Monster Boy, a holiday in Prague and catching up

It has been a while since my last BLOG, life can get in the way of doing things. Obstacles so to say.

A brief update.

Little Monster Boy is more of a teenager than he is a monster boy now. He is getting his own opinions and he disagrees with whatever is said in a belligerent manner. When asking for his opinion on something he spouts out conspiracy theories he's read on the internet, it is like he has become a babbling crazy man who is completely unconvincing.  But yet, when I say he must be hot with his long hair and it probably needs a cut, given it's in the mid 80s F and I can see beads of sweat on his neck he'll say "no it's not hot."  This of course makes me feel like he is treating me like an idiot and could easily result in an argument. I guess it is the natural progression of teenagers, they argue, they seek their nook and cranny and they are fed up with adults telling them what to do.  Not to mention being pain in the back sides.  When Monster Boy was young I used to seek out his company and enjoyed it because he was young and had that wonderful view of life. Where the only important thing was Doctor Who, now when we go out for a walk I even notice him glancing at girls.  Although he doesn't have a girlfriend yet, I wonder how long it will be. Unfortunately he is the geeky type and nice geeks don't get girlfriends early, they generally have to wait a few extra years. So now if I take him out for a walk I have to be prepared for either a discussion with someone who is off his head and wants to argue or a case of me doing all the talking and him just nodding  his head like a toy. Neither of which is much use to either of us, I like discussion, two ways, I can talk to a wall any time there's a lot of them about.

I got back a few days ago from seeing Sparkling Eyes, it was as usual wonderful. We also had a holiday in Prague.  I was a little disappointed by Prague because it appears to be exceptionally set up for tourists.  There may well be history there, great architecture, wonderful beer, but it is like every shop has a purpose of getting money out of tourists. They sell crappy little tourist trinkets for people to take back home, the sort of things which go on shelves and have no use, that cost more than they are worth and were made in China in a sweat factory workshop. Hell I can get those things anywhere. The most useful thing which Sparkling got on the entire holiday was a hand fan, again a toursity thing but she used it and it went everywhere with her, unfortunately it got torn.  The temperature in Prague was exceptionally high on some days.  We walked around a tourist market and at one point I came across some thermometers, they were in the shade and registering temperatures of either 34 or 36 degrees Celsius.  I walked slow, I just don't know what it was, I just could not pull myself together to walk fast.  It was at this time I realised the worst season you can visit a country is during the height of summer, for you are always tired and don't have the motivation to get up and see the sights. The fact is I may have liked Prague if it was not for the tourists. It was disappointing to be in an ex communist country as well to find how expensive it was, the prices should of been cheaper, but unfortunately the Czech Republic is running into the EU like yet another demented sheep following the herd.

When I returned to London from Scotland the next day I would be in the Fish Factory.  I just didn't want to go back. I hated the idea of returning to it.  I felt like I needed another 6 months off work and it was the realisation of work pressure which hit home.  I felt sad and fragile. Missing Sparkling, missing being woken up at 2:30 a.m. by Olly the cat who treats me like his constant bitch, missing my morning hug of Sparkling and someone to love and love back. Fed up with my immediate family who are set in their own psychic vicious circles and don't want to change.  To the extent I wonder if it is me who has the problem, maybe I should be talking to brick walls, I guess every brick wall has its own personality and although they are all similar you can guarantee never to get into an argument with one, it will always be silent and always non judgemental.  I can see a few traits there similar to good psycho analysts.

Maybe it's because I am angry at things. Angry at a lot of stuff and just have to let things go even though at times it feels like being shite on from a height. Holding on to anger doesn't help me, it's like holding onto the fat around my girth. Heck does this mean I am a screwed up individual. Probably, but probably no more screwed up than anyone else. Now what I need is a holiday but without the tourists.

Three free turkeys, Micheal Bublé again and an alien

Olly the cat kept us up all night, Sparkling says he knows his bitch is back, me. Wonderful.  The wind is blowing hard outside. There is no snow, just children wishing there was, personally I prefer it the way it is.  I've eaten late for the second night in a row and wonder if it will go straight to my belly. L & B man saw me and said I looked old. Great.  Fat and old as well. My shoulder hurts, Sparkling said it was a symptom of something I can't repeat in writing. I am old, I am fat.  One little girl approximately 7 months old recognizes my face as grandpa Pops and takes delight in trying to rip off my beard. It doesn't come off so easily.  Princess Baby J also seems to laugh when I pretend to be crying or in pain, she takes a delight. What on earth is going on in her mind? Who can tell, but seeing as she's got the genes of Sparkling and Rock Chick this baby will have every man round her little finger.

