Toy Story Part II: Things That Are Not Mice

Here, as promised, is a list of Mouth and Tail's favourite non-mouse toys.

(5) In fifth place I give you the Catnip Sausage. This was a Christmas gift from one of my cat-owning friends. She tells me the catnip is so strong that her own cats attacked the postman when it arrived.

The Catnip Sausage bears a brown stain that looks worryingly like a bodily secretion of some sort (Tail does get excited), but my boyfriend assures me that is just what catnip does when it is drooled on.

I give it a wide berth just in case.

(4) At number four I present ... a box. This is no ordinary box; it is exactly the right dimensions to house Mouth's rather ample bottom, and, if he hunches down, allows him to demonstrate the 'Muffin Top' position.

Judging by the bite marks around the edges, it also appears to be very tasty.

The box originally contained some books I bought online. When the supplier asked me to write a review of their product, I was tempted to write: "Excellent packaging. My cat has barely moved since product arrived. Would buy again. ★★★★★"

(3) In third place comes my nose. Not a conventional toy, I'll admit, but it is one of Mouth's most treasured things to lick, paw, show his bottom and sleep on.

My nose has come to accept this.

(2) In the coveted number two spot is the Weird Wiry Thing. We don't really know what it is. It is basically just a wire with wooden chewy things at each end.

We bought it at a pet fair for about £4, and it came with a paw-shaped sticker so you could fasten it to the wall. "WARNING: STRONG ADHESIVE," warned the label. "THIS TOY WILL NEVER COME OFF YOUR WALL," it said. "YOU WILL PROBABLY NEED TO BULLDOZE YOUR HOUSE IN ORDER TO REMOVE IT," it cautioned. (I may be misremembering slightly, but it was very insistent.)

It fell off the wall after a couple of hours, so we just gave Mouth and Tail the wire.

They love it though, so it has earned its runner-up slot.

(1) In prestigious first place comes an old aerial that fell off my boyfriend's car.

No, really. Mouth cherishes this aerial like nothing else (it is on a par with Tail's sparkly ball), and will even abandon freshly plated food to chase it.

Friends never cease to be entertained by Mouth's devotion to his aerial. He will fall asleep clutching it lovingly between his paws. He will carry it in his mouth like a dog with a particularly impressive stick. He will give it a lingering lick now and then, to reassure it of his continuing adulation.

Mouth has a distinctive Aerial Miaow (mrrrOO-OO-OOWW!) that means "I feel I have not spent a sufficiently high proportion of my time chasing the aerial of late, and this displeases me". The only acceptable response to the Aerial Miaow is to find the aerial, pronto, and drag its tip along the floor for him to pursue.

Well, it is the only thing he stands any chance of catching.

Cat vs Rose

I have decided that cats are better than roses because their sharp pointy bits are less generously distributed.

Cats are also squishier and more open to being snuggled.

Roses smell better, though.

Happy Valentine's Day!

My Cat is Afraid of Bras

I bought a new bra last week.

It is nice. It is pretty and purple and supportive in all the right places.

When I got home, I decided to try it on. I left it on the bed while I nipped in the shower.

Little did I know that purple bras are the stuff of Mouth's worst nightmares.

In his eyes, it was a demonic chest-hugging monster that wanted to devour him.

He peered at it anxiously from the side of the bed, keeping low to make sure it didn't see him.

Mouth considered his plight.

If this beast was to be defeated, it must first be approached.

He extended a nervous paw.

No. No. This would not do. He would need to sneak up on the purple monster from behind and catch it unawares.

There was no telling what it might do.

Mouth reached around to try and surprise it.

With painstaking slowness, he gave the right cup a ginger prod.

Instantly, he withdrew in horror.

Mouth was beside himself. This was a pioneering triumph. Never again would cats be terrorised by lingerie.

He sat on the bra and gave it a good lick, just to show it who was boss.

When I came out of the shower, Mouth and the bra were amicably intertwined. Mouth was even giving his bottom a casual groom.

I was pleased to see that my cat and my bra could learn to coexist peacefully.

