Sunday Mercury - Keogh the Cat

Keogh the cat : takeaway food for pussies

2009-06-26T16:35:37Z

Hi, Keogh the cat fans...

Big news. They're planning to open a trout fishery in my village.

That should send the cost of cat-flaps soaring: the one thing this neighbourhood has been missing is a top-class eatery.

I think it'll attract a lot more diners than the bins at the back of Mr Chan's takeaway. And sometimes you hadn't got a clue what you were eating.

Take those prawn balls, for example. What a con - prawns don't have any.

Mind you, the same goes for most of the Toms on our block.

One of our gang ate so much shell-fish he stopped coughing-up fur balls and started coughing up prawn balls.

The chicken miaow mein's a bit spicy, but the crispy duck is delicious. Unlike you're catching live ones, it doesn't leave you down in the mouth.

OK, the self-service is going to be a little more difficult, but, on the plus-side, it will serve a lot more cats at one sitting.

And the food is going to be much fresher.

I'm all for selecting my own fish dish - humans do it with lobsters at restaurants. They just don't have to flick the thing out of the water and bite it to death.

If people had to catch their own dinner, there wouldn't be the obesity problem there is today.

The Lockleys dined on cow last night. How long do you think it would take to bite one of those to death?

I think they would even struggle with chicken. Small rodents would be a non-starter.

I'm hoping this is just the beginning and a mouse farm will follow.

We've already got an ostrich one, but try catching one of those and you'll never use a scratch-post again. My mate Ginger stalked one for half-an-hour...then it trod on him.

Pheasants are tricky, too. They put up one hell of a fight. No wonder humans end up having to shoot them - then send the dogs in.

I love fish - and so do the humans. They say white wine goes well with it.

Only difference is, I don't cook my fish - sushi, the humans call it.

What goes well with that? White grapes, I suppose.

Keogh the Cat: I've had a tough life!

2009-06-20T14:46:13Z

We had it rough, me, mum and my five brothers and sisters.

Mum was abandoned by her owner five times, but managed to find her way back. Once, the owner took her so far away he got lost.

He had to follow mum to find his way home.

Eventually the humans bundled mum and us kittens in a cardboard box and left us on Cannock Chase. It was there a kindly gent discovered us in the Ikea packaging. "Look what's in here," he shouted, "and they're already assembled."

He handed us to a cat rescue organisation, which 'looks after' cats.

One of the things it does to 'look after' cats is offer to castrate them for free. Cat Rescue must mean 'look after' in the Mafia sense of the word.

For weeks they couldn't find a home for us, which I blame on my sister Fluffy. She had a wonky eye and an in-growing tail. Vets had to x-ray her to find out if she was unhappy.

Then the Lockleys came and decided I was the cat for them. Their son had wanted a dog but they comprimised and bought the lad a goldfish. It didn't work. The fish died during 'walkies'and getting the thing to use a litter tray was a nightmare.

So they decided on a cat. And as soon as they set eyes on me they uttered those four little words that mean so much: "Has it been wormed?"

Now I'm one of the family - one of the family that bites and scratches, but one of the family, nonetheless. I've got my own chair, which used to be Mike's, my own part of the bed, which used to be Mike's, and my own toys.

I've even got the humans house-trained. "I can't get this cat off my chair," Mike used to moan.

"Kick his fluffy balls," advised Julie.

"I can't," moaned Mike, "he's all curled up."

And me and the teenage son have an awful lot in common. We both hate water, stop out all night and spend most of the day asleep.

I like to think I've brought a little something extra into the Lockley household. Fleas and the odd dead rodent.

A KFC bucket meal wouldn't prize me away!

2009-06-12T05:33:41Z

Each night the deluded humans scour the garden and adjoining countryside for the kitten lodger Kightly.

If she fails to come when they call, they rattle her nibbles. Like a fool, she comes, is picked up and carried inside the house.

That's her night time fivolities over for the evening.
I get no such calls to come inside since I scratched the leather sofa. And, during the mating season, I wouldn't come for a chicken nibble, anyway.

I'm like a human in that respect. Only a man with a real problem would break off from an amorous exchange for a KFC bucket meal.

