Horrid, That Bloody Cat, Chairman Miaow
Verdi: Requiem Dies Irae
Marianne Levy and her husband-to-be Rob. Marianne did not reveal my existence on her first date with Rob, something he occasionally mentions, usually after I’ve ruined one of his jumpers.
I skipped tender kittenhood, instead springing into the world fully formed and utterly evil. My early years are hidden in mystery, but it is known that my wicked nature so affronted my first family that they threw me onto the street. Luckily, chance led me to the household of the pushover children’s author Marianne Levy, where all bow before my Terrible Claws.
A few events of particular note – I once swallowed a needle and held it in my throat, undetected, for a full five days. Ah, the vet’s face when, on my third visit, I coughed it triumphantly on to the table! And let us not forget the occasion when, in events that have never been fully explained, I gave a veterinary nurse a sprained leg. Then there was the time my head enlarged overnight, before bursting the following morning in a glorious shower of hot pus. Happy days!
Marianne often finds me making passionate love to her cushions.
What constitutes a perfect evening for you?
I am a cat of great heft and possess a correspondingly vigorous appetite. My ideal evening would involve a meal every twenty minutes or so, and perhaps a game of ‘claw the most expensive piece of furniture in the room’ or a few rounds of ‘bite Marianne until I taste blood’.
If ever I deviate from my diet of Very Expensive Cat Food by even a single mouthful, I will vomit with lavish and spectacular abandon. And I deviate a lot.
Defining moment of your life?
Marianne was delighted to get a call saying Egmont wanted to publish her children’s series, the ‘Ellie May’ books. So, naturally, I chose to ruin the moment with a dramatic collapse from an indigestible hairball.
If you could do one thing to make the world a better place for felines what would it be?
I loathe other felines, so can only envisage making the world a better place for myself. An armoured tank might be nice, with specially adapted controls. And nuclear missiles.
If you could meet a celebrity who would it be and why?
Donald Trump. We’re both dreadful, and we’re both thinning around the ears.
Which one of the cats in Under The Paw and Talk To The Tail would you like to be stuck in a lift with?