Sunday Mercury - Keogh the Cat

Why cats hate tinsel and sprouts

2011-12-24T07:15:33Z

Miaooow there, Keogh fans...

Soon be that time of year again when the fat person with a beard arrives. I don't know whose mother-in-law she is, but I always make a bee-line for her surgical stockings.

Strange time of year, Christmas. When me and my mates gather under a window and make a hellish noise, we're a nuisance and are in peril of having a bucket of water flung over us.

When humans do it, they're carol singers and get showered with gifts.

Can't be doing with all this tinsel. Makes me cough-up glitter (fur) balls. And what's the point of that bloody Christmas tree? Dunno what the woman on the top did, but judging by where they've stuck that branch, she must've annoyed them big-time - even more
than the turkey they've tied-up in the fridge.

Mind you, the human lodgers buy gifts for their pets at Christmas. Last year's soap-on-a-rope almost killed the two goldfish.

I've been presented with a toy mouse that squeals, furry balls and, the worst of all, a collar with a bell on.

And we'll dine on turkey and Christmas whine. The whine is usually: "who's put a sprout in my dish?"

Why it pays to be a smart cat

2011-10-25T09:21:28Z

Miaooow, Keogh fans.
Surprised the lady of the house loves me so much. I'm independent, don't listen, don't come in when called, stay out all night and when I am at home, I just sleep.
She absolutely hate those traits in her own husband.
But pets are a gender thing. If you're a man, you like dogs. That's because they obey without question. I don't think that's an admirable quality. Unless you're terminally stupid, sooner or later you're going to think: "Know what? Fetch your own bloody stick."
They like dogs because canines can be trained. Cats can be trained, but we weigh-up the pros and cons before putting that training into practice. I mean, it's beyond me why police dogs don't take a few minutes to think: "Surely, catching this armed robber is worth more than a biscuit? There's a £2,000 reward on his head, for a start."
Cats could retrieve 'downed' pheasants, but don't get to keep them. So what's the point?
Dogs are noisy, cats are not. Next door's terrier barked so much at night that they bought him a burglar.
A lot of men hate cats. One man hated his wife's cat so much, he drove seven miles from home and dumped it, but by the time he got home, there was the cat sitting on his driveway. So next day he drove the cat 14 miles from home and dumped it. When he got back, there was the cat again wandering up the driveway. Totally frustrated, he drove the cat 21 miles to a dark, untamed forest, where he dumped it again.
Three hours later his wife got an urgent call at home. "Darling," said her flustered husband, "is the cat there?"
"Yes," said the surprised wife. "Why?"
"Just put him on the line," near pleaded the husband. "I need directions."
Women like cats, particularly older women. Just last week, a cat which belongs to the old dear across the road gave birth to a litter of kittens. "How could it happen?" shrieked the OAP to the vet. "She never leaves the house. How could she meet another cat."
"What about that old tom sitting on the sofa?" enquired the vet.
"Don't be ridiculous," snapped the old dear. "That's her brother."

Cats don't surf

2011-10-25T09:19:32Z

Miaoooow there, Keogh fans!
There's a new moggie on the block, and this one has made headlines - well, very small ones - in the local paper. That's not much to boast about: On page seven last night was a bloke who cycled home after his vasectomy.
This cat has a real shaggy dog story to tell. She's originally from a place called Cornwall - hence the strange accent - which sounds pretty dire: lots of rocks, plenty of sea. Only thing to do is surf, and cats don't surf.
A couple holidaying in the Godforsaken place - who wants to holiday in a place where the only pleasure is getting wet? - mistook her for a stray, took her back here and she did a runner.
Her Cornish owners found out and have been down hunting for her. They've also put up posters, which is a bit silly: she can't read. They've offered a reward: if it's fish, I'm going to grass her up.
Not surprisingly, the Cornish moggie has no intention of going home. There's a better quality of life here: a meals on wheels service, courtesy of the council binmen; the birds are a lot less vicious than seagulls; there's precious little sand to have kicked in your face and you don't have to climb a one-in-five gradient to find a decent spot to use as a toilet.
She's painted a nightmare picture of life in the resort. There's clotted cream, which is more solid than liquid: try setting a new lap record with that, crowds of drunken holidaymakers in the summer and streets so narrow you can't swing a cat: a point illustrated on a number of occasions by the drunken holidaymakers.
It may be a small place, but it has its own breed of pedigree cat - the Cornish Rex.
Wikipedia describes the breed as 'adventurous and very intelligent'.
I doubt it. If they were that adventurous they'd get the hell out of Cornwall. If they were that intelligent, they wouldn't be there in the first place.