Just then, Mouth spotted a dangerous-looking piece of fluff on the floor, and shot out the door.

Well, you never know with fluff.

Why My Cat is a Hypocrite (But Doesn't Know It)

When Mouth was younger, he used to sit on top of the TV.

Sometimes he would swipe at the screen. He would swipe at the ball when we watched tennis or pool, but his favourite programmes were nature documentaries.

He loved it when there were fish, even though he probably didn't understand what a fish was.

One day, my boyfriend and I decided to buy a fish tank.

It seemed a good idea. My boyfriend had wanted to keep tropical fish for ages, and it would keep Mouth entertained. It would be like a permanent TV for cats.

We set the tank up in the living room, where Mouth could sit and watch it from the sofa.

But Mouth was unconvinced. There was a big thing with water in it, but he couldn't drink the water, and the water had floaty things in it. And Mouth could not float, so why did these things get to float? There was something suspicious going on.

Predictably, the Sideways Head of Confusion was unleashed.

Mouth soon realised that the Sideways Head of Confusion was not making the floaty things disappear, so he threw caution to the wind and gave the tank a tentative lick.

When he had finished making slurpy tongue marks on the glass, Mouth sat down and considered matters.

On the downside, the licking had not resulted in noms, nor had it got rid of the floaty things.

On the plus side, he was not dead, and the floaty things were quite cool.

Mouth decided they would be his friends.

Once he had decided this, he seemed much happier. He curled up on top of the tank and went to sleep on it.

He didn't know what these 'fish' things were, but he would not eat them. He would stick with his pouches instead. Yes.

Nowadays, Mouth and the fish are inseparable. They gaze adoringly into each other's eyes. When Mouth places an affectionate paw on the side of the tank, the fish swim up and bump the glass with their noses.

It's lucky his pouch food looks like sludge.

Why I Moved House for a Cat

Most people wait until they have a house before they get a cat.

Not me.

This is the story of how we came to adopt Tail, and, coincidentally, how we also came to have a house.

When I finished university, I moved back in with my parents for a while. I knew that I wanted to move out at some point, and I knew that I wanted to get a cat, but I wasn't in a rush.

One Wednesday night at about 1am, three months after I moved back home, I was sitting in my parents' living room using the computer. (I was awake at this time because my brain still thought it was a student.)

Suddenly, I saw a torch beam flash across the curtains.

My first thought was that we were being burgled.

"I must apprehend these felons!" I said to myself, courageously wiggling my toes in my fluffy slippers.

Being careful not to make a noise, I put my dressing gown on and unlocked the front door.

I was immediately confronted by two excited children, who were running in circles round our front lawn, whooping and giggling and generally having a whale of a time. Inconspicuous was not what they were being.

"These are not very efficient burglars," I thought.

It is a sad reflection on society when even the crooks cannot master their trade. I thought about slipping them my purse and some jewellery, just to give them a head-start.

"Excuse me," came a voice from under the hedge, "I'm trying to catch my kitten."

"Oh, I see," I said, my faith in the criminal underworld restored.

A lady, presumably the children's mother, crawled out from under the hedge and shone her torch further up. There, sure enough, was the back end of a kitten, flailing inelegantly in the midst of our leylandii.

It had a tail of immense proportions.

"Wait a sec," I said, "I've got some cat treats inside."

My parents didn't have a cat (my dad is allergic), but several neighbourhood moggies liked to pop in from time to time and it would be rude not to feed them.

I located the treats, along with a better torch, and returned to the front garden, where the lady was swiping in vain at her kitten's posterior.

The kitten did not seem overly concerned by this; in fact, it appeared to be making itself at home.

The treats didn't help either.

"Shall I just grab its leg?" the lady said hopefully.

My knowledge of cat parenting was not very advanced, but I was pretty sure it was not good practice to yoink infant felines by their appendages.

"Erm, I wouldn't," I said, and had a think. "Look, how about you give me your phone number and I'll try to entice it down in the morning? It'll be tired by then."

The lady looked at her watch. It was almost 2am.

