lacking

'Look Missus', says Ginge, the Ginger Junkie, to Varne, 'i'm telling you now there just isn't enough blanket here'

'So', asks Fing, after a lengthy discussion, 'in your opionion, what did the Roman's ever do for us?'



Tutz stretches on the second floor of her scratchy pole until her face is completely upside down yet on a level with Fing's, 'pppppprrrrOOOOOOOOTttttttt' she says, 'PPRROOTTTT!'



The other pets nod thoughtfully and consider her words for a moment, 'that's as may be Tutz' says Trotter, 'but I think their main achievement must surely be cement?'



'What about underfloor heating?' ask Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west, 'Or lovely straight roads?' says Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face.



'come, come' says Fat Boy Faggot, briskly from beside the book case, 'surely it's got to be Prada, Diesel and Gucci?'

Fundraiser.

It was a lovely day as the pets gathered in the Brewery Gate to join in the Oxford Pride Sponsored walk. Fat Boy Faggots thorny paw had healed up quite nicely and everyone commented on how brave he was to soldier on with such an injury.

Fing wore his new pink sun visor and Trotter wore welly boots, just in case of inclement weather.

Shane was wearing his hot pants underneath his trousers, just in case of emergency and Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, was wearing a crash helmet as she had no idea what to expect and is, afterall, stupid.

We were also joined by Winnie, Win win win, ex landlady of the Jolly, and tiny Margo form Cuddesdon, all resplendent in a blue sparkly collar and matching hotpants.

There was an air of great excitement and jollity, and the pets couldn't help but notice that several of the walkers were a little bit tip-toir, if not downright pissed as parrots.

Off they set, down Walton Street to the Jude, then to the Victoria arms. After a calm start to the day they then set off across the meadow.

No one had mentioned the heard of cows, the cow-pats, the thistles or the belligerent horses that wouldn't speak to you no matter how hard you tried.

Lorna, who had joined us at the Vicky, only has open toed sandals on so she suffered the most with the thistles, although even with socks and trainers in those bloody things made quite an impression.

We ordered drinks at the Trout and collapsed in an untidy jumble in the Garden. There was a feeling that the bar staff didn't approve of the drunkenness, but then, it might have been pets in hotpants, crash helmets and welly boots that tipped them over the edge. Who can be certain, but they were all a bit thin lipped and posh and wouldn't serve Trotter chips with chicken nuggets. Poor Trotter.

And so, the end was near, and we charged back across the meadow, choosing the quicker, straight across the meadow, route. This was very fool hardy as the thistles here were even bigger and the cows had been doing landscape gardening and had ploughed up all the ground.

None the less we made it, back to the Brewery Gate where a lovely buffet awaited.

indeed

Fat Boy Faggot returned from a nights cruising with a thorn in his paw. He sat with great stoicsm as Fing removed the thorn with a pair of tweezers.

I'm very worried about the sponsored walk tomorrow, he confided to Fing,

How on earth am I supposed to troll up the tober with a naff bat?

A spoonful of sugar

She proved to be quite a treasure as a nurse,' reads Fing to Trotter, 'Of course her kennel was in the nursery. She had a genius for knowing when a cough is a thing to have no patience with and when it needs a stocking around your throughout'

Trotters eyes are as round as saucers, I don't like the sound of that!' he says.

Fing closes his book and looks at Trotter over the top of his bi focals.

'I overheard Martha talking with Varne in the kitchen the other day. Apparently this Nana is coming to whip you into shape'

'it'll take more than a St Bernard in a pinny to whip me into shape!', cries Trotter! and with a 'HA HA HA HA!!!' runs up the stairs for his black cape.

Fing smiles his evil malicious smile and wonders how much trouble Trotter will be in by the time Martha gets home.

Selby

'where have you been'? Asks Fing.

'Wierdly enough, I've been talking to that Squirrel that lives in our tree', says Trotter, 'Did you know that the Squirrels of the world are presently fighting a war of attrition against the other rodents?'

Fing raises a graceful beige eyebrow, 'Attrition?'

'Yes apparently, the Squirrels, led by Selby in the back yard, are currently fighting against a combined hoard of Stoats, Weasels, Ferrets and Gerbils. Although the Squirrels have numbers on their side, apparently the Stoats are dead good mechanics and as a result have light armored infantry'

'Well I hope the Stoat's win, says Fing, 'In my opinion Squirrels are nothing but rats with bushy tails, and the way that one fiddles with his nuts at the end of the garden is really beginning to annoy me.'

Some Places

In some places in the world Goats are irrigation experts and enjoy long lives as engineers building wells and channels made from mud and elephant dung. The Goats take no payment for their toils as they enjoy enriching the lives of small black children such as these.

In other places Goats are wrongly accused of being devil worshippers and are victimized by local Christians and those with learning disabilities.

And I Say to Myself

What a wonderful world.

Fings Proverb of the Day

Better to live one day as a tiger than a thousand years as a sheep.

Trotters Proverb of the Day

The Bigger they are, the harder they fall.

BOY

OH MY GOD I love him so much I could eat him up whole.

TUTZ and her stretchy legs.

Crock revisited

Why is the rainbow on fire?' whispers Trotter.

'I told you not to take that Acid' says Fing.

Kick Arse

I get no kick from champagne
Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all
So tell me why should it be true
That I get a kick out of Trot.

Some get their kicks from cocaine
I'm sure that if I took even one sniff
That would bore me terrifically too,
But I get a kick out of Trot.

Oh I get a kick out of Trot!!!!!

TROTTER!

Patches

We are all long familiar with Trotter and his peculiarities.

When he barks at you when you're eating pizza you give him the crust.

When someone needs to leave the house you feed him cheese.

Friends and family enter the house holding their bags above their heads.

All the cushions need to be on the bench to stop him humping them.

We smile at him fondly when he repeately wanders around the table, time and time again, in a happy yet distracted fashion.

We shout at him loudly when he barks at Thelma and wave his bowl over his head if we need to make him drop something.

So when Trotter suddenly started to calmy lick my leg earlier, slightly below the knee, I didn't think it unusual. As he continued to lick my leg I was suddenly over come with a deep and abiding love the poor, derranged, little man.

