R.I.P. David Bowie Cat!

Farewell

It’s time for me to wish you my fond farewells, and send you the love for the last time. My recent trip to the dreaded vet, when my ‘in-house physician’ identified a lump on my rear right leg, was masking something I knew to be all the more sinister. It turns out that I have become a walking bag of tumours. No treatment could be offered, so it is with much gratitude that I say my all-too-shortlived home has been a comfortable place to continue feeding the dreaded Scary Monsters.

Here I am resting just before my final one-way trip to the vet. So, as you read this I have already journeyed to a new experience of Sound and Vision. But, as with David Bowie, I have the opportunity to offer you some of my reflections.

Juno was clearly the Blackstar, but as for this Lazarus, well I Can’t Give Everything Away. As for The Next Day, everything Changes in a Hunky Dory kind of way.

“What on earth am I going on about?” you ask. Well I’m no Ziggy but if any Spiders From Mars pass this way, I’ll be licking my lips and Loving the Alien. My apprentice Starman was perplexed the other week when I ate a sizeable spider crossing the carpet. Here I am supremely vigilant, always ready for more…

Where is that spider?

So, Where Are We Now? I’m off to A Better Future, as my Fame wanes. Little Wonder as I face the prospect of Ashes to Ashes, because the Fashion for John, I’m Only Dancing is finally Under Pressure.

Don’t be Low or experience Sorrow, but please don’t start Dancing in the Street, after all This Is Not America. I have left the Absolute Beginners with instructions and reflections to keep bringing you Modern Love through this blog. I have enjoyed my seven months talking with you, my Heroes, and I’m sure there will be another font of wisdom in the future to guide my resident Space Oddity.

Ready to eat

“Time to point that camera somewhere else!”

Bella (13/7/2009 ~ 8/4/2016).

 

Immigrant Song

How is a cat who has moved between countries supposed to feel with all this anti-immigration stuff in the media? Where is the evidence for all this negative impact of immigration? It seems to me like us cats bring nothing but diversity and peacefulness into your miserable whining lives.

I ask you, am I putting additional pressure on your precious veterinary resources? It seems to me like not many of your indigenous cats are desperately queueing up to get additional appointments at the local vets. What’s more, I am a fairly healthy cat, doing my own thing and not needing much else other than an annual check-up. Hardly the basis for claims I might cause the collapse of your animal health and welfare services.

Do you really think I am just an opportunist trying to cash in through some kind of ‘cat litter tourism’, cynically just trying to avail myself of the benefits of your superior quality litter? It seems to me like you should be more concerned about the way your indigenous cats just go around digging up other people’s gardens with no consideration for the inconvenience they cause.

What do you think about the fact I simply arrived in your country and moved straight into a nice flat surrounded by quiet canals, close to all the amenities of the city centre and the bay? It seems to me, listening to the headline grabbing nonsense in the media like you think I obviously deprived one of your indigenous cats out of a home.

Do you think I have suddenly arrived and put one of your local mouse-catchers out of a job? It seems to me that there is an absence of local cats queueing for any available jobs currently; more interested in waiting around for a ‘more for less’ job opportunity to show up. Taking in the rays and having naps seems to be the preference for many of the indigenous cats (though I can’t criticise them on that count).

What about the issue of dog immigration… after all, don’t they go in for eating your children? It seems to me like that would be a real alien invasion; so perhaps you need to get a more positive immigration policy in place, not just allowing any old dog in, but prioritising how we integrate and get on well together.

        

Fortunately for me my host servant recognises the value of us cats moving into their humble abode, and bringing some colour and variety into their lives. It seems to me like many of you people should be a bit more selective about the scare-mongering nonsense you listen to from a small minority of those on the small-minded political extremes. Sure, one or two of my kind step out of line a little, and they may cause you a few problems; but don’t let that be your view of all of us. However, I am a bit partial to the idea I keep hearing called UKIP… I like to kip as often as I can, after all this amount of beauty doesn’t come without a great deal of sleep you know!

Juno cushion [3]

It seems to me like you do have some of the more objective media reporting around, if you can be bothered looking for it; and until we speak again this immigrant wouldn’t have anything other than the Observer lining my litter tray.

Call this an adventure?

They seem to think that I am not listening and taking in everything they say on the phone… not using the V-word eh? Seems like my resident nazi sympathiser has a trip planned for me; but little do they know I saw the postcard (addressed to me!) about my annual health check and booster vaccination being due. “It will be an adventure” they say, while slyly referring on the phone to some “trip to Hull and back” or a similar phrase. Well, I have my own plans regarding this forthcoming adventure I can tell you. Firstly, I try the hiding thing,

Try hiding

 

 

 

… but I guess the whiskers against the plain door kind of gives the game away. Never mind, there is always Plan B…

 

Check paper

 

 

 

 

Looking busy, counting the number of sheets of photocopying paper in the box beneath the printer. Being helpful should do the trick… Damn, this wasn’t supposed to happen, where did this cage come from?

Not sure about this cage business

 

All that work in the office and I must have taken my eye off the ball, and the devious servant’s only gone and rubbed a couple of brain cells together and come up with their own plan. So, if this is going to be an adventure at least I can expect a luxury limo to match my regal status as I glide around town…

Parking space no limo

 

 

… Ok, so I own a parking space, but who nicked the motor?

It looks like it is going to be the bus again. All that rickety, bumpy stuff, with both ends of the human age range asking their inane questions like “what have you got in the basket? Can I see the cat?” I might be mild-mannered in appearance but why can’t the disobedient one just invite them to put their fingers in through the grill?

The devil's waiting room

 

So here we are at last, in the devil’s waiting room. They try to fool you with nice young ladies smiling and calling me by name, when I know all too well that this is where I get groped and prodded, a sharp spike in the back of the neck, and the ultimate indignity of providing an indelicate home for someone’s thermometer! Why can’t they just ask me what my temperature is?

 

Never seen a bus looking so good

 

 

After an interminable few hours (ok, minutes… but quite a few of them), with me desperate to get back into that cage that I originally never wanted anything to do with, we are heading for the door. Escape at last… never did a bus look so good.

Thankfully, ‘to Hull and back’ is only an annual ordeal, but while I suffer the indignity of missing out on the chance to recline in a stretch limo, licking my bits and waving a paw to my subjects on the streets, I can at least move to Plan R… revenge on my resident trickster who tried to con me into thinking this was going to be an adventure. I could show them what post-adventure trauma looks like… perhaps coughing up fur balls on that light coloured carpet; or even feigning post veterinary dementia by thinking the litter tray was behind the TV in the corner of the room.

What I do for poached salmon

I guess hell is a place we all have to go to once in a while so that home can look a little brighter as the evenings draw in and the darkness of winter looms ever closer. The things a cat has to do around here to get a few morsels of the poached salmon!

I am Juno, I have experienced the road to hull, but I am back. If this is adventure I will stick with my complex lifestyle of sleeping, eating and, well you know the rest… I will speak with you again soon.