The Cataclysm / Catapocalypse / Catmageggon Is Just Around The Corner

Call it what you will.

Have you seen that advert where cats develop opposable thumbs and are able to do everything humans do, naturally ending up hunting us down for our milk as a result? (Not our milk, obviously, I mean the milk in our fridges... though, if you ask me, it'd only be a matter of time before they had us all tied to chairs, milking us like cattle.) Isn't that just the scariest thing?

No.

This... this is the scariest thing.

I discovered this yesterday while visiting our local pet superstore to buy a new litter tray. But wait...

"Say goodbye to the litter tray forever!" it proclaims.

"Train your cat to use a human toilet in 8 weeks or less!"

Now, I'm sorry, but I don't want my cats using a human toilet. The human toilet is not for cats. There's a clue in the name. Hint: it's the word "human". Yet apparently, this particular innovation is all the rage in the States... and better still, comes "recommended by vets". (Shame on you, vets.)

What's next? "Train your cats to cook their own food"? "Train your cats to drive the kids to school"? "Train your cats to run a major national newspaper devoted to crooked and underhand journalism?" I say thee nay - there are some things that should be reserved for humans only. And using the human toilet is top of that list.

Still, if you refuse to be persuaded by my rhetoric, you can at least take comfort in the knowledge that when you buy your Litter Kwitter it comes with a helpful Training DVD in five different languages. Five different cat languages, I presume.

(This post was specially for Vicus who asked for "no more cat posts". I aim to oblige.)

Now That I Don't Have A Job...

...you might think I'd have more time for blogging. Strangely, I seem to have less. Make of that what you will.

Still, more time at home at least means I get to take loads more photos of the crazy things cats do. Because the internet can never get enough of that.

For example, here's Murphy. He likes boxes. He's also too fat for boxes. Dilemma.

Meanwhile, Molly has been complaining that I never feature her photos on my blog. She's just not as dumbassedly photogenic as Murphy, I guess. Here she is catching up on a spot of smartarse sunbathing.

And to finish off, here's some more crazy squirrel action from Colin...

Tomorrow - I'll attempt to solve the problems in the Middle East. With a photo of a wood pigeon.

The Cats Of Kefalonia

Stray cats rule Kefalonia. They prowl the streets between the outdoor cafes and tavernas, waiting for cat-loving holiday makers to share tasty morsels with them. They hole-up for the night in the old, deserted pre-earthquake buildings that are slowly sliding into picturesque ruin around the island. They lounge in the sun, climb vines in futile attempts to capture collared doves, and occasionally scrap with their rivals for territory.

Here are some of the cat characters we met on our recent holiday...

This is Groucho. You may be familiar with the Cats That Look Like Hitler website wherein people post pictures of... erm... cats that look like the Führer - or Kitlers, as they're more affectionately known. Well, Groucho didn't resemble Hitler. He was one of many cats in Assos who looked exactly like Groucho Marx. Miaowcho!

Here's Groucho again, lounging in his favourite spot - beneath a giant statue of a cigar erected in his honour in the town square.

At least, I think that's what it was.

The best thing about Groucho was that he wouldn't join any club that would have someone like him as a member.

The cat above was known as the Sun King. Unlike the majority of his peers, the Sun King didn't need to go scrounging round the restaurants of Assos for his meals... people brought his meals to him. He spent his days snoozing in the sun on this roadside bend just above the beach, waiting for his loyal subjects to bring him food. So much food... he didn't know what to do with it. But no other cats came to steal his stash. Because he was the Sun King, worshipped by all.

Finally, this is Ginger. Ginger was the raggedy-old, scraggedy-old bagpuss patriarch of the Kefalonian cats. Like a retired prizefighter he prowled the streets, scrapping occasionally with young upstarts who thought they might make a name for themselves by taking him down, then turning on his weather-beaten charm to impress the dining humans. He sprayed his scent to mark his territory wherever he went... rumour had it that one night he climbed up onto the awning above one of the tavernas and let his mighty wee rain down on everyone. A sight to behold, to be sure... we were almost sorry to have missed it. Almost...

Everyone's A Critic And Most People Are DJs...

As I've mentioned before (should I start every blogpost with those words from now on?), I have some very good friends who are DJs. They do tend to be the exceptions though. They tend to be pretty normal people who just happen to like playing records and talking in between. They're not arrogant, vain bullshit merchants with rampant egos, hugely mixed up inferiority / superiority complexes and sadistic BO. No, that's just all the DJs who aren't my friends.