It wasn't until I was in the bath that I realised the little bastard had licked off all my fake tan. I look like one of those people with a wierd pigmentation problem. I had better not let him lick my arms or my other leg because I might end up looking like Michael Jackson, but with a nose.

The Sound of Silence

This week Fing has been listening to Nana Mouskouri.

Tutz has been listening to Terror Squad.

Fat Boy Faggot has been listening to Euphoric dance.

Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west, has been listening to Led Zeppelin.

Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, has been listening to James Blunt, because she's wierd like that.

Trotter? Trotter has been listening to Abba's greatest hits and singing along all out of tune. But we love him so we don't care.

Ouchy

It was a day of ups and downs for Trotter and Fing yesterday.

An up for Fing, who found a pair of lovely shorts in pri mark for only £1.

A day of downs for Trotter, who went arse over tit on some discarded cabbage leaves outside of Sainsburys.

He has a terribly bruised behind.

lullaby

Trotter is still feeling fractious after yesterdays ill conceived trip to the baths.

He is grumpy and sulky and generally morose. He has refused to bark at Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, he will not run round the table in a happy and aimless fashion, worst of all, he just watched Fat Boy Faggot sidle past him with no interest of chasing him up the stairs.

Fing decides that drastic action must be taken, and forces a spikey, scratchy, Trotter to lie on the sofa. He sings,

'Rock a Bye Trotter, On the Tree Top,

When the bough wind blows the cradle will rock,

When the

'Why am I up a tree?' asks Trotter.

'What?'

'Why am I up a tree?'

'You're not up a tree, its a lullaby'

'Whats a lullaby'

'look, just shut up and go to sleep'

'THIS ISN'T HELPING!!!'

Shouts Trotter and in a fit of pique destroys a cushion and a jacket left incautiously on the back of the sofa, they storms around the house barking like a thing possessed.

'Thanks for that old Chum', he says to Fing, before chasing Fat Boy up the stairs and making a thorough nuisance of himself in the bathroom.

Hotter than July

It is a lot hotter than the pets thought it would be today so Fing took all the pets to Hinksey Swimming Pools to enjoy the day, splash in the pools and relax in the sun.

Tragically it all went horribly and hideously wrong when Trotter emerged from the changing rooms in his pink spangly thong.

You could hear the screams from the town centre.

On the drive home a sullen Trotter said that he thought it was a bit of an over reaction, it wasn't as if it was fucking Jaws in the water.

crock of gold

Fing and Faggot and pink and green,

orange and Giggsey and Tutz,

I can sing a catbow,

sing a catbow,

Sing a cat bow too.

Audrey

despite his heartburn, Shane is trying to tempt the pets with some silverskin onions.

Fing isn't bothered, with chap's that chafe at dawn he doesn't need further complications.

Guest Pet of the week - Louis Vuitton

Likes: Small woodland creatures, Beetroot and Moths

Dislikes: Anything with 2 legs and black binbags

Age: One and a half with a mental age of an ameoba

Distinguishing features: Beefy Barrow Boy who has grown into his eyes

Habits and problem behaviours: Killing baby rabbits at BBQ's and jumping on you when you are asleep while squeeking 'Its a long way to Trickafairy'

The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul

Trotter and Fing have just had their first taste of the Bat and Ball in Cuddesdon. They were not unduly impressed.

They walked in and the place smelled of fish, Andi and Shane asured them this was not the norm and secured stools to sit on.

Unfortunately the floor is set at a rakish angle and Trotter and Fing felt like they were at sea, as if on the Titanic, all brahms and list. In the end a complex game of musical chairs ensued with much consternation.

All this was watched by a hideous, homophobic crowd, I pointed out to Fing that a large black moustache, chaps and a leather harness may not be the most suitable apparel for a village pub but he was unrepentant.

Trotter supped his stout, Fing downed his small schooner of sweet sherry and the rest of us finished off our wine before we beat a hasty retreat.

Shane is suffering from the most awful Katherine heartburn.

Addicted

'You're just not old enough to understand the lure of a packet of ginger nuts Trotter my friend', says Fing, reminiscing over a cup of tea and a hob nob, 'once, ha! Once, I ate a whole packet in one sitting!'

'that can't be good for you though mate', says Trotter from the doorway,

I'd wasn't under the suggestion of a fitness instructor!' laughs Fing from the sofa, 'I just couldn't stop, dunked one biscuit, then the next! Before I knew it the entire packet was gone and yet still I wanted more!'

'Who would have thought it?' purrs Faggot from the grate, 'Ginger nuts, the crack/cocaine of the biscuit world'

Paradise Lost

It is pandemonium in the house.

The washing machine has flooded the kitchen and a lake of water covers the ground floor.

Trotter races around in a madly excited fashion, taking corners at speed, spraying water over the furniture.

Faggot is being sick on the sofa because he ate all the cat food, far too quickly, and the sick slithers down the side of the sofa to dilute into the flood waters on the floor.

Tutz and Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face ,have made a raft out of a dustbin lid and are floating morosely, hoping for dry land.

Lulu sleeps impervious to the damp.

And Fing? Fing has pulled all the clean washing off the side onto the floor and now it is soaking wet and smelling of damp. In the sitting room he has pulled the throws to the floor and thrown cushions at Trotter as he raced by, Fing does not appreciate being wet. He has pissed on the clothes and stood by as Trotter savaged the cushions. He has watched as the waves caused by Trotters racing have thrown the cats off course in their dustbin lid raft, into the glass cabinet, knocking over some of Marthas priceless crystal.

All this he has watched with a satisfied smile

He thinks that it is Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.

Need?

Fing was very dissapointed with the other pets over the weekend and decided to shown his displeasure by pissing on my favourite red shoes, my umbrella, the Oxford Pride Sponsored Walk forms and my clean washing.

Sometimes I wish the other pets would humour him more.

The Weekend

Fing plans a weekend free from football. Martha is away and as he is the oldest pet in the house he is in charge.

He has decided that on Saturday he will gather all the pets on the grass outside the house and will teach them samba.

