pond that John made seven years ago.

We stocked the pond with five gold fish, and despite Bizet's daily catches, they have continued to multiply.

Bizet is a very musical cat.

John is clever at everything, distinguishing himself in the eyes of the family by encouraging me to be clever too, but as my skills are in farming, which is deemed unnecessary in the city of Auckland, I cannot hope to be clever in this lifetime.