"OK then," she said, and jotted her name and number on a scrap of paper. Then she and the boys went on their way.

I could swear I heard the hedge emit a small sigh of relief.

The kitten was clearly an expert on evasive manoeuvres. There was no getting at it tonight, so I went to bed.

The next morning, I was greeted by a curious sight. My mum had scattered some grated cheese on the path for the birds, and the escapee kitten was tucking in with delight.

Once it had had its fill, I scooped it up and took it inside. Then I dialled the lady's number.

"I have your kitten!" I said triumphantly when she answered.

"Um, can you hold onto her for a bit?" said the lady. "I'm a bit busy at the moment. I've got to get the boys to school and then there's the shopping and the... Can I come at about 10 o'clock?"

"All right then," I said.

While we were waiting, the kitten decided to explore. It assessed the dining room and the kitchen before eating a few cat treats and casually falling asleep in the cupboard under the sink.

Not long after 10am, the lady rang our doorbell.

"Come in," I said. "She's sleeping in the cupboard."

The lady looked a little surprised by this, but then seemed to remember that I had found her under my hedge, and said nothing.

I showed her into the kitchen.

The kitten had woken up to see what all the commotion was about.

I reached into the cupboard and lifted her out. I passed her to the lady.

"I bet you're so happy to have her back," I grinned.

"Oh, until she escapes again," said the lady crossly. "This is the third time we've found her in your garden."

"Really?" I said. I hadn't seen any kittens about recently. "Where do you live?"

The lady told me her address, and it was at least a mile from our house.

"Wow!" I said, impressed. "How old is she?"

"Hmm, I don't really know. Three or four months, maybe."

I looked at the kitten with new respect.

"We need to find a new home for her anyway," the lady sighed, "our other cat doesn't like her."

An idea started to form in my head. But I didn't have anywhere to keep her.

"I expect you have lots of friends wanting to take her," I said.

"No, no. We're going to have to take her to a shelter next week. We're going on holiday so it has to be sorted out by then."

I nearly offered to take her on the spot, but I knew I couldn't. She couldn't live here.

The lady left and took the kitten with her. Well, that's that, I thought. I hadn't even given her my phone number.

I tried to forget about the kitten. She'd be snapped up in a rescue shelter. People love kittens.

Then one snowy December day, I saw a familiar silhouette outside the front door.

It was freezing outside. I opened the door and let her in.

The kitten scampered to her cupboard, squawking with happy recognition.

I didn't think twice. I dug out the lady's phone number and called it.

"Have you found a home for your kitten yet?" I gabbled, not bothering to say who I was.

"No," said the lady, "But it doesn't matter, she's gone missing again anyway."

"That's because she's in my garden again," I said.

"Oh," said the lady, realising who she was talking to. "I don't suppose you want her, do you?"

I did. I did. I wanted her very much.

But, of course, it was impossible. There were lots of reasons why it was a bad idea.

"Yes please," I said.

"Ah, that's good then. You'll have to take her today because we're going away tomorrow morning," the lady said. "I'll bring her things round later."

Her 'things' consisted of a pink bed, a pink collar and a big metal cage.

"The cage stops her escaping," the lady explained, wrestling it out of the car. Then she handed me a pack of chocolate biscuits and half a carton of milk. "This is what she eats."

She cast a last glance in the kitten's direction. "The boys will miss her," she said sadly. Then she drove off.

I looked dubiously at the cage. Then I folded it up and put it away in the garage.

I put the pink bed in the kitten's cupboard, but she ignored it.

I remembered I needed to tell my parents what I'd done. It wasn't going to be a fun conversation.

"She can't stay here," they said, once they had finished pulling their hair out and drinking strong coffee. "What were you thinking?"

I don't know what I was thinking. What could I do? I desperately wanted to give the kitten a home, but I had no home to give her.

I would need to find one.

Luckily, my boyfriend was visiting at the weekend anyway. We'd been vaguely talking about moving in together, but we weren't expecting to do it straight away.

"When we get our own place, can we get a kitten?" I asked him, testing the waters.