I spent last night asleep in a large plant tub. The other evening I settled down under a bush and the ugliest tom you've ever seen sidled over and made an improper advance. I asked what kind of a female he took me for.

He said, matter-of-factly: "You tell me? You jumped into my bed pretty sharpish."
It can be scary on your own at night and you've got to be careful when those creatures that are grey, with white black and white streaks and live in big colonies come along. What are they called? That's it...pensioners.

My mistake, it's badgers.

They reckon they give cows TB, which I don't believe. I haven't heard a cow cough yet. Years ago, if a human had TB he'd go to a sanatorium in the Swiss Alps. So do they put TB-riddled cows in fields on the Swiss Alps? If so, that means those kids and the nun in The Sound of Music were taking their lives in their own hands.

Foxes can get nasty, too. Since they abolished hunting, they've got too big for their boots.

They hate cats.

Poor old Kightly also died of fright when he came across one. "Run, run - it's a dog," she shrieked.

I pointed out it was, infact, a fox.

"So what's the difference between a dog and a fox?" asked the poor, deluded puss.
If you're a human, about five pints.

Keogh the cat on Britain's Got Talent

2009-05-30T22:27:37Z

"Does she do anything else?" drawled Simon Cowell, his voice edged with sarcasm.

"Well," spluttered Mike, colouring and shuffling uncomfotably on the spot, "she can lick her own backside, but I'm not sure she'll do it on command."

Amanda gave a horrified glance and buried her head in her hands.

Two bloody minutes I cuffed a ball, with both paws I might add, around that stage for those Britain's Got Talent judges.

Were they impressed? Were they hell as like.

"I'm afraid Keogh's very nervous," apologised Mike, my owner.

"Is that why she's hanging off the curtains?" asked Simon.

"I think it's the dazzle from the teeth," added Mike, before quickly correcting himself, "Sorry errr...I meant lights."

I didn't want to go on the show in the first place.

I was scared to death waiting in that audition room - and that wasn't just because they put me next to a tap-dancing dog.

What a let-down he was. He just rubbed against his owner's legs, which I do every meal time.

"The problem is," mused Simon, "Keogh isn't actually doing anything particularly out-of-the-ordinary. She's just being a cat."

"Cat play with balls," he shrugged. "It's not a particular showbiz talent."

But how many cats play with balls while Mud's Tiger Feet plays in the background, that's the question?

"I mean," he added, "would The Queen be gripped by something like that?"

Probably not, but I'll bet the corgis would be excited.

"She sings," insisted Mike, "but I have to give her the signal."

"What's the signal?" trilled the judges.

"It's usually my toe up her backside."

With that, the buzzers blared out.The crowd broke into boos.

"At least let her do her magic trick," grovelled Mike. "I'll release a white dove and Keogh will make it disappear."

"And how long will that take?" demanded Simon, tapping his fingers on the desk.

"It's not a particularly big dove. I reckon she can eat the whole thing in ten minutes max."

Why I love the summer!

2009-05-27T12:35:46Z

Call me eccentric, but with the warm weather here I've started staying indoors at night.

Real cats stay out during winter. Hot nights are for tourists.

I've been out, with my mate Ginger, in blizzards. "What's that chinking noise?" I asked him during one particularly cold evening.

"It's me," he shivered. "I haven't been neutered."

"It's no good attacking that," laughed Ginger as I leapt at a figure in the snow. "You won't do any good - it's a snowman."

I certainly scared him, though. Next day he was standing in his own puddle.

And I'm sure he said something as I was about to strike. I'm sure he asked: "Do you smell carrots."

Summer, however, is a great season to be a cat and a prime time for hunting. Kightly, the kitten who shares my humble abode, still hasn't mastered catching birds and
rodents. She spends her time mauling insects. Still, time's fun when you're having flies, I suppose.

This morning the biggest bird you've even seen strode into my garden and fanned its huge tail as I stalked it. Scary it, was - and the tail had all, like, eyes on it.

"That's all you need," said Chalkie, "a bird who can look out of its backside."

Apparently, it's a peacock, which is an 'ornamental' bird. Stick one of those on top of your telly and you'd only get glimpses of EastEnders, which is no bad thing.