Eventually at some time this morning, I came downstairs following the meowing Olly and helped him out of the back door. he doesn't worry about me looking old. However he doesn't like the wind, mind I don't like being woken up several times at night, not knowing exactly what he wants. My cat thought reading skills are just not what they used to be. At which it was possible to get some sleep and up at 11:00 a.m. Poor Sparkling had been putting up with this for a few days, no wonder she was happy I turned up.

After time visiting Rock, Dangerous and Princess J we went over to the local cheapo superstore, at the back by the fridges there was a group of people. To tell the truth I'd seen them first but Sparkling who has an eye for deals got there first, and her mum.  By the time I'd got there they had been given a little Chrimbo present.  A free 14 pound turkey. It was big, bloody big. Normal price would of been 35 quid, they asked if there was any more turkeys for free, but it was the last one.  We hit the check out, I got there after Sparkling and Ma coz I was taking it easy.  Ten minutes later I met Ma at the end of the checkout. She said the young lad was going back to the store. He turned up with another two Turkeys (crowns) we'd just got three for free.  Recognizing we could not eat that much turkey between the two of us, Sparkling thought the next best thing to do was give it away to a charity.  Three phone calls later and we found a place who welcomed the turkey with open arms. It was going to a sheltered home, as Sparkling said, it felt good to give it away.

Returning back to the house we prepared dinner, steaks.  Sparkling did most of the cooking, I did most of the prepping and all the washing up. TV on and I pick up Harvey (ukulele) ready to get a little practice in. Then to my horror Micheal Buble is on, I know if this goes on any more I'll be wearing Harvey over my head.  So strategically stop. We watch a little and Sparkling proclaims she has seen it before. Except my time with Harvey is over, I can't practice now it will have to be another time. I think Sparkling is getting a bit annoyed with it. There's a time and place.  We swop channels and there is the comedy sci fi film called Paul. The near perfect Chrimbo eve, with Sparkling it is perfect.

The death of Marlon the cat - sad story

So I sat down with a colleague from the Fish Factory and happened to pass a comment about pets and cats. At which she said she had just lost her cat. It had slipped my memory, she asked if I knew and I said no. It might of been a mistake, but she then went on to tell the story.  One weekend she had decided to stay late at work. It was a Saturday and this was unusual for her but she did anyway. Then she returned home, as she approached her house she could see there was a crowd of people outside and wondered what on earth was happening. They were neighbours and passers-by. One said she had bad news. The cat (Marlon) had been attacked by two dogs. There were three dogs but the third had been held back by it's owner. Two men were walking past her house with their dogs. One had a Staff. It saw Marlon sitting outside her house and ran for it. I recall Marlon, I'd seen him once about a year ago when a group of us had been invited over for dinner. He was a beautiful cat. Quite a big ginger, but I could tell he had one of those relaxed happy attitudes, he liked attention and was so, so chilled. If you are a cat lover then you know every cat is different and to own one which is calm and relaxed and caring is beautiful. Marlon was obediently waiting for his mistress to come home and sitting outside his own house was the most natural thing in the world to do. The staff got hold of Marlon in his jaws and shook the cat swinging it from side to side. The two men walking their dogs got to the staff, and they had to prize the dog's jaws open so it would release Marlon. At which Marlon slopped off, Injured and in severe pain down an alleyway beside the houses. The neighbours outside had witnessed this event or some of them had and the others were there as moral support to the witnesses.

My colleage was mortified and in tears, she went down the alleyway to find Marlon. Calling out his name. Some of the neighbours had bought torches and blankets. It was February and had been an exceedingly cold long winter. Where ever the cat was it would be cold, the night was drawing in early. With the search party they went over garden fences from house to house. Some people came out and wondered what had happened. She told them and sympathetically they either helped or assisted in some way. Someone thought they had seen Marlon go to the end of a garden and had likely crawled down a fox-like-hole. She called out, but nothing. The eye witness was sure the cat was in the hole. They'd heard a cat crying out just after the incident. She scrambled amongst the thorns and undergrowth tearing her arms and legs in the brush but could not get to the hole. Going home she called the PDSA and her vet. The vet said they would be on standby for her at any time. The PDSA said they could not do anything until the cat was found. She called her friends and her son who was due home at about 11 p.m., then distraught with worry changed into some thick jeans and a jumper. She went back to the house again with a borrowed torch and pruning sheers and began to cut away at the undergrowth to get to the hole. To get to Marlon. Bit by bit, she got to it. Calling out to Marlon. There was no sound and no movement. Another phone call to the vet and they advised her not to shine a torch at the cat but away from it, otherwise it could go deeper into the hole. Her son turned up.