Keogh The Cat: Where there's apples there's birds

2011-09-22T10:47:30Z

Miaooow there, Keogh fans.
Bit baffled by this 'new, improved' cat food. I don't know much, but if it's 'new' it's not improved, surely?

It's that time of year. The two apple trees in our garden are hanging heavy with fruit, which is good news. Cats don't eat apples - the only thing worse than biting into an apple and finding a grub is biting into an apple and finding half-a-grub. I'm not a flan...sorry, fan.

Birds, however, do eat apples - and rodents feast on windfalls at the foot of the trees.

Therefore, it's like a moggy meals-on-wheels. I'm up and down those trees with the speed and agility of a, errrr, cat, which is not surprising.

The humans, however, lack my climbing ability. They climb gingerly up the trees to collect the fruit, get stuck - sometimes for hours at a time - and cry pitifully for help.

Strange thing is, I've seen firemen rescue cats caught in branches, but they've never come to our garden to rescue the humans - and they need their help more.

Off-loading the manky, mottled fruit is another problem. My human 'owners' used to near-force pensioners to have them. Then one old dear, who was handed 170 'cookers', suffered severe cholesterol problems brought on by over-dosing on apple pie.

I think it was the 42nd slice that did for her. Mind you, could've been the cream.
Now the humans simply leave boxes outside with the message: "Help yourself."

By the third day, the note is replaced by one that says: "Please help yourself."

By Day Five the message says: "For God's sake, please help yourself."

Dangerous things, apples in the wrong hands - specifically, William Tell's hands.

One fell from the tree and stuck the fellow moggie who shares our home, Kightly, on the head, which was a turn-up...or is that turn-over?

Poor thing was so concussed she spent an hour tottering sideways.
I think she must've been struck by a crab apple.

Cat hugs kitten: keogh says get a grip

2011-07-08T05:57:40Z

Have you ever seen anything more ridiculous than this pair?

No wonder humans think we want to sit on their laps and have our fur stroked - get a grip moggies, there are mice to eat, legs to claw and arms to scratch.

You are a disgrace to the feline world....

Keogh the Hunter!

2011-06-16T11:05:02Z

Miaoow, Keogh fans...
Sometimes I can't do right for doing wrong.
Two days ago, I brought a mouse into the home I share with humans. This is something I once took great pride in doing. I'd present the mangled rodent to the nearest human, which is quite a compliment.
They'd scream - one elderly visitor fainted - then chase me out of the property. This reaction puzzled me greatly. Is a dead mouse that scary? Not as scary as a two legged hairless creature, surely?
Anyway, I thought ridding the property of mice is my job. Maybe they just want me to gently shepherd the pests from the garden. If so, they should've purchased a mouse-dog. If they're that desperate to keep the things alive they should try mouse-to-mouse resuscitation.
Now I secretly bring my hunting successes, particularly the live ones, into the house.
Anyway, two days ago I brought a mouse into the home. Alerted by the commotion behind the sofa, I was unceremoniously dragged away and dumped outside.
The result? One mouse on the loose in the living room - and humans blissfully unaware.
It emerged last night during Emmerdale. A quick scamper across the polished wood flooring and five minutes of hide and squeak.
After upturning all the furniture, the humans admitted defeat and sent me in to finish what I started 48 hours before.
After chasing it onto the patio, the mouse finally submitted and prepared to meet its maker. As it lay, gasping on the slabs the mouse whimpered: "I've just seen an angel!"
"Fraid your wrong, mate," I growled. "It's a bat."