In the Evening he will cook everyones favourite food on the BBQ and then they will watch a film (He makes a mental note to avoid Interview with a vampire after the last fiasco with Vampire films, Trotter and black capes.)

Sunday he might take the others punting. It is a weekend filled with coutless posibilities and incredable joys.

Tragically, he has failed to notice Giggsey Girl the Stupid Slug Face and Trotter wheel a keg of ale into the house, they have much different plans for the weekend.

There may be trouble ahead.

COME ON!

The pets celebrated Englands win by getting drunk on sweet sherry and doing the okey cokey around the house in a giddy and excitable manner.

I say the pets, I must obviously exclude my boy, Fing, who sat on the stairs with a look of such extreme distaste on his wretched, spiky, face, that one could have imagined he was sucking on lemon concentrate.

Snob.

England

Trotter stands by the back door in his no8 Frank Lampard England Shirt.

"COME ON ENGLAND"

he barks.

Fancy Dress

I tell the pets that they have been invited to a fancy dress party.

"What is Fancy Dress?" asks Trotter, so I show him this picture of a pug on his way to a Harry Potter theme night.



Trotter looks at the picture then looks at me.

"If you try to do that to me, he says, I will chew off your hands and leave you with bleeding stumps"

Trotter will not be going to the Ball.

Thelma

Trotter spent a very disturbed evening at home yesterday and had to be bribed with copious amounts of cheese and chicken pieces to stop him barking.

His arch enemy, Themla, was in her garden next door, Thelma, who would fit in the cast of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' was enjoying the sun. She was talking to her tomotoes, dancing and clapping like a disjointed marionette with most of the strings missing. She was wearing a stretchy headband with bits of dandelion leaves underneath to shelter her eyes from the sun.

Trotter has a seventh sense and knows she is in the garden even if we have all the curtains closed and the TV up really loud. Thelma's mental emanations seep through the floor and Trotter picks it up like radar.

It drives him to distraction and he barks in a frenzy unable to stop. He has to be put on his lead and held like a baby and talked to in quiet calming tones, but unfortunately this is only a short term measure as as long as she's in the garden he barks.

Poor us.

1966

"Are you looking forward to the World Cup FIng?" asks a happy Trotter, stood by the door wagging his tail.

"The World Cup?" hisses Fing, looking at Fing through his bi-focals over the top of his embroidery,"The World Cup?"

"Yes Fing", says Trotter, not taking the hint, "The World Cup"

Fing is so taken aback at the affront to his dignity that he drops a stitch and pricks his paw with the needle.

"How do you think I am?" he crys, horrified, "Have I taught you nothing? Have you not listened to the words of Lucian with me? Have I not read aloud the Masvani to help you sleep? We're you not paying attention when I took you to the Ridgeway and showed you Scutchermers Knob?"

There is silence from the doorway and sudden absence of wagging tail.

"I don't remember the knob" says Trotter.

Where the Streets have no Name

We secretly filmed these ducks jogging through the estate trying to keep fit.

Ducks belong in water, not on concrete!

"Build more Resevoirs" we scream! "Rights for Ducks!"

Quackers

It is not common knowledge that there are more ducks than human beings in the UK.

This is no where more apparent than the streets of Oxford, where the overcrowding has forced the ducks on to the streets.

Here we can see a troupe of street ducks by the Westgate Car Park. When I spoke to them they told me they had been begging for crusts and spare change.

So much for lending a sympathetic ear.

The little fuckers mugged me and made of with my sandwiches.

Once upon a long ago Martha had a bay tree.

Martha loved her bay tree with a single minded devotion that had spanned ten years. She wanted it to be a standard, not a common bush, and for the past ten years had been carefully pruning, smiling lovingly at the tree. She pruned and smiles, smiled and pruned, occaisionally touching a leaf and telling it it was a lovely tree.

Trotter would watch Martha as she stood outside talking to the tree and so it was perhaps unfortunate that one day Fing opened the back door and let Trotter out.

Trotter stood silently and looked up at Martha, engrossed in the tree, and decided that he had had quite enough of her eccentric madness and very calmly lent forward and bit the tiny, slender, tree, trunk, completely in two. Then raced off round the garden with it nearly knocking Martha too her feet.

Princess

How am I supposed to sleep when there is a poohies in my bed?

Philosophy.

After a hard nights stretching Captain Jack likes to think.

Today he is wondering what it would be like to be a giraffe.

Lifes a Bitch

Poochie hates it when the Marks make her sit in the garden and use her tongue as flypaper.

Side ways On

There are people that might consider it peculiar, bur recently Fing has become preoccupied with his profile.

Gaff the Horse in Tears

And so he lies, alone.

A salty old sea dog, stretching his limbs.

Some call it yoga, some calentetics.

The Captain calls it drunk on rum, and who are we to question?

Hi Fi

The cats and Trotter have just returned from Hi-Fi festival in the Matterley Bowl in Winchester. They left on Friday afternoon in a small van that Fing had hired for the occaision.

As it had been raining solidly for 2 weeks they took their wellington boots, for fear of getting their tiny furry paws dirty. They arrived on site and spent 2 hours putting their 6 man tent up, it was terribly complicated and at points tempers flared, with Fing lashing Trotter round the back of his head with claws outstretched on a nasty swipey foot.

This done they got out the fold away chairs, put their baskets in the tent and arranged their rucksacks, camping stove, kettle and the tea, coffee, and sugar neatly inside.

As it was Friday there was nothing too do as the festival didn't start until the next day, so they got out a crate of beer, sat in their chairs and got pissed as parrots and talked utter shite to the other campers as they arrived.

Saturday dawned murky and rainy with a hint of mist thrown in for good measure, which Faggot was awfully annoyed about because it meant he couldn't do a thing with his hair. Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face had to have a resolve as she felt rather queasy and dishevilled.

They set off round site and saw many wonderful and amazing things. They saw people in fancy dress, people who were hardly dressed, People who could hardly stand and people who were so fucked they couldn't tell you their own name if you asked them. They had a moment at one of the stalls and all purchased a second hand fake fur jackets then wandered round site for a while in an utterly aimless fashion.

