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Thursday, 2 June 2016

I'm in trouble. Serious trouble ... Guest blogger, Ralph.

I'm in trouble. Serious trouble. Trouble with a CAPITAL "T" ... apparently. I don't get in trouble very often, so this is a new and not all that wonderful experience for me. So, I suppose I need to explain my plight.




If you follow my mum on Facebook or Instagram, then you'll know I went to the Vet 'cause I was limping ... and came out diagnosed with arthritis in my elbows and with three less teeth. Ouch! You'll also know that my dad now puts magic drops on my breakfast. Anti-inflammatories ... apparently. So,  I'm feeling fabulous again.


Fabulous enough to run and gallop and jump. Too fabulous ... apparently.

That's why I'm in trouble. BIG trouble.

I'm meant to be an inside cat. Mum's previous cat, Pumpkin, named so because she looked like pumpkin that had been left in the fridge for waaaay too long ... orange, black, splotchy ... was hit by a car, so mum didn't want that to happen to me.

For the first many, many years of my life I was an inside cat. I used to go outside on a lead. Talk about embarrassing!

But then I learnt that if I did a back flip, the lead would slip over my head and I would be free.

End of embarrassing lead.

As a result, if I was good, I was allowed to wander around in the back yard all by myself.

That worked well for ages. I was a good boy ... apparently.

Sitting happily outside by myself.



Sometimes catching a few rays.


Sometimes sleeping on the outside couch. The couch she recovered ... that's ready to be recovered again. This borders on being a bad boy ... apparently.


Mum seems to have softened on this one though.

The real trouble, the T.R.O.U.B.L.E., began when mum couldn't find me in the yard the other day.
Oops.

She looked everywhere and I wasn't there.

She found me cowering in the side garden out the front.

Beyond the gate.

The gate that I'm not allowed out.

THAT gate.

I was brought inside and told about the dangers, and lectured about cars and dogs. You know the drill.

Mum mounded up the pine bark around the bottom of the gate and thought all was well ... but ... I went missing again.
Oops.
This time dad was home too.
Double oops.
They both went looking for me and didn't find me, but I did manage to be casually swaggering down the side path when they came in from their search.
Oops.

And so the saga began.

Mum bought a length of plumbing pipe to put at the bottom of the gate to keep me in, but I managed to move it ... and ... she caught me digging under the gate "like a dog". Her words not mine. I would never do anything "like a dog". Pfft!

Then she bought some sand-filled draught-stoppers from Bunnings and put them at the bottom of the gate. She thought they'd be too heavy for me to move. Hehehe. I moved them!

So, now she's done something really nasty.

She's put the wire door mats at the gate and the draught-stoppers AND bricks on the other side of the gate. Not fair. That's making it pretty hard for me.



I HATE those wire door mats. They hurt my paws so much.

I have had a go at moving them.


I had some success, but, boy oh boy, was I in T.R.O.U.B.L.E. Mum was really angry! Kept saying nasty things about me for ages!

She said she's going to peg them down with something called "tent pegs".

Reckon I'll still have a go at moving them out of the way though.


Life is tough at the moment. Every time I go anywhere near the gate, mum is there watching me. She's even threatened me! Said I would not be allowed outside EVER again.
Oops.

Can you help me please?
I'm a prisoner.

Can you talk to mum, please?
Tell her I'm responsible and that I won't go near the road, please?

Ask her to move those horrible wire mats, please?
And the draught stopper and bricks on the other side of the gate, please?

Plleeeaaassse????

If you missed my first Guest Blogger post from a while ago, you can read it here.

Catch up with you again soon.