Poppy

Ah, there's the cat, aka Super Purry Animal, The Incredible Bulk, Jabba the Katt, the duck-filled fattypuss, "Frippykins", "Whoppums" or "Woo", engaging in her favourite "activity". Obviously it isn't mealtime yet, or even time to pester us for her regular meal (from about three hours prior). Perhaps she's just found the only sunny patch in the house or maybe it's nearer bedtime and she's reserving my her space on the bed.

Errr no, I wouldn't go to stroke her if I were you. The local hospital is running low on blood transfusion stocks after they stitched the wounds of the last person to do that.

Perhaps she's hoping the big, hot, orangey god in the lounge will rise up once more so can she worship in front of it for the rest of the evening (belly up). If not, she can always find out what we're doing and then get in the way of it, usually by sitting down and squashing whatever it was. If you look closely, you can even see the hairs moulting off her and covering every surface!

Shall we let her sleep here tonight? Oh go on, she won't be any bother ... well, apart from leaping on top of you and sticking her wet nose in your ear at 5am so you know it's feeding time. And taking up half the bed. And snoring. I'm not kidding about the snoring, you know.

Some people like to have their pets stuffed after they've died. When Poppy dies (any day now, if she keeps sharpening her claws on the stair carpet), we reckon we could get a fair sized rug out of her. Anyway, she has stuffed herself throughout life.

If you'd like a cat like Poppy, you need your head checking. Nevertheless, your local branch of the Cats Protection League can surely help.