They stopped at the oxygen tent and inserted tubes into their nostrils and had a combination of vodka oxygen and blast oxygen. They wern't quite sure what to expect and were dreadfully dissapointed when all they got was a bit lightheaded from the vodka fumes up their noses. They ate vodka jelly and then all of a sudden the beat from the Electric Arena got hold of Fing, and the cats had to watch as Fing danced his crazy samba moves on the dance floor.

The went to the Live stage, Gods Kitchen and then the drum and bass tent, where they all agreed the music was far too frenetic to dance to. After several hours of hard core drinking they all sidled back to the tent and collapsed with exhaustion.

Sunday dawned with a hint of sunshine and the occaisional menacing cloud. Although he didnt have a headache, Fing took some painkillers, just in case, after all, safety first! They put up the awning and sat in their chairs and made a hot drink and were suddenly surprised by a strange young man.

The strange young man had been up since five and had apparently taken 15 vera's, he told them that he was a professional Hat Judge and said it was their civic duty to find the hat stall. He pulled some really wierd faces and then informed everyone that he could also calculate how many blades of grass there were in the field if only he had the aid of an abacus. At this point he lurched off, slightly to the left, and they all agreed that what ever vera's were they certainly didn't want any if it made you froth at the mouth like a victim of rabies.

The Sunday line up was by far the best, the pets watched Kosheen, then Shapeshifters. They danced to Paul Oakenfold, The Tidy Boys and Lisa Lashes. They danced and danced until their knee's ached, and still they danced some more. Then BK came on and the place went wild.



Tired of it all they decided to walk back and suddenly found the hat stall where they remembered the strange young man and their civic duty. Faggot bought a sailors hat, Fing bought a top hat, Giggsey girl the stupid slug face bought a flat cap and Trotter decided upon a beanie.



Tutz had become completely distracted by the glow sticks on the next stall and purchased some to take home to hang on her scratchey pole, and as a result was harrangued by the strange young man who happened to pass them in passing, lurching slightly to the right.

On the way back to the tent they met the dog who owned the dodgems, and a man dressed in a scooby doo outfit. They saw lots of girls in big fluffy boots, girls with wings on and a young man who was dressed in fab fur chaps and g-string with a large black cowboy hat on.

All in all it was far too much to take in and they went to the tent and collapsed in an untidy jumble of limbs and slept like the dead until 6 this morning when a very grouchy Fing made them all get up so he could drive home and miss the bank holiday traffic.

And where was Lulu I hear you ask? Why, Lulu was at a health farm having manicures and peicures and face packs and saunas. She is a little lady after all.

A foot in the hand is worth 2 in a bush

This morning I looked up from my ironing to find Fing, sitting expectantly, one foot atop his box of Friskies. He was looking at me with such intensity that for a moment I felt like I was in a cat food commercial.

I snapped out of it and went over and poured some into a bowl then turned to find Truly Scrumptious Lulu, front left leg extended as she stretched, tapping her claws on the floor. She looked slightly confused, as if she had once been familiar with Morse code but now couldn't remember the basics.

Trotter

I am what I am
I am my own special creation
So come take a look
Give me the hook
Or the ovation
It's my world
That I want to have a little pride
My world
And it's not a place I have to hide in
Life's not worth a dam
Till I can say
I am what I am

I am what I am
I don't want praise I don't want pity
I bang my own drum
Some think it's noise I think it's pretty
And so what if I love each sparkle and each bangle
Why not see things from a different angle
Your life is a shame
Till you can shout out I am what I am

I am what I am
And what I am needs no excuses
I deal my own deck
Sometimes the aces sometimes the deuces
It's one life and there's no return and no deposit
One life so it's time to open up your closet
Life's not worth a dam till you can shout out
I am what I am

Rainy Sunday Morning

It is pouring with rain and the pets have decided not to go for their normal morning constitutional.

Fing is laying in his lovely double bed, bifocals on, reading 'Hello' magazine.

Lulu is lying on her favourite mound of blankets and old jackets, fast asleep dreaming of cream cakes and ice cream.

Tutz is on her scratchy pole, thinking about rain. Why? she wonders as she looks out the window at the torrential deluge outside.

Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face is downstairs making pancakes, Fat Boy Faggot is asleep in the bath, and Trotter?

Trotter is playing Resident Evil on his xbox and listening to the Gypsey Kings.

Dichotomy

Sometimes there is sunshine, sometimes there is rain.

Sometimes there is darkness, and sometimes there is light.

There are bad days and there are good,

Sadness then happiness, laughter and tears.

wasps and bees, sharks and dolphins.

And then we have Trotter.

Poor Trotter.

Oh, My My!

Fing watches the festival pass before him, He wears a large feathered headdress and a very small outfit comprised of nothing but sequinns. It is not until now that he has understood why so many samba dancers look so surprised.

He has come to discover that a small G - String comprised of nothing but tiny metal sequinns, chaffing between your butt cheeks, can come as a bit of a shock to anyone.

Shoe's

Contrary to popular opinion, Crocodiles do not enjoy being made into shoe's.

They actually prefer playing water polo with the hippo's, eating Wilderbeast Canape's , drinking champagne out of crystal flutes and sunning themselves on the river bank.

The Fete.

The pets had a wonderful day at the Fete.

Tutz and Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face queud for half an hour to go for a pony ride. Trotter is far too impatient to wait in a que, so he went to see the 'Splat the Rat' competition instead.

The pets had arrived just in time for a jive dancing exhibition, so Fing joined up with an old ladie and learned some new steps.

Lulu found the cream tea stall and had eaten 15 scones before any one else found her.

They looked at the home made jams and laughed at the bric a brac on the stalls. They bought themselves old battered straw hats to wear as it was very hot indeed in the sun.

After they had looked at all the stalls, Fing laid out a blanket and they sat in the sun, ate their sandwiches and drank warm pop.

It was a perfect day.

A day at the fete

Today the pets are going to Cuddesdon Village fete. Trotter is sitting impatiently at the door, waiting for Shane to come and pick him up. He doesn't know what he might find at the fete, although Fing has told him there will be a bouncy castle and a white elephant.