There was something between her son and Marlon. He was a special pet to her son.  So he tried instead. Rather than shine the torch in the hole or on the ground he shone it at himself and called to Marlon.  At which there was a cry from the hole. The wounded animal slowly clawed its way to the surface. One of it's legs was badly injured to the extent my colleague could not look at it. She scooped Marlon up in a blanket to warm him and immediately whisk him off to the vets. They knew she was coming.

Marlon was in a bad way. She left him with the vet and received a phone call at two a.m. they told her, Marlon would lose a leg, they had managed to warm him up and to sedate him. But they had to operate as well. They didn't know if his bladder was ruptured, they gave her the choice, because of Marlon's injury's it was going to be a difficult operation, or they could put him down. She spoke to her son and he thought they had to try and operate. At five a.m. she had another phone call. Marlon had not pulled through, they had been mostly successful with the operation but he had sustained so many tears to his muscles they were unable to patch him up. Marlon passed away.

As I listened to this conversation I got upset and don't know how I held it together.  Every pet I've known and loved has been very painful to lose. My colleague managed to hunt down both the men who and their dogs involved in this incident. There was a number of descriptions from neighbours and one neighbour had CCTV, so she had images of them. She found their address and reported the entire incident to the police.  Some three months later she sat with the dog owners in a police station and asked them why they left and didn't come back. She asked them if they knew and understood what they had done. How she had rescued Marlon how much she loved him. At first they were defensive but then became apologetic.  I can't believe she was able to hold it together like she had and gone through this process, I'd of felt like killing dog or the owner, doing it of course is a different thing. She kept as calm as possible during the entire interview with police officers present. The dog owners were given a warning, although there was nothing which could be done about the dogs this would be on file. She could of taken these two owners to court and also sued them for veterinary costs.  Thankfully she had insurance.  The dog owners were warned were this to happen again and the incident bought before a judge, given this previous history it would not look good for them or the dogs.

Marlon now sits in the front room and she wonders now what to do with his ashes.  The companionship and friendship he had once provided is lost and remembered every day.

Boy or Girl, what will it be?

It's the morning before the scan, when we'll find out what gender baby fro is, boy or girl. Text messages have been flying through the air, Rock Chick is excited and Sparkling Eyes didn't sleep all night long. Hit by insomnia and worry everything is OK. She tried her best but had to get up for tea at two in the morning. It' an important scan Sparkling tells me. A lot can be told from it. Rock thought it was unfair there was only the choice of two sexes and not a third one. Personally I'm glad there is only two genders, imagine, three would make life a whole lot more difficult. During the night, Olly the cat did his usual but I didn't think he was so bad.  it frustrated Sparkling and she threw a cushion in his direction. He seemed to go quite afterwards. I couldn't tell what was happening because of the dark. A few minutes later he was up on the bed and purring instead of meowing for attention. Cat and baby I'm lucky I got any sleep at all. Sparkling has told me this is now 5 months in Rock's pregnancy. I saw a picture last night of what the baby should look like, between twenty and twenty four weeks the foetus grows a lot. Which suggests Rock's bump is going to get particularly large over the next month. She got some maternity clothes and showed the stretchy leggings. Such leggings looked pretty comfortable for a big belly.

Today is hogmany, tonight Sparkling and Dangerous will be working to an unearthly hour for the hoards who are getting completely pissed in celebration. I'm now fed up of over eating and over drinking, it's getting more difficult to roll out of bed. I'm beginning to look like one of those toy weebles, the round bottom ones, which are so heavy, you push them and they don't fall down they just right themselves again. There certainly will be something to celebrate this afternoon, boy or girl, it could be head wetting time. Blimey, am going to need a new liver at this rate if not larger jeans.

Cat love begins at 3:40 in the morning

This morning the cat showed his affection towards me at 3:40 a.m.  he shouted it as loud and clearly as he could in my ear.  Oliver said good morning and he now wanted to be let out into the garden.  Sparkling has said when I'm here this is my duty, whatever happens Oliver becomes my early morning responsibility.  It's nice to know he loves me but I'd wish it was at a more appropriate time of day. It's both sleep deprivation and psychological warfare.  The greatest strategists of war could learn a lot