Guest Cat Of The Month For December: Parsley

Name?
Parsley.

Nickname?
Parse, Parsnip, Doughnut, Tiger-bum, Longtail, Snake-face, Golden Nugget.

Age?
I'll be four next spring.

Owner?
Tim (60%); Isabel (40%).

Catchphrase?
I can't be bothered.

Favourite hobbies?
I'm not a fan of exercise, but I am quite partial to chasing rolled-up bits of paper. I'd make a decent goalie because I'm good at catching stuff, too. I'm expecting to get a call-up for England, but I wouldn’t play because I’m not keen on going out of the garden. I sometimes go down the alley, so if England had a match down there I suppose I could. Tim used to play as a goalie and his nickname was ‘the cat’ so I’d like to have the same nickname, although I actually am a cat so it wouldn’t really be a nickname. Maybe my nickname could be 'the human'. I get easily confused, as you have probably guessed.

What constitutes a perfect evening for you?
I like sitting on the sofa and getting looked at – and talked about – but not stroked too much. The occasional bit of rubbing with that glove with the bobbles on it is good. There'd be no visitors. That's important, because I get a bit spooked by new people. Usually, at the very end of the evening, when the humans are about to go to bed and want to shut me in the kitchen, I'll dash under the bed in the spare room where they can't reach me. I'll sit there for ages, right in the middle where they can't reach me. You wouldn't believe some of the language they use when I do that.

Favourite food?
Anything. Everything. Tim tries to divide the food equally between me and my sister, Nutmeg, but I wolf mine down so I can steal hers. For the record, though, I'm not greedy. I just have a healthy appetite. I like getting fed by hand best of anything in the world and scrunch my face up so when I’m crunching biscuits I look like an old man, although I’m not – I’m a girl and a cat and still quite young.

Defining moment of your life?
When Nutmeg ran away for three days. It was brilliant. I had the house and the humans to myself. Tim and Isabel were upset so I got lots of fuss and they even gave me more food that usual. I do love Nutmeg and stuff, course I do, because we've growded up together, but she can be a bit noisy and demanding. She's a terrible flirt, too. I'm not one to tell tales, but once when we were in the cattery she minced around showing her tail to the boy next door. Another time, when a hedgehog came in the garden, I think she tried to give it her number.

Any enemies?
I'm quite a nervous cat so I'm scared of lots of things. Dogs barking. Dustmen. The car over the road with the funny engine. People knocking at the door. Brooms. Boots. The postman on gravel. There are enemies everywhere. If I had a psychomologolist they'd tell me that's why I eat too much. It's my nerves. I’d tell them what I tell everyone else: I’m big boned.

If you could do one thing to make the world a better place for felines, what would it be?
Ban rain.

If you could meet a celebrity who would it be and why?
David James. I could show him how to catch.

Which one of the cats in Under The Paw would you like to be stuck in a lift with?
The Bear. I'm not really into boys, but I'd get his number for Nutmeg.

Brief biography?
I was born in Sussex, then moved to Surrey. I never met my daddy, although my mummy was called Mabel and her human said she used to go "loopy for leaves" when she was my age.
My scariest moment was when I got stuck on a neighbour’s pergola. I’d followed Nutmeg over there but then two dogs came out and started jumping up at us. Nutmeg legged it and left me there and I just froze. I sat and pretended it wasn’t happening, staring at the sky. In the end, Tim had to come round with a stepladder and rescue me. He said it was the last thing he needed, because the neighbours already thought he was a crank when it came to cats!
I have a very long tail. Even people who meet me for the first time have remarked on the length of my tail. I think it could win a prize. I also have striking markings and big eyes. Humans often say I should be entered for a show, although I vetoed that idea because I don’t like meeting other cats. I also have a sensitive tummy so I often have to eat boring bland food from the vet, Mr Mike.
My main ambition in life is to catch a pidgin. They sit in the garden and make me go cross-eyed. One sat on the shed for two hours once, so I sat on the grass staring back at it for all that time. I might not be very quick, but I’m patient. I watch them in trees and hope they’ll fall out and land next to me. This hasn’t happened yet but it might. When they fly off, they sometimes drop feathers and I eat the feathers. That's how I think the actual pidgin would taste.

PS: Don't think I'm not aware that Nutmeg got asked to be a guest on this blog before me. I heard her boasting about it. And it’s not true what she said about me finding the worm dead. It was alive and I had to wrestle it to the ground (well, it was actually already on the ground, but it did wriggle a bit).

Parsley's human Tim Relf is the author of two novels - you can find out more about his fiction here.

Guest Cat Of The Month For December: Nutmeg

Name?
Nutmeg.

Nickname?
Nuts, Nutty, Hazelnut, Haze, Fruit Weasel, Water Weasel, The Rippler, Gwen and Blackgum.

Age?
Two-and-a-half.

Owner?
Tim (80%); Isabel (20%).

Catchphrase?
Tim says it should be “Behind every great tabby, there's a great owner” but my motto is: "Wrapping presents is better with a cat in the room.”