Trotter is confused about the white elephant and hopes he doesn't get loose and trample everyone to death by accident.

Fing has made a packed lunch, and has made everyone their favourite sandwiches. Trotter has cheese, Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face has jam and peanut butter, Tutz has tuna, Fat Boy Faggot has houmous and roasted vegetables in a panini, Lulu has bacon sausage and egg, Fing? Fing has pilchard with watercress. He has packed the sandwiches in a wicker basket, along with some bottles of pop and some crisps.

'What else will be there Fing?' asks Trotter from the doorway.

'There will small ponies with ribbons in their manes for children to ride round the field, says Fing, there will be ferrets in boxes and goats to stroke. There will be hoardes of old ladies standing at stalls will samples of home made chutney and scones. There will be piglets and lambs with big blue 'best in show' rosettes around their tiny, doomed, throats'

'Why are they doomed' asks Tutz from the kitchen top.

Luckily at that point there is a knock on the door and Shane arrives to whisk the excited pets away for their day out.

Fatty Lumpy

Truly Scrumptious Lulu and Trotter are watching a program about the clinically obese.

Lulu looks at Trotters scrawny terrier body wistfully and wonders how he manages to stay so thin. After all, he gets through half a pound of mature chedder every day.

Trotter points out that he burns off the excess fat by chasing his tail, chasing the cats, barking at doors, attacking people leaving the house, savaging the furniture and rucking up the throws and humping them, when he gets a chance.

'Lets face it Lu', he tells the chubbiest dog in the west, 'All you do is sit there and growl at people or sleep, you can't burn off the calories doing that'

Lulu looks at him through slitted eyes, one lone tooth jutting upwards from her jaw. She'll show them she thinks, has no one wondered where she's been sneaking off to on a Sunday afternoon, Church? Pah! She'll leave those crazy christians alone thank you very much.

Truly Lu has been going to gym class, taking turns on the treadmill, then the bike. Her tums and bums classes start next week. She'll show Trotter, with his stupid muscular body.

to be continued....

At the end of the day...It gets dark

Little Tiny Trotter lays fast asleep on the sofa wrapped up in his black cloak, dreaming vampire dreams.

His feet twitch as in his dreams he turns into a bat and flys into the middle distance in an erratic and demented manner.

He sleeps a sleep so deep that he doesn't hear all the cats sneaking up on him.

'HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAA!' they cry as they tip a bucket of ice cold water on him.

Poor Trotter.

sunny afternoons

All the cats except Fing are lying sleeping on Martha's bed.

The sun is beating down and there is a kind of silence as the 3 furry bodies sleep, undisturbed by the people walking past chatting, or Dane playing basketball with Aaron. They don't wake up when Fly walks past talking to Roy, they don't stir when Ernie whizzes by in his electric wheelchair to feed the ducks.

There is a bee buzzing in the window and apart from a twitch of an ear it goes unnoticed. The slow, tick, tock, tick of the clock is almost non-existant in the background.

It is a sea of tranquility on that bed as the cats lie asleep in a bundle.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAA!' Shouts TROTTER as he dive bombs the bed scattering the sleeping cats like a bowling ball. He stands there panting with a stupid happy smile on his face, cloak slightly askew, thinking its a job well done, before seeing the looks on the cats faces and running like fuck, off down the stairs, to hide in the sitting room.

Underworld.

Fing is sat in the Garden under his favourite bush, contemplating the words of the Masnavi.

So why then is oil water's opposite? If you should try to mix them, you will see.'

Fing sits in the shade of the wegelia bush, half asleep in the dappled sunshine, pondering the complexities of the poem, 'That they keep apart so stubbornly. Since rose and thorn belong together too, Why then is constant fighting all they do'

His reverie is harshly disturbed by Trotter hurtling out of the bedroom window in his black cape, landing in the new pond, sending a tidal wave of murky water and weed into the shrubbery.

Fing sits in the shade with a piece of pond weed draped over his head and wonders what will be the best way to kill Trotter, who clambers out of the pond, shakes off his cloak and cries, 'HA HA HA Haaaaaa!' before running into the house to chase Fat Boy Faggot up the stairs.

The Cuckoos Nest

It is Film Friday and this week Fing has chosen 'Underworld' staring Kate Beckinsdale for the other pets to watch.

They stare in horrified fascination as the Vampires and Werewolves mash each other up in a variety of equally nasty ways.

Half way through the film, Fing realizes that Trotter is missing and goes in search of the poor tormented boy. All of a sudden and all unannounced TROTTER! hurtles down the stairs like a bat out of hell, wearing a long black cloack!

'My name is TROTTER!', he announces in a wierd kind of half russian, supposed to be transylvanian accent, 'I was born in the shadow of the Carpathian mountains, and I am also known as , Dracule, Ha Ha Ha Haaaa'.

Fing watches him as he races by and wonders what he ever did to deserve the other pets?

The Depressed Farmer

In a small house in Iffley, Winnie WIn Win Win lies on the floor and sulks.

She remebers what it was like to be a pub landlord and pull pints for thirsty customers on hot sunny days. Unfortunately she was forced to retire in her prime and now is competing with Truly Lu for the position of chubbiest dog in the west.

She pats her rotund little belly and sighs.

The Olympics, but not as we know it.

Trotter and Fat Boy Faggot practice their synchronized sleeping.

Aquatic Life

Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, and Tutz have spent the entire bank holiday weekend building an elaborate new pond in the back garden.

On Saturday Giggsey Girl swung a huge pick axe around like it was going out of fashion, while Tutz gave instructions from the flower bed wall. At the end of the day She had created a large, deep hole. The girls then went to the Goldfish bowl and bought some new bright and sparkly goldfish and a rather ugly little black moor for the new pond.

On Sunday the girls lined up breeze blocks and built a small wall around the edge of the pond. They also put sand and mud back in to line it and smooth it into interesting countours so the fish would have nice places to swim and explore in. They put in the liner, they cemented the wall then went inside for a glass of sweet sherry.

