His Royal Highness decided to relieve himself on the kitchen floor this evening. Fortunately, he choose to leak on an old polythene bag that was lying next to my housemate’s bike. Very considerate of him I must say.

Understanding what he wants always seems to be a bit of a rocky road. Recently, gathering around his bowl has meant “feed me”, “let me out”, “comb me” and “give me your calf so I might dine on it”. It’s not just the bowl speak either. It seems that the signal of half clawing my scalp at 8am every morning that previously indicated that the sun had arisen and it was time to open a tin of breakfast, can now be taken to also mean “hey, get out of my spot on the bed”.

I think I need to locate one of thosde books about understanding cat lingo.