You might think that avoiding annoying DJs is easy - just don't turn on your radio when they're on. But it's not that simple. Recent restructuring in the radio industry has meant loads of despicable waffle-merchants having to seek other forms of employment... and now you never know where you're going to bump into one. Take this phone call I had from my insurance company this lunchtime...

(Names have been changed to protect the idiots.)

"Mr. Hirst? Hi, it's Bob from Waste Your Money Insurance here. I'm just calling to tell you about some great new policies you might be interested in..."

"OK, Bob, but I am at work at the moment - I can't really talk..."

"Don't worry, it won't take long. At work, eh? I understand you work in radio... I used to work in radio myself, you know? A little station down in London - I was on air too..."

"Really?"

"Yes, Death Of The Soul FM - do you know it? It started out as a hospital station but then it went online. I'm hoping to get back into it actually. I've got an application in at the moment..."

"Good for you. I really--"

"But I'm based in Glasgow at the moment. Still, there are plenty of stations up here too. One of the biggest radio groups - Crass'n'all - they've got new studios just down the road from here. I pop in sometimes on my way home from work, just to remind them I'm here if they need me. Out of sight, out of mind - so the opposite must apply too, eh?"

"Yes, I suppose. Do you mind if I--?"

"I'm not limiting my options though, I've also got an application in with KWRAP Cincinatti - that's actually one of the biggest Country Music stations in the US, did you know that? They only broadcast to about 20 different states. Radio's big business over in America, you know, the starting salary for a DJ over there is like $20 million, but if you can get into it--"

"Well, good luck with that--"

"I'm on the waiting list - though it can take up to ten years to get an interview. I'm only 50 though, so there's still time before I retire, eh? For an opportunity like that... well, you don't mind waiting, do you?"

I could feel my life slowly ebbing away. The only thing that stopped me from being a little firmer in my interruption was the sure and certain knowledge that as soon as he stopped talking about himself... he'd start trying to sell me insurance.

(From Almost Killed Me)


And finally for today... another cute cat pic. This is Wispa (who you've already met) and Murphy. Wispa and Murphy are in love, though sometimes Murphy is more in love with biscuits. They're both good as gold whenever Louise as around... but the second she steps out of the house, they show their true colours. Here's what they really think of me...

You Never Die On Facebook

Driving to work yesterday morning, I stopped to admire the Sunrise Over Slawit. It's a sight I only get to enjoy on certain weeks of the year - by next week, when the clocks go forward and the sun rises an hour earlier, I'll be too late to catch it. Luckily I had my camera with me this time. This is the old Wireless Station on the appropriately named Pole Moor. The lines in the sky are jet trails, I hadn't noticed them when taking the picture, I certainly wasn't trying to line the first one up with the pole...

Turning 39, I've been thinking a lot about getting older. Is it wrong to be looking forward to retirement at my age? I'm so fed up of the working grind and feeling uninspired by how I spend the majority of my waking day, I long for a time when I'll be able to get up when I like, go out and enjoy a sunny morning like this, spend more of my time writing and doing the things I enjoy. I suppose that's only natural, but I don't want to start wishing my life away either...

In the Grauniad magazine this weekend they had an article featuring photographs and interviews with people who had lived beyond their 100th birthday. It made sad and sobering reading. Although some remained positive, many spoke of simply waiting - even wishing - to die. They appeared to have little pleasure in their lives, had long since lost most of their friends and even family (one man, aged 108, told of how his only son died at the age of 64), and couldn't even rely on their own bodies any more. So much for living to a ripe old age.

Is it better to burn out or fade away? A former colleague of mine died last year, still a young man. I hadn't spoken to him in years but we'd exchanged brief communications on Facebook. I'm reminded of this every time I visit that site now, because his profile is still active. Either his family haven't been able to delete his account (it's hard enough when you're alive - imagine trying to do it for someone who's died) or they've decided to leave it open in his memory. The internet grants us all immortality, whether we want it or not. If you're reading this post in the year 2085, I hope I'm not still around to read your comments...

I don't want to die tomorrow, but I have no desire to live forever - or past my usefulness either. (Some might argue I'm already living on borrowed time in that regard.) I just wish I had more time to enjoy the prime of my life...

We should all be allowed to retire at 40. 20 years of the working grind is enough for anybody. Maybe then I'd get to lie in the sun more like our Wispa...

(Because what the internet really needs is more pictures of cute cats. If you're reading this in 2085, I doubt that has changed.)