Today they are filing the pond, after the application of the water feature and light that will sit at the bottom of the pond to be switched on at night time to really annoy and confuse the fish. When everything is ready they will hold an official openeing of the back garden (although we couldn't have a local dignitary to cut the ribbon because there's a hose pipe ban and we'd be fined) with Varne doing the honours.

There is a tremendous air of excitement in the house, well, not from Trotter and Fing who are still fast asleep on the sofa from their May Morning.

Beltane

Trotter and Fing woke up at 5.30am in a state of excitement. They walked up into town in dawns first light and as they got nearer to the centre people began to join them. Luckily they got to Magdelen Bridge pretty early and were so allowed onto the bridge itself before the police cordoned everything off.

There is a muted chattering, all around the boys are drunk college students come back from May Balls, there are Morris Dancers holding huge standards, the Bulldogs have come out from the colleges and families with children are all around them.

At 6.30 the Magdelen Boys Choir sings and it is so beautiful that it makes all the hairs on Fings body rise until he looks like a giant puffball fish. Trotter turns to say something to him and takes a leap to the left in shock. The Music is eerily beautiful and completely incomprihensible because its all in Latin, Trotter thnks there might be a message for him in the somewhere but he cant quite grasp it.

They sing and some old boy says prayers and Trotter nudges Fing and looks at his watch. Fing nods and they force their way back through the crowds, back up the high street, they take a right down Queens Lane till they hit the Bridge of Sighs at which point they take a sharp right down a tiny alley way to the Turf Tavern.

They have a pint of Old Rosie and laugh at a very large South African who is more drunk that alive. They feel a bit tipsy on the Rosie and head back up the alley way to walk home, but no!

Under the Bridge of Sighs a large group has gathered and in the middle of everything is a Morris Dancer Stand off!



They leap and prance, some hitting sticks together, some being hit around the legs and bottoms by a man with a pigs bladder on a stick, Which Fing finds quite unsettling. Trotter is entranced by the waving of hankies and the jingle of the bells and wonders if one day, he could be a Morriser!They watch for a while then decide to cut through the crowds and weave their merry way home for a well earned nap on the sofa.

This is the Tarsier.

If he was as big as a human being his eye's would be as big as grapefruits.

Like, Hello? Thank God he isn't!

Animals

The pets are talking about the children in Beckenham who used a tiny fox cub as a football on St Georges Day.

Fing tells me that he cant help but feel that perhaps these children might benefit from being bullied at school, perhaps they might mend their ways if some much larger children kicked them around the playground, leaving them with severe internal bruising and in a state of shock.

I look at my boy and tell him that he is far too generous.

In my opinion heartless little monsters like these should have large weights tied around their necks and should be thrown off bridges into rivers to drown.

Deep thought

Trotter is sitting in the kitchen, leaning against the oven, thinking. He is thinking very very hard indeed.

He is trying to remember why he is afraid of his dinner bowl, but nothing springs to mind.

So he gives up thinking, thankfully, as he finds it overall quite painful and frustrating, and goes into the sitting room and happily starts to shred up one of Martha's new books.

Fing looks over the top of his bi-focal's and wonders if he should stop him. He watches the little shabby black dog for several heartbeats before deciding he can't be bothered. Fing looks lovingly at his embroidery and applies another stitch.

Innapropriate use of small wild mammals

Fing stands by the door and crys to go out.

'You cant!' I cry, ' There are Stoats

and

Weasles!'


'Foxes

and Ferrets!

He looks at me. He looks me up and down with a look of such intense disdain that for a brief moment it looks like he's about to suck his teeth to the back of his head. Then he storms off and attacks Trotter who had quite happily been minding his own business playing with his favourite yellow football.

Poor Trotter.

Lost in Space

There is a muted barking coming from some where in the house.

Is Trotter in the hallway barking at the cat litter tray?

No.

Is he in the kitchen barking at the washing machine?

No.

He isn't upstairs barking at Tutz, despite it being one of his favourite past times. He isnt on the landing barking at Martha's bedroom door. He isn't in the sitting room barking at the fan, and he isn't in his pig-pen barking at the air.

No.

Poor Trotter has accidentally locked himself in the bathroom and is barking at the door because he can't understand why he cant get back out again.

Poor Trotter

Ahhhhhh

I Love you when you sleep, its a moment I can keep, Like an old bus ticket or a photograph.

You don't wee, or poo or bark, or any other thing that I dont like, talk is cheap, but i love you when you sleep.

Guest Pet of the Week - Stanley

Stanley

He's the Man!

Likes: Humping soft toys
Dislikes: Oprah Winfrey
Age: Unknown
Distinguishing features: He's the cutest little bad-ass you've ever seen!
Habits and problem behaviours: Singing along to the musical 'Annie!' whilst eating alphabetty spaghetti.

Travelling Pet of the Week - Willow

Willow sits in her taxi, on route to Butlins. She is taking a well earned rest from being the manager of The Swan in Ascot under Wichwood.

Her relief managers are Lucas by day, Duncan by night (Damian at the weekends) and the infamous Captain Skipjack, who apparently takes mayo on the side.

She hopes that her pub will be in good hands and looks forward to being stroked by a red coat.

Fed up with not being allowed in the garden Trotter decides to take himself for a walk.

It is a sad day for Trotter.

All the other pets are in the garden playing rounders, enjoying the first proper sunshine of the year.

But not Trotter, not to be trusted he stands alone in his pig pen and sighs.

Guest Pet of the Week - Khan

KHAN

Likes: Knawing on old dolls heads and tossing them around the room

Dislikes: Being picked up and then dropped again when Stuart is drunk

Age: Unknown

Distinguishing features: Squashed up face and cowboy hat

Habits & Problem behaviours: Riding his pony too fast down Thame High Street, lassoing bitches in heat and picking his nose at the dinner table

A matter of Taste

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Classic

Fing has gathered the pets in my bedroom in order to try and introduce culture to the animals of Preachers Lane.

'In your opinion' he asks, 'what was Lucian trying to convey when he wrote "The fly is not the smallest of winged creatures if you compare it with gnats and midges and even tinier things, but it is as much large than those as it as smaller than the bee"?'

'What?','WHAT?' spits Giggsey Girl, the stupid slug face, all cross eyed confusion like a recently awoken victim of catatonia from the window sill.