I think the three flying ducks on the wall are more appropriate.

I've learnt to my cost there are some birds you can hunt and some birds best left alone - like that one with the big hooked beak and shrieking call. What's it called? Celine Dion.

Keogh the cat: guard dogs and guide dogs are rubbish

2009-05-09T21:00:00Z

I'm in the dog, or should that be cat, house.

The humans were burgled while I was in the property and they're a bit miffed I didn't do anything. Actually, I did. I rubbed against his leg in an intimidated way.

He was so frightened, he stroked me...repeatedly.

I even miaowed, but when he didn't put any food in my dish, I went back to the sofa and fell asleep.

He may have taken more from the house than he realised, however. I've got a bad case of fleas.

One of the humans even had the cheek to say, in front of me, that the break-in wouldn't have happened if they had a dog.

Nice, that is.

And what would a dog do?

Try to have sex with the thief's leg until he was too exhausted to nick the stereo? Maybe tire him out by getting him to repeatedly throw sticks? Walk him to death?

Guard dogs are over-rated. They bite people.

So do I - and I can scratch, too. I can also moult on offenders. That can be near fatal if you've got a cat allergy.

Those misguided folk who don't think I can bite as hard as guard dogs should have a word with our postman.

I leapt from behind a bush and bit his leg so badly he shrieked.

Guide dogs are over-rated, too.

Cats could guide blind people - guide them up the occasional tree, admittedly, but the exercise would do them good.

And they'd have plenty of time to recuperate: they'd be hanging around for a good ten minutes while we took a nap and washed ourselves.

Now the humans say they want a big dog to ward off burglars, possibly a rottweiler.

Big mistake.

If one of those sat on a human's lap they would both go straight through the wonky sofa. If one of those climbed up the curtains it'd be the end of the Artex on the ceiling, that's for sure.

Dogs are simply better at PR than us cats, courtesy of their public relations chief, Lassie - and the Lockleys have bought into all the 'spin'.

The mutt that came up with the 'man's best friend' line deserves a medal.

They bury things, which makes them 'man's best friend' only if the man in question owns a landfill site.

They fetch things, but not things like packets of ciggies from a shop, or tins of lager, or the week's groceries.

Usually they fetch sticks, which have to be thrown first.

What a priceless gift that is. If you're urgently in need of a piece of wood being retrieved, get a dog: carpenters take note.

In a bid to keep my place in the house, I've tried to show I can be as obedient as a dog.

Yesterday the 'master' - I've got to get used to that word - shouted 'heel'.

I bit his heel.

Keogh the cat : Jesus the mouse slayer

2009-04-26T11:53:12Z

So why not a day for the patron saint of cats, St Gertrude?

I mean, the Welsh, Scottish, Irish and English have got one.

"How would you mark it?" Felix over the road asked.

Same as I mark everything else - just cock my leg up.

Fascinating woman, Gertrude.

She didn't keep cats, but water from her well and the bread she baked repelled rats, making us moggies redundant.

Is that the most cat-friendly person they could find?

They may as well have made a dog - St Bernard - our patron saint.

My grand-dad slayed a dragon...sorry, my mistake, a draylon - a draylon curtain by climbing up it. Not so much slayed it as clawed it, really.

He'd make a good patron saint.

St Cinders...it's got a certain ring to it.

The biggest thing I've tried to slay is a pheasant. Would've succeeded, too, if it wasn't for the gundogs chasing it.

"But how would we celebrate the day?" asked Felix.

I think it should be a day off. Spend the time just sleeping and eating.

"We sleep 18 hours as it is," she pointed out. "Anymore and we'd end up with cat-basket sores."

She's got a point. Cats don't have saints, they don't even have a God, I think. And if there's a heaven, where do dead mice go?

"I dunno," argued Felix, "I used to share my house with a cat called Jesus.

"Every time he came indoors, the humans would shout: 'Jesus - he's brought another mouse in with him'."

KEOGH THE CAT : ancient fertility rites in Cannock

2009-04-25T21:50:38Z

Just heard that cats were worshipped in Ancient Egypt because they brought 'fertility to the fields of suppliant farmers'.

