Christmas, Cats and #Fridayflash

Those of you who follow me on Twitter (@FutureNostalgic) will no doubt be familiar with the Christmas preparations here at Pen-thusiast Towers, namely the fun and games we've had putting up our Christmas tree. I swear, it was only out of its box for 30 seconds before No. 4 Cat took up residence...

Mrs. Future; Nostalgic called in a feline relocation expert (yours truly!) and once No. 4 Cat had been raked out of the branches, and I went to staunch the bleeding, she managed to get the decorations on the tree. Just in time...

It's worse now there are toys to play with - the poor Christmas Robin decoration will never be the same again - I'm sure it's having nightmares!

I have however, noticed how No. 4 Cat shares an ability with small children of a similar age - and if you've ever tried to get a recalcitrant toddler into a pushchair (stroller) you'll know exactly what I mean. As soon as she feels me apply that lifting-out-of-the-tree grip, No. 4 Cat goes all stiff and heavy. It's not as though she actively hangs on for grim death, it's more like extremely effective passive resistance; I wouldn't be surprised if she's out doing sit-ins and campaigning for mice's rights or some such when she's older!

I suppose there is an upside to having a cat with so much personality (did someone say too much personality?), and that is she does provide some inspiration for writing, which brings me neatly on to #fridayflash.

Friday what?!

#Fridayflash.

Err...isn't that...

No! Nothing at all to do with hanging around in a public place on a Friday, wearing nothing but a dirty raincoat! #Fridayflash is all about writing. Let me explain...

Created by J. M. Strother, #fridayflash is, in a nutshell, short fiction of 1000 words or less, posted on the author's blog on a Friday, with the title and URL Tweeted on Twitter along with the #fridayflash hashtag; it is also possible to post the URL on the #fridayflash group page on Facebook.

Last Friday's list of #fridayflash stories can be found here.

I was (so they tell me) quite good at English Language at school and used to enjoy creative writing essays, in fact it was about the only part of school I did enjoy, but what with one thing and another (work, life, family, etc.) it's been years since I've done anything like that, and I wasn't sure I still could.

Last month was NaNoWriMo, and a few of my friends on Twitter took part. I, on the other hand, took one look at the idea of writing a 50 000 word novel in a month and was last seen driving a (metaphorical) fast pair of feet in the opposite direction! 50 000 words in a month? Me? Yeah, right!

Enter #fridayflash. Hang on a minute, 1000 words maximum and no time limit? Hmmm. Surely I can crank out 500 words or so? How hard could it be? Well, it wasn't easy, but I did it - then I checked my word processor’s word count feature. 1014 words! Hold on, how did that happen?! Out with the red pen, and a couple of days later I'd managed to get it under the 1000, so I posted it in the hope maybe a couple of people might possibly stop by and read it.

Wow! I was truly humbled by all the wonderfully constructive and supportive comments. What a great bunch of people the #fridayflash authors and readers are.

Maybe I should have another go...

I've now written a couple of #fridayflash stories, which (shameless plug!) can be found here, and here, but I'm already coming to see what a great medium #fridayflash is. If you have access to Twitter, do search the #fridayflash hashtag, you will not be disappointed!

Christmas, Cats and #Fridayflash

A Quart Into A Pint Pot

No. 4 Cat's been at it again! This happened this morning and I couldn't resist posting. You see, my darling daughter brought this box home yesterday for No. 4 Cat to shred, but No. 4 Cat's cannier than that.

She took one look at the box and, after giving it a good sniff, climbed aboard; it was like watching a contortionist as round and round she went, ever so slowly getting more and more of herself into the box. I have never before seen so much cat go into such a small space.


Just so you know, the box is 9" x 8" and around 3" deep and No. 4 Cat is...err...hang on, I'll measure her...

Ouch...hold still...no, come here...Oh, you...Ow, get your claws out of my arm...for goodness sake...Ouch...it's only a ruler...Ah, there we are...no, we're not...why, I oughta...will you please stop wriggling...there...finally...gotcha!

Ahem! *cough* No. 4 Cat is about 15" long from the tip of her nose to the base of her tail, which adds another 12" for a total length of 27" (all cat measurements are approximate!). Not huge, but neither's the box. And she's apparently not keen on rulers!

Band-Aid anyone?