'Ppprrrooootttt!' says Tutz from the top of the scratchy pole, lying languidly like a small grey furry jellyfish, 'Proooooot!', then shuts down from the conversation to concentrate on the league of insanity that is her world.

Fing stares into nothing for what seems like an age before composing himself for Trotters opinion.

Trotter looks at Fing and says 'I think he's talking out of his fat fucking Greek arse'

Fing holds his head in his paws and despairs. It is at that moment that Fat Boy Faggot speaks from beside the bookcase.

'If you'll excuse me for saying so', he says, 'I've always preferred the Greek'

Morris

Many years ago Captain Skipjack travelled the globe in his frigate. It was hard work in the merchant navy, sometimes the wind and rain lashed the decks in a fury. Sometimes the waves were 150feet high and would toss the frigate around like a matchbox.

Sometimes the salt air would take the skin off your cheeks and sometimes you ran out of loo roll, but you overcame these things, because, afterall, you were in the merchant navy and thats what you had to put up with.

Captain Skipjack survived all the trials and tribulations by befriending a seagull called Morris who lived mainly on the coast of California. Sometimes Morris would come and live on the boat and sit in the rigging and chat to albatrosses.

Morris came to visit the Captain this week but the english seagulls didn't like his accent so chased him out of town.

Attitude

In a former life Fing lived in an eygptian temple where he was worshiped by the devotees of the goddess Bast.

Its no wonder he's got such a bad attitude problem.

The Ginger Junkie

Its way too early in the morning and he can't quite work out why he's alone. But alone he is and he's fucked.

He's bent kind of double listening to music, he's text all his mate's but he's the only one up.

He's drunk all the vodka and the only thing left is a selection of liquers. Try as he might, he can't face it. He knows that this is not the way to amaretto.

So he sits tail twitching. testy as a tarantula with all its legs cut off. There's no catnip left, he's taken it all. All there is is the come down, the being alone with nothing to drink, wired and wide awake.

He can't get no sleep.

Spare Time

When Fing is at dance class and Tutz is at Primark, When Fizzgigg is at self defence lessons and Fat Boy Faggot has gone to the sauna, when Truly Lu is fast asleep and lies gently snoring on the sofa, Trotter likes to listen to the Carpenters.

Trotter doesn't like it when Tutz listens to Gangsta Rap.

He despises MTV.

He cant get his head around Fings samba rhythms and although he listens to the beat of his own drum, finds it a bit spasmodic, and unreliably erratic.

Only with the dulcet tones of Karen can he relax and be at one with the music. Only with the Carpenters can he dance and clap and sing.

'Ohh, Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and fillet gumbo

For tonight, I'm a-gonna see my my-my cher a mi-o

Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o

Son of a gun, we'll have big fun on the bayou'

Sometimes he forgets himself and suddenly comes to, to find all the other pets’ home, stood staring at him like he's care in the community gone wrong.

Primrose Cottage

Lucas by day-Duncan by night and Captain Skipjack are overjoyed as confirmation of their holiday cottage arrived in the post today.

Lucas by day-Duncan by night cannot ever recall having a holiday as for a very long time he was shut in one room and not allowed out. He imagines that the holiday will be a time of exciting things, like walks and chasing sticks and lots of hugs and kisses and possibly windsurfing.

Captain Skipjack thinks 'THE SEA' and wonders if a week in Skegness will bring on his scurvy and creaking hips...he decides to pack his sowester and galoshes just in case. He sits in the sitting room darning his socks and wonders if he should mend the nets? This is a holiday he reminds himself, there'll be no nets or the rigging, no work to be done!

And so they stand at the back gate barking and wagging their tails till everyone in the entire neighbourhood wishes that they'd fuck off on their holiday today.

A day in the life of....

It is a day much as any other in the Hartley household.

Trotter is sat at the bottom of the stairs waiting for Martha to come home. In the sitting room, on the sofa, Truly Scrumptious Lulu, the chubbiest dog in the west, snoozes like a great big lump of black lard.

Fat boy Faggot sits on the top in the kitchen, greedily consuming all of the cat milk before the other cats realize its there.

Upstairs Tutz practices being boneless and lies draped like an old rag on the top level of the scratchy pole.

Outside Fing roles in the dirt like a cat possessed while Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face sits like a gargoyle on the wall waiting to attck strangers.

All, as usual.

Fat Boy Faggot is now throwing up for his greedyness and a lake of white vomit covers the side.

Fing is having a panic attack and is stood on his hind legs peering through the glass of the back door in an angst ridden moment.

Tutz has accidentally slithered off the top level of the scratchy pole and is regaining her composure underneath the bed.

Lulu sleeps.

Trotter waits, like the good little dog he is, saving all his energy to give Martha the welcome she deserves. Oh how he will twirl when she comes.

Bird cat of alcatraz

Tutz sits on the bed staring at the orange wall, slowly kneading the blanket on the bed.

She sits and kneads, kneads and sits.

She makes the chirping sound that is unique to herself and wonders how long it will be before anyone else realises that her claws are stuck in the blanket.

Not letting his disastrous stint as head chef of the Lemon Tree and consequential sacking get him down, Trotter has opened his own bakery.

As a purveyor of fine pastries Trotter is in a league of his own. His Danish are to die for; his Chelsea buns are charming the birds from the trees. There are cinnamon rolls, choux buns, chocolate éclairs and sachertorte. You can choose cheesecake or carrot cake, chocolate cake or coffee cake.

Of course Trotters piece de la resistance is his Fruitcake.

It’s nutty as.

A World of Insanity

Fing was very distressed earlier when he decided to put in some dance practice and found Tutz listening to gangster rap.

He stood there in his newly acquired orange sequinned slacks, towel over one shoulder and stared through slitted eyes at Tutz, who ignored him completely and just sat there rapping, tapping her foot, nodding her head along to the music and just being as completely irritating as she could possibly be.

Fing noticed her new basketball outfit and Von Catz cap and decided that she had probably been smoking crack, and then stormed off downstairs only to find Martha watching MTV Base in the sitting room.