Keogh the Cat: I hope the chickens don't start laying hard-boiled eggs again

2011-06-03T12:23:48Z

Meaooow there, Keogh fans.
Deeply concerned by news of a Sahara summer. I like the heat, to a degree: the degree being about 78.
After that, I'm as uncomfortable as a cat on a hot tin roof - especially if I'm the cat on the hot tin roof.
It's OK for humans, they can take their fur off. We just have to search for a shady spot and stay there. God only knows how I got through the heatwave of 2005. It was so hot, when dogs chased cats, they walked - and the chickens were laying hard-boiled eggs.
One day I thought it was snowing, but it was just that corn in the fields had popped. What a summer - even the cows were producing evaporated milk.
I can tell there'll be a repeat of that heatwave because I've started to moult badly. Humans could make a coat out of what I've shed over the last three days. The fashion industry doesn't like cat-hair clothing, though. It prefers certain types of animals, but I don't know specifically what fur.
To keep themselves warm, presumably.
I know mohair is very popular, but I've never seen a mo.
No doubt, we'll soon receive the usual warnings about water-shortages followed by hosepipe bans. Last year things were so bad they had to close two lanes of the public swimming baths.
With the temperature rising, I asked my mate Ginger: "How do you find the weather?"
"Get someone to open the front door for you," he replied, "and it's usually right there."

Dogs are stupid!

2011-05-20T12:20:46Z

Miaooow there, Keogh fans.
Thousands of years of domestication and dogs still don't dig a hole before going to a toilet, yet they'll bury a bone.
How weird is that?
This is yet more proof cats are more intelligent, certainly more logical, than man's best friend. It's not stupidity that prevents us from retrieving sticks - it's intelligence: we're bright enough to know the bloke who flung the stick in the first place, is only going to chuck it again if we brought it back.
Why are there no dancing cats on Britain's Got Talent, you may ask?
Because we don't want to disco-dance with humans, not without getting paid for it, anyway. That's why you don't find moggies in night clubs.
Humans have a very strange way of measuring animals' IQs. Dogs are clever because they can be taught to sit down when ordered, yet no one has bothered to teach them to bury their own excrement.
How weird is that?
If dogs are so clever, why do they needed to be taken for walks. We manage that unaided.
Cats couldn't buy the kind of positive PR that has come from the whole dog fouling row. We're clean, we don't leave little presents on public open space and you don't need to poop-scoop after us.
Admittedly, dogs don't cough-up fur balls, which is a good job. Can you image the mess an Afghan hound would make?
We're cleaner, less trouble and don't attack postmen. What's more, we've got nine lives.
Only one living thing has more lives than a cat, and that's a frog. Probably because he croaks every night.

My new playmate

2011-04-14T11:56:35Z

What's white, sugary, has whiskers and floats on the sea? A catameringue.

Miaowww there, Keogh fans.

Got a new mate. I delightful young thing - a pedigree, to boot - has moved into our patch.

A 'Tom', but he's been 'done'. I know that because the lonely heart ad said that...along with gsoh, sense of humour, likes going out.

It's early days, but we seem to be getting on like a house on fire - even if he does have a bell. That makes going out and killing things, which is something you usually do on a first date.

A large number of mice have already been saved by the bell. I think it's cruel - the bling, not the rodent killing. If God wanted cats to wear jewellery, he would've made their whiskers silver.

The collar has got his name on, which is just silly. Cats can't read. That's why putting an ad in a newspaper when a moggie goes missing is a waste of time. None of the AWOL cat's mates are going to take notice.

I've been invited round his house, which is very plush. There's a huge rug and a 'pretend' log fire, which looks a but like a microwave. Pretty sure it is a microwave: spent 15 minutes infront of it last night and it felt like I'd been there all night.

My new pal has got it made. His owners even let him sleep on their bed. And last night we were treated to five bowls of milk.

Pretty sure that's a new lap record.

Cheshire Cat? Not likely

2011-04-13T11:53:18Z

Image via Wikipedia

Miaowww there, Keogh fans...

Not many people know this, but cats do have a sense of humour. Why do you think so many of us rub against people with cat allergies? And cough-up fur balls on expensive shagpiles.

We don't, however, grin. Whoever said 'grin like a Cheshire cat' must've been on something.

Just found out it was Lewis Carroll, and I'm pretty sure he was on something.

There isn't even a Cheshire breed. They name cats after countries - Persian, Siamese, Burmese - and dogs after counties: Staffordshire, Ayreshire and Yorkshire. The exception to the rule is a rare cat breed know as Cornish Rex, an area of Britain famed for its rex, which was down to the pirates, apparently. That must've been before they favoured parrots.