Favourite habits?
I like climbing in open drawers, chasing - and retrieving - a ball with a bell in it and sitting on the shed. I enjoy stretching out on Tim’s desk under the light (he refers to it as an anglepoise lamp; I know it’s a sunbed). Attacking toes under a duvet is fun, as is rubbing noses with humans and making people who are allergic to cats sneeze.

What constitutes a perfect evening for you?
Sitting on a cushion watching TV. In the adverts, I'd steal food and wind up my sister, Parsley (she doesn't know I'm doing this interview, incidentally, so don't tell her or she'll get jealous).

Favourite food?
I eat two pouches of Felix and a big pile of dry biscuits a day, split equally into two meals. The Felix should be served first on both occasions (it's like a soup course). I’ve also stolen a range of food including: pizza, pasta, duck bhuna, lamb burgers with jalapeno, sausages, yoghurt, lemon tart, blueberry cheesecake and ice cream.
I can't be bothered to hunt much so I don't find a lot of my own food outdoors, but I tried to eat a bee and got stung on the paw and it swelled up like a boxing glove. Parsley eats even less than me outside. All she’s done is bite the head off a worm. And I think that might have been dead when she found it.

Defining moment of your life?
Running away from home last Christmas. I went for three days. They stuck posters up all round the neighbourhood, but I was only in the alleys behind the houses. I came back at 4.30am on Christmas Eve morning. Isabel cried. Tim said something I can't repeat, but I know he was pleased because he cheered and then ate a trifle in his boxer shorts and let me lick the spoon. They joked afterwards (in rather bad taste, I think) about me being a 'Christmas miracle'.

Any enemies?
I did hate the show-off tortoiseshell over the road, but she moved to Wallington. To be honest, I'm scared of nothing. I once went after a squirrel, but it got away. I even squared up to a fox that came into the garden. I might be a small cat, but you should see my tail when it flares up.

If you could do one thing to make the world a better place for felines, what would it be?
Sheds would be provided free for every household, as sitting on them is brilliant. I'm also a passionate campaigner for indoor litter trays, banning all traffic from all roads, and making the whole year fledgling season (see below). In addition, I'm calling for the compulsory distribution of underwear on bedroom floors around the world, as there's nowhere better to sleep on than a pair of pants, socks or a bra.

If you could meet a celebrity who would it be and why?
Cheryl Cole - because I look like her, and if I could get her number and give it to Tim and then he’d owe me a massive favour! I’m actually more famous than Cheryl. I’ve been mentioned on the Under The Paw blog before and my ball-retrieving talent was the subject of one of the Q&A’s in a newspaper’s ‘ask the vet’ column. They didn’t use a photo of me, though, which I’m still considering complaining about.

Which one of the cats in Under The Paw would you like to be stuck in a lift with?
Pablo - because he’s a bit of dish.

Brief biography?
I was born on a farm in Sussex. There were four of us: two boys and two girls. The two boys (Max and Morris) got chosen first so it was just me and Parsley left when Tim came to look at the litter. He took us back with him. I cost £60. Our names were originally Milly and Molly - but they got changed to Nutmeg and Parsley although I don't know if this was via Deed Poll. We are tabbies, but I have the most white.
I've always weighed about 25% less than Parsley. The vet, a nice tall man called Mr Mike, described her as "definitely sizeable". I reckon 'fat' is a better description.
My mum was called Mabel, although no one has the faintest idea who my father was. Rumour is, he was big and ginger. I’ve also heard it said that my Mabel was rather “free with her affections” but I can’t see what’s wrong with that because being affectionate is good. Sometimes, when my fur is rubbed the wrong way you can see flecks of ginger which I like because it reminds me I had a daddy.
I got ill when I was very little and had to have antibiotics and wouldn’t eat. Mr Mike said I needed bland food like fishes and chickeners. They kept me in overnight at the vet's and Mr Mike did something to me with a thermometer that I won't recount here in case kittens are reading. When I went home, Tim cooked me fishes and chickeners. I didn't want to die because, even though I hadn't been outdoors at that stage, I could see this big square wooden thing in the garden with bikes and junk in it and I thought: I'd like to sit on that.
I’m a good hunter when I put my mind to it, but mostly I can’t be bothered. The one time I do hunt is in the spring when there are baby birds. This year, there was a nest with fledgers in it in a tree behind the house. I got up there and pushed three out. I was just pushing the third one out and preparing to climb down and eat them when the neighbours appeared. Tim also came out of the house, looking embarrassed. They suggested he take the fledgers to a local animal rescue centre. He did (reluctantly, I sensed) where they made him give a £5 donation, which he wasn’t happy about. The next day I went back up the tree and pushed the last fledger out and the neighbours called Tim and he had to do the same again. Cost him another £5. Humans never learn.
It also make me realise how confusing life can be, though. I mean, owners say you shouldn't lie, yet Tim claimed he "found the birds in a park after someone’s cat had caught them”.

PS: Thanks for having me.

PPS: Seriously, don’t tell Parsley about this or she’ll go mad.

Nutmeg's human Tim Relf is the author of two novels - you can find out more about his fiction here.