'Where can a cat get some peace and quiet?' he thinks and try’s the kitchen only to stand in stunned astonishment at the door.

Trotter, Fat Boy Faggot and Giggsey Girl the stupid slug face are sitting round a small green baize table and are playing poker. The room is full of cigar smoke and they've hired a pole dancer for the afternoon. Its dark, it’s dingy and looks completely uninviting. They all turn and stare at him in silence through the smokey air then return to the cards and the bourbon. Fing holds his head in his paws and admits defeat; there is only so much a boy can do when faced with such adversity.

He goes upstairs, takes off his new sequinned slacks, runs himself a bath then lays there with a face pack on, trying to calm his fractured nerves.

Pea Soup

In the early hours of the morning i peeled open my eyes to find Fing, perched, precariously, pissing upon a pile of clean washing. If this was not enough he knocked it off the side and pulled it all into a great big pile.

It was way too many P's to wake up to.

Fing

FING may be the cat I cant forget!

Too much trouble or

RRREEEEEGGGGGRRRRREEEEEEEETTTTTTTT!

Oh Fing, my darling boy, my little one

Fing may be the Beauty or the beast

May be the Famine or the Feast,

Fing

Who always seems so happy in a crowd

Whose eyes are so private and so proud

FING

May be the reason I survive.....Oh Fing, my darling FING!!!

In Memory of the Pets of Christmas Past

Trevor was a one eyed siamese with the worst halitosis I have ever encountered in man or beast. He prowled around the flat miowing very loudly and if he wasn't doing that he would be stuck up a tree somewhere, miowing for help.

Trevor was particularly good at opening the fridge door and eating all the bacon. He rather stupidly tended to get in the fridge to eat and was accidentally shut in on several occaisions and would be found shivering with the cold hours later.

In desperation my cousin would buy child locks but to no avail, Trevor could open everyone.

The final straw was Christmas day. My cousin had taken the dogs for a walk and returned to find Trevor sitting on top of the turkey in the middle of the kitchen floor. He had opened the fridge and dragged it out and started to nibble on it when he was discovered by my uncle. Upon my cousins return she found them engaged in battle, my uncle brandishing a rolling pin and the cat hissing and slahing at him with his claws.

They gave up in the end and had salmon instead.

Alien Invasion

Margo wishes that she was guest pet of the week. Afterall she deserves it.

Not only is she young and like, totally, beautiful in a very small way, she's also on season and is the toast of the Cuddesdon dog community.

Chi wau wau!

Guest Pet Of The Week - Poochies

POOCHIES

Likes: Being pissed on by Labradors and golden retrievers, pressing her slavering jaws up against the windows of high speeding sports cars.

(poochie, poochie, poochie)

Dislikes: pea's, being bitten on the ankle by stoat's

(Poochie, Poochie, Poochie, Poochie)

Age: Older than the hills

(POOCHIE!)

Vital Statistics: White and black, cataracts, 12 inches tall be 16 long.

(p, p, p.....)

Habits and problems: Occasional pissing on bed clothes and foot stools when unhappy. Leaping around in an excitable fashion. Drooling on your foot.

(POOOOCCCHHHIIEEEEEEEE!!!)

Distinguishing features - Occasional cling on's when she has a poo (Rather lively when trying to remove), improbable extensive tongue, no teeth, moults like a cunt.

Conference

Fing has been at a Fishmongers Conference this week. As some of you may be aware he used to work in a sardine canning factory.

Unfortunately he and the foreman never saw eye to eye and Fing was forced to resign. Its a very great shame as he loved that job.

Fing has been discussing new ways to fillet fish. He has talked about depletion of cod stock and fresh water salmon farms. He has joked with the fishmongers and swapped fishy tales with them. He thinks that its a great shame that Captain Skipjack isn't attending the conference as he feels he would probably have the best storys to tell, but then remembers that he's still recovering from the weekend and all the rum and probably wouldn't have been the best guest speaker afterall.

Last night he sang on the kareoke and amazed everyone with his samba dancing. He drank white wine spritzers and chatted up the bar maid. He then realized that he was far more drunk than he had imagined so snuck off to his room where, this morning, he woke up in the bath.

The Louder you Scream

Trotter loves to twirl around and around and around. He is a whirling dervish as he spins.

Sometimes he spins to the left, sometimes to the right.

Unfortunately he hasn't mastered the act of whirling, which if done properly would put him in a trance, releasing him from his body, enabling him to conquer dizziness. A lot of the time he ends up lurching off mid spin and ends up head butting the wall.

Sometimes he actually catches his tail and then cant let go and can be seen, scutteling sideways down the hall like a crab.

Disco

Lucas by day, Duncan by night wishes he could come to the school disco. He still, afterall, has his old school cap, somewhere.

Where? he wonders in an abstract fashion? Is that what i've been looking for all this time?

It's not in the corner and its not on the floor, its definately not on the wall. Is it by the back gate? Is it in his basket along with his novelty tyre?

such things are sent to try a dog he decides.

Perhaps he could pop on Ezra's discarded grey socks? Perhaps he could wear shorts and a blazer?

Perhaps it would be easier by far to forget about the school disco and sit by the sofa and stare into the corner for the next 3 hours. He decides to ask Captain Skipjack what to do but unfortunately he's drunk on dark rum and is singing sea shanties on the sofa.

Corner it is.

Saturday Morning

Fing is lying in the bath with an ice pack on his head.

He is hanging out of his arse.

Friday Night

The coven is packed, its a squeeze to get through to the balconies past the top dancefloor. Its hazy and smoky and the music is banging. The further back you get into the club the darker it gets with just the lights and the strobe lighting the dingy darkness.

There is the thud, thud, thud, of the music, and the flash, flash, flash of the lights, and then you see him, dancing his crazy samba dream on the dancefloor! It's Fing and he's on FIRE!

Everyone's saying 'where does that crazy cat get his moves?' Everyone watches with envy as he slinks his stupid furry body round the dance floor, weaving in and out, in a world of his own he dances like there is no tomorrow, he trips the light fantastic!

Trotter watches from the balcony wishing he looked that good on the dancefloor.