There's a reason for cats being named after counties, dogs countries. No one wants ther country associated with terrierists.

Ok, we don't laugh out loud, but cats have a different way of showing emotions. We purr when we're happy, hiss when we're aggressive and thrash our tail when we're annoyed.

My mate Ginger had an ingrowing tail. His owners had to have him x-rayed simply to discover what mood he was in.

In the end they paid a fortune to have the tail put on the outside. It was money well spent, providing hard evidence the mother-in-law wasn't welcome when she called round unexpectedly.

Keogh the Cat: I don't get the whole Tadpole/Frog thing

2011-03-09T14:12:16Z

Image via Wikipedia

Miaowww there, Keogh fans.
I thinks spring at last has sprung. I know this because of the strange noises coming from the garden pond. First there's a frogs' chorus, then loads of lumpy jelly on the water.
Then thousands of tadpoles emerge, too many to be called a litter: if that's a litter, someone should be done for flytipping.
These tadpoles, which taste terrible, then turn into frogs, which look completely different. This baffles me: a kitten is a cat in minature - all the parts are there, just not as big.
We cat mums don't have to wait for our offspring to grow legs.
The whole frog thing makes me think about why we're here and who put us here.
If there is a Creator, I think he must've experimented with them before feeling confident enough to go onto the big stuff. I mean, he abandoned hopping as a means of transport pretty early on, which is a good job: it would've played havoc with humans using The Tube.
Once He'd mastered the walking thing and not giving creatures slimy skin and an appetite for flies, he moved onto the human race, then his master stroke - cats.
The idea that humans were made last is people propaganda. You're not telling me he didn't look at Adam and Eve and think, 'now I need something to rub round their legs'.
If humans represent the pinacle of creation, how come they have to make their own fur?
Don't get me wrong - we cats believe in evolution, but evolution with God starting the ball rolling. Apes developed into humans, then humans developed into cats. If people are top of the evolutionary ladder, how come they're serving us dinner?
That's the question.
Sceptics will ask, 'why, then, on the evolutionary clock, did man speak last?
Easy. The woman wouldn't let him get a word in edgways.

A strange looking cat has entered our garden

2011-02-24T13:03:02Z

Miaooow there, Keogh fans.

The strangest looking moggie has taken to entering our garden. I've seen them all hues, but nothing like this.

Image via Wikipedia

It's a Bengal and looks like something straight out of the jungle.

Fearsome name, fearsome cat. Apparently, it's named after an Indian place - the Royal
Bengal, High Street...

Apparently, it's half domestic cat, which begs the question: what does half a domestic cat look like? The other half, presumably.

The other half is really wild. Well, it was when I bit it, anyway.

Can't help feeling there'll be a heavy price paid for this meddling with cat genetics.

You'd think they would have learnt from Dolly the Sheep. Clever as they are, those scientists can't talk sheep.

Dolly didn't come to a sticky end, that's because they don't make spare-ribs out of sheep.

But she suffered health problems and became the butt of jokes, such as: Two sheep walk into a baaaa.

And she got sick of other members of the flock sauntering up to her and saying: "I look like ewe."

Medics argued she was in mint condition, but that was only after someone handed over the sauce boat.

I think they should realise clones have feelings, too.

Lost count of how many cat breeds they've created in just a handful of years. There's even a 'Sphynx' - so named because it leaves little pyramids in each room.

My mate Ginger reckons there are plans to cross a domestic cat with a lion.

The result will be a moggie that puts its owner out at night.

Keogh the cat: goes wild in the country

2010-09-03T16:55:28Z

Miaowww there, Keogh fans!

Exceedingly good time to be a country cat now the combine harvesters are out in force.

It's just a case of lying on the fringes of some far-off field, mouth open, and waiting for the spooked wildlife to run in. You've got to be careful for hedgehogs, however...and hares.

Nothing worse than a hare caught in the back of your throat.

It's a good year for the rodents, but you can overdose on small mammals and I've decided to cut down. No longer will I be having, 'one more for the rodent'.

Times of plenty, like these, make me realise how lucky I am to be a country cat.