A Quart Into A Pint Pot

No. 4 Cat's Guilty Pleasure

Now I like a cigarette as much as the next man, more than the next man probably as I still enjoy an occasional smoke. Yes, I know, filthy habit, doing me no good, I really should give up, blah, blah; but I digress...

No. 4 Cat is a recent addition to the pen-thusiast household following the passing of No. 2 Cat. She's a sort of 'patchwork' cat (brown and orange tabby, tortoishell and white) from our local branch of the RSPCA and, to be honest, she's a bit strange.


The RSPCA's vet estimated her age at about two years old but, having been an amateur cat-wrangler for more years than I care to remember, I'd put it closer to six months old. She spent her first week trying to sleep on my head and only slowly took to having her own bed; it was like having a baby all over again. She will only eat dry catfood I was informed and this turned out to be true, for about 30 seconds until she noticed No. 3 Cat's dinner - her favourite flavour is now whatever anyone else is having, wet or dry, she's not bothered as long as it's in someone else's dish!

Her favourite source of water is the toilet, and the less said about that the better. No. 4 Cat also likes cheese. Cheddar cheese mind you, and not the cheap stuff, oh no. She will actually fight you for a piece so cheese smuggling is the new pastime at Pen-thusiast Towers. She's also fond of the meat out of your sandwich, all the tastier if you've fallen for her, "Look! there's Elvis!" routine - by the time you turn round to see what she's looking at you're enjoying a sandwich sans filling, but that's not her guilty pleasure...

No. 4 Cat's guilty pleasure is cardboard. Boxes, sheets, the inside bits from toilet rolls, she loves it all. She actually hunts cardboard and will steal it given half a chance, and when she gets hold of some she sits up on her hind legs like a squirrel and calmly and methodically shreds it. She has such a blissful look on her face when she's doing it too.



All of which was fine until No. 4 Cat discovered cigarette packets. Empty ones are her preferred choice, but she's not averse to pinching a full one if there are no empty packets within easy reach; I have the sneaking suspicion she's in league with the 'Stop Smoking' lobby. It seems to be her sole goal in life at the moment to get to my cigarettes before I do, she doesn't eat them, just delights in shredding them into tiny, tiny little bits which she leaves in a neat pile on the floor, then sits next to the pile with her best, "Look what I've done, aren't I clever?!" face on.

Cigarettes are now kept under tighter security than the gold at Fort Knox and what with that, the cheese smuggling and No. 4 Cat's recent habit of lying in wait on the top of an open door for unsuspecting passers-by, Pen-thusiast Towers is a strange place to be at the moment.

No. 4 Cat's Guilty Pleasure

The Cat is Dead, Long Live the Cat.

After eighteen and a half years' sterling service, No. 2 Cat has passed away. He has expired, turned up his toes, snuffed it, shuffled off this mortal coil, gone to a better place. He is dead, deceased, stiff-as-a-board, in short, he is an ex-cat.



No. 2 Cat belonged to my wonderful wife, who got him from our local animal shelter. They said he was at least eight weeks old, our vet said four so we split the difference and said he was six weeks old. And when my wonderful wife brought him home, she neglected to mention he came with 'extras' - cat flu, ear mites, an eye infection and a very healthy population of the biggest fleas I'd ever seen. If we hadn't, at that time, qualified for free veterinary care he could have quickly become a 'Money Pit' of a cat, as it was our vet said the only treatment for his cat flu was a dose of full-strength medicine which would either kill or cure him, and could ultimately leave him with brain damage.

It was touch and go for a while, but he pulled through, the fleas, mites and infection were soon dealt with, though the cat flu medicine did have a lasting effect - for his entire life, No. 2 Cat thought he was a kitten. He just never grew up, he was the Peter Pan of cats.

No. 2 Cat's first meal with us was good old-fashioned British fish 'n' chips - I found him sitting on my plate, happily devouring my portion of cod. He ate the lot, which was no mean feat because he could fit in the palm of your hand at that stage. I didn't have the heart to stop him. After his tea, No. 2 Cat set off diagonally across the room looking like a furry tennis ball with a leg at each corner; it was only now we realised he couldn't walk properly, he used to go sideways while looking at where he wanted to go.

From those humble beginnings grew a wonderful cat who will forever be remembered with much fondness.

The Cat is Dead, Long Live the Cat.