The Lamentations of Bobby Gatto

 

I have had the most dreadful time! Not since the abuse I suffered in my kittenhood, at the hands of the cruel woman who put me in a cage and took me away from my trusty old manservant, who called me Bert but later got into the habit of dressing me in a handkerchief and serving me buttered bread and jam….. but I digress.

The year started well, with my staff in the downstairs flat putting a grand stretch of soft green material on top of the rather hard concrete, for me to stretch out on, plus a wonderful padded seat and numerous other little luxuries. They always enjoy my visits and a good thing too as I am sometimes compelled to wait there for my food attendant to return from her daily absences.

But then things took a turn for the worse. Strange people appeared and then one day there were no stairs at the back of my residence. I could not access my cat door. My servants then advised me to use the front stairwell, a total reversal of their previous policy of not allowing me to use the front door! It was a good opportunity to test their reliability and I must say, begrudgingly, that they did well, leaving the front entrance open for me and responding to my orders when I found it shut.

 

There was the distressing incident of my fight with Old Grey Guts of Barkly Street. I was quite a mess after that one, although Grey Guts has never quite recovered either. After limping home, I endured weeks of tiresome visits to the clinic. Oh yes, I know all about clinics. Don’t get me started on that.

 I was mildly touched by the devotion of my staff. The loss of an eye would have severely diminished my outrageously good looks, although I could have started wearing a patch and turned pirate.

 

 

One good thing about the year has been the growth of my devoted follower, the kid downstairs. He is the main source of amusement for me especially now that he can move around on his own and call out my name. He smells nice and I admire his ability to train his servants. We have a lot in common.