I've just brought a little fertility to our rose bush. And the humans better be a little more suppliant than last time.

See you here on Sunday afternoon with my main blog of the week!

Keogh The Cat : why cats are better than humans

2009-04-22T11:10:00Z

I'm often asked, are cats better than humans.

I think we are, for the following reasons:

* Cats never 'miss' the litter tray.

* You can de-claw a cat, but try getting a man to trim his toenails.

* You never have to spend time with your cat's mother.

* You've got a lot more of a chance of taming a cat.

Keogh the cat : Wolves, Blues and Villa - it's a cat-alogue of confusion

2009-04-17T16:11:14Z

Last night the human lodgers placed a Wolverhampton Wanderers hat on my head, a rosette round my neck and took pictures of me.

One of those pictures is now the first thing that greets anyone using their computer.

This kind of humiliation is too much and clearly a matter for the RSPCA - and not just because I'm a Villa fan.

I only hope a few of my fleas found the scarf they draped round me a suitable habitat.

If so, there could be quite a few unwanted visitors at Molineux - and I'm not talking about the away supporters.

It could have been worse.

Many, many years ago, according to the human lodgers, someone took a live piglet onto the terraces, which proves the pies were just as ropy in those distant times.

The football fever that has gripped my house has become annoying. It's dangerous, too.

After a recent game against Birmingham, Mike said he wanted to kick the cat. As I was the only moggie about, I naturally feared the worst.

It was just bravado, though, and he kicked the fridge, instead. That's a wise move - fridges are harder, but they don't scratch - or cough-up ice cubes.

I don't even understand football. They chase after a ball and when they catch it, they don't bite the thing. You'd think they would at least bury it.

That would really show us how good Ronaldo is: it's one thing kicking a ball, quite another to sniff it out first.

Why Sky haven't pumped millions of pounds into mouse-chasing is beyond me.

Now that's a REAL sport - and rodents can't stray offside, even if there lives depend on it, which they often do.

Round these parts, I'm known as the Wayne Rooney of the mouse-stalking world: skilled, a deadly finisher, but bad tempered, with a tendency to spit.

However, when it comes to stalking rodents, I think I'm more like the former German legend...Rudi Vole-r.

Keogh The Cat : bankers aren't the only fat cats

2009-04-12T07:03:00Z

There's a real concern that in ten years 70 per cent of the cat population will be obese.

We've been brainwashed into bad diets by 'unhelpful' role-models, apparently.

I blame that Garfield. You didn't see fat felines in Top Cat's day.

There's nothing wrong with being a fat cat.

Click to the next page to find out why!

If your owners have a wooden floor, fat cats give it a polish with their belly whenever they come in.

I decided to watch my weight after getting stuck in that flap they created to make going in and out easier. I think they call it a garage door.

Some humans are even feeding their moggies chocolate, which can be fatal: a kind of 'death by chocolate', which is my favourite dessert.

If they didn't want us to eat the stuff, why did they call them Kit Kat bars?

I think we get a bad press, anyway.

They've made a load of films about a dog, like 'Lassie', who risks life and limb to save his owners.

My favourite's 'Lassie Come Home'.

I think they should re-make it with a cat as the star, a kind of 'Lassie Come Home - Oh, Suit Yourself, You Can Stay Out All Night For All We Care."

Along with dogs and pigeons, we played an important part in the war effort.

Ask yourself this: would you bury a mine on land that a cat had used as a toilet.

My great-grandad spied for the allies. He wasn't very good.

He swallowed a secret note seconds before being captured by the German and coughed it up minutes later.

Keogh The Cat : how to train your humans

2009-04-11T11:01:47Z

Humans mean well, but sometimes need to be disciplined.

The old 'scratching furniture' routine used to be popular, but too often led to humans punishing us.

Therefore I've devised ways of getting back at people:

* Stare impassively at your human during a romantic interlude.

* Stand over an expensive electrical item and feign a furball attack. If you can actually cough-up a furball, all the better.

* Use the litter tray during an important dinner engagement.

* Wait until they've finished watching a horror film, then stroll to the stairwell and start hissing and spitting. Does the trick every time.