I feel for our townie relatives, I really do. I mean, where's the sport in hunting down a half-eaten kebab? There's no skill in overpowering a discarded burger.

But the good times won't last. The nights are drawing in and there's a feel the season is changing. Of the Four Seasons, my favourite, by far, is Frankie Valli.

Autumn, which is round the corner, is depressing. What's the point in a 'carpet' of leaves if you can't sharpen your claws on it?

Winter is even worse. It's a dangerous times and you have to endure a number of narrow squeaks, which is slang for thin mice.

Maybe that's why they call it cross-mouse time?

I hope there won't be snow this winter. I still remember those terrible Winters years ago - Mike and Bernie.

The winter was so cold we didn't see the white cat next door for six weeks.

The humans enjoyed it, though. They built igloos...well, they didn't have loos, which made them just 'igs'

Keogh the cat : I've been in a wheelie bin too

2010-08-27T12:08:13Z

Miaooow Keogh fans! And Hello Lola (who's pictured above after her ordeal in a wheelie bin).

Regarding this woman who flung her in the bin. Don't know what all the fuss is about: it didn't do Top Cat any harm.

He lived in a bin for years.

And even Officer Dibble hadn't got a problem with that. He didn't go round shouting, 'animal cruelty'.

I've clambered into many a recycling bin, but the point is, I had a choice...the choice being the chicken carcass at the bottom or the half-eaten salmon.

I wasn't given a helping hand by a member of the general public.

Obviously, the woman did wrong. The woman used the one for garden items.

But the sorry saga has given us cats much needed media exposure - and hammered home a very important message: cats aren't just for Christmas, but it's a lot easier to hide them under the thrown-out wrapping paper at that time of year.

Me and my mates are sickened by the incident and feel this heartless cat-hater should have the book thrown at her. Admittedly, she'd put it in the bin...

We've started a 'Justice for Lola the Tabby' Facebook group, calling for the perpetrator of this vile act, one Mary Bale, to be sentenced to a few days in a wheelie bin.

They could even get her to do some community service and fling out the items that shouldn't be in there.

But I don't go along with these people demanding some terrible forms of retribution. Mind you, someone neutered me and I only left hairs on the new sofa.

Be warned, Mary Bale.

We've also sent messages of support to poor Lola.

My mate Whiskers, who lives in cardboard box, wrote: "Thinking of you...PS: If you're not using the bin, any chance..."

I was dumped on Cannock Chase as a kitten, but no one whipped up a media storm over that. I've told Lola: "Wheelie bin? You were lucky..."

Mary Bale has described the incident as a 'split second of misjudgement', which baffles me.

Was she aiming for something else? Did she think Lola was a discarded slipper?

But the lady is profusely sorry and won't do it again, which is a relief because there's always a danger people like this will move on to bigger, more dangerous animal crimes.

One day it's flinging a defenceless moggie into a wheelie bin, the next you're calling on a skip hire company to take care of next door's Great Dane.

Keogh the Cat's guide to the arts

2010-08-04T10:41:55Z

A moggie's guide to the arts

Dick Whittington - what kind of a negative picture of we cats does that paint?
What moggie in its right mind would walk all the way to London with its owner. If it had any shred of reality, they'd say: "Turn again Dick Whittington - the cat lost interest less than a mile away from your home address."

Puss In Boots. I saw a puss in Boots once. The store manager cornered it by the perfume counter and threw it out. It didn't make riveting viewing.

The Owl and the Pussycat. Strange poem, again giving totally the wrong message to would-be cat owners. How many moggies have been mutilated after being stuffed in the same cage as an owl, thanks to that silly verse? How many have pegged it after being fed a diet of honey and money?

Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. Was the cat deliberately placed on a hot tin roof? If so, why weren't the RSPCA involved? Come to think of it, where's the cat, Tennessee Williams?

Hector's House. 70s kids show, that would have us believe a dog (Hector), cat (ZsaZsa) and frog (Kiki) can live happily together. It was created in France, which begs the question: why didn't anyone eat the frog?

The Cat in a Hat. What kind of a monster puts a cat in a hat and scarf? Dr Seuss may be a fine author, but he's got a lot to learn about keeping cats.