"Well, I don't know about that," he said. "Kittens are expensive, and -"

"What about this one?" I said quickly, and deposited the kitten on his lap.

The kitten did all the right things. She purred, and she did her big cute eyes, and she was extra-specially careful to sheath her claws.

My boyfriend adored her.

From that moment on, we were a two-person-and-one-cat family.

It was glorious. The sun was shining and the grass was green and we had a kitten. Everything was perfect, apart from one minor technicality.

Our family was homeless.

We spent the whole weekend on the phone to estate agents, viewing flats and doing sums. By the time my boyfriend went back home, we'd signed a contract and were due to move in two days.

That is how we came to live in our landlady's converted loft.

We've come a long way since then. We've acquired Mouth (that's another story), moved house and changed jobs.

But Tail is pretty happy with the way things turned out.

We have never fed her chocolate biscuits, but she does like the odd lump of cheese now and then.

"The Writing on the Floor": Litter Tray Graphology

The 'OK, so where is it?'

You just know it's in the plant pot. Or behind the sofa. Or worse...

It's a dangerous game. Follow your nose.

The 'bullseye'

True test of a cat person: this sight makes you indescribably proud.

Enjoy it while it lasts.

The 'oops'

When the front paws don't know where the back paws are.

A+ for effort, C- for results.

The 'how on earth do they do that?'

Kind of spooky.

The 'I hate you'

A common sight after vet visits, house parties, worming treatments etc.

Watch out for hidden messages - it's like reading tea leaves.

The 'almost'

"Well I didn't quite know what it was going to be, so I waited a bit, and by the time it happened I was too late."

"I - I just don't know what to say. This is so embarrassing."

The 'cat grass'

The reason cats like to eat grass and then project it from all orifices remains uncertain.

That is just the sort of animals they are.

The 'modern art'

Take photos. In later years, your cat will be hailed as the next Picasso. You will make millions.

The 'festive'

The inevitable result of Christmas, birthdays, or pretty much any occasion where there are sparkly things involved.

The harder you try to stop this happening, the more spangly your litter tray will be.

The 'apocalypse'

No. No. Do not dwell on the negative. Just be thankful your house still stands and you are alive.

Toy Story Part I: Of Mice and Mogs

For your reference, I have put together a comprehensive guide to Mouth and Tail's top five toy mice.

(5) At number five comes Intervening Mouse, also known as The Mouse of Inordinate Size.

Noted for his sheer bulk and gormless expression, Intervening Mouse is so named because his timely insertion effectively prevents squabbles, furniture clawing, food stealing and so forth. His strength lies in his Distraction Strike.

An amusing fact about Intervening Mouse is that the company who manufactured him also made a toy fish of a similar size. We didn't buy one because they were creepy (they had no eyes - what's with that?), but the company clearly used the same fabric parts to make both toys. That is why Intervening Mouse's legs look suspiciously like flippers.

IM's aquatic capabilities remain untested.

(4) Coming in at fourth place we have Alarmed Mouse.

Alarmed Mouse does very little except look alarmed. AM's mere presence is enough to disconcert even the most composed animal.

Points for bringing worry and apprehension to even the calmest of situations.

(3) It's getting tense now. At number three, for comedy value, comes The Label With The Mouse Attached. I'm sure you can guess why we called him that.

The moggies have always preferred the label portion to the mouse portion. Figures.

(2) In highly contested second place I present Ex-Mouse. EM has served her country loyally for many years, earning medals for being Most Chewed and sacrificing her squeaker for the greater good. Although she is now essentially a heap of mangled fluff with one eye and a distinct lack of tail, Tail loves her dearly.

She is of a size that means she is frequently deposited in shoes, water bowls etc.

(1) Aaaaaaand in first place, for rarity value, is Psychedelic Mouse. PM has style. She has character. She is the hippy of the mouse community and believes in free cheese.

Among her many talents, Psychedelic Mouse is easy to spot when accidentally sucked into the Hoover.

We suspect the person who designed her may have been consuming questionable substances.

To follow: a countdown of Mouth and Tail's less conventional, less rodenty playthings. Check back soon, folks!