It's important to remember that a cat should never try to own its human.

It's best to lease one with options.

Keogh the cat : feline funny

2009-04-10T11:00:05Z

I drank five bowls of water yesterday. Apparently, it's a new lap record.

Dirty little itch-hikers!

2009-04-01T10:48:40Z

The embarrassment of it...

I've got fleas, which has sent the human lodgers into a state of shock. They're bloodsuckers who sap your energy and the tiny insects in my fur aren't much better.

The Lockleys are disgusted. So am I. I'm sure I got the parasites from them.
If it's not them, I reckon it's the posh Persian up the road. Apparently, the fleas are attracted to clean fur, which is why I'm gobsmacked they've taken residence on me.

Ever since they were found, the humans have started scratching and stopped yours truly from sleeping on their bed.

Now I spend nights curled up on the kitchen coffee table, which is strange human logic. It's fine to be attacked by parasites during breakfast, but a no-no while you sleep.

The vet has debunked quite a few flea-myths. You can't catch them from toilet seats, which is a relief - that's where I get most of my drinking water from, unless the toilet duck gets there first.

Bizarrely, you're most at risk while mating and carpets are prime 'carriers', which begs the question: if a supermarket bag has fleas, is it a carrier?

The lesson for all cats is clear: if you mate with a carpet you're asking for trouble.

Apparent, fleas can jump farther than any other living creature, in size-weight ratio. I don't believe - there was that time when the Lockleys tried to bath me and I spent 15 minutes clinging to the artex on the ceiling. Also, the insects have shown little interest in jumping from me.

Poor Julie has taken the flea news very badly. She believes the vet thinks we're 'riffy'.

She hopes none of her friends will find out: better stop them from sitting on the sofa and carpet, then.

Our 'little problem' has some benefits, however. Yesterday, two religious blokes knocked on the door and said they wanted to save the humans from eternal damnation. Mike explained the family were enduring a bit of a flea problem and the pair scarpered, muttering: "sorry, but you'll have to be damned."

The vet assured us that some of the cleanest people he knows have had a flea problem.

He wouldn't name names, but admitted the Lockleys weren't among them.

This made Julie blub.

To get rid of the blighers, the vet put some cold chemical on the back of my neck, which is a waste of time and effort. It's my backside that really itches.

Julie asked how they got into the house in the first place. The vet reckons they're very good travellers.

Great! That's all we need - a bunch of itch-hikers.

Why is Kightly The Kitten wearing a lampshade?

2009-03-27T11:18:06Z

I thought I'd had it bad, but kitten Kightly, who shares my house along with the humans, has come back from her trip to the vets with, what looks like, a lampshade over her head.

It's to stop her licking herself, apparently, which is downright stupid - we lick our backsides, not our faces. So why hasn't she got a lampshade on her bum? The fleas must be having a field day.

I actually feel a bit sorry for her. She spent the first two months of her life thinking she was a 'he', then the vet admitted he'd got the gender wrong. Miss-diagnosis like that must play havoc with your personality - and, if you're a human, your wardrobe. Thank goodness they decided against calling 'him' Tyson.

If having the big op wasn't bad enough, the same vet got her name wrong. "Kylie Lockley - room three," boomed the voice over the tanoy. All the humans laughed.
Mike had to explain it was 'Kightly', named after a Wolves player. That made the humans laugh even louder.

With spring in the air, I'm hardly indoors: there are cats to see, things to kill.

But poor Kightly's stuck indoors, sporting a bigger bald patch than Kojak. If it doesn't grow back she'll never realise her dream of starring in a cat food commercial, I fear.

On the rare occasions she's let out under the watchful eyes of the humans, she's got that lampshade stuck on her head. Catching mice is a non-starter, but she might have a chance shovelling for moles.

"That's your hunting days done and dusted for a few months," I told her.

"Yes," she admitted, "I'm sticking to a fish diet at the moment."

You've got to be pretty quick on the paw to catch the koi carp in next door's pond. I know. I've tried it. And it's going to be even more difficult with that thing over her head.

"On the contrary," corrected Kightly, "it's a lot easier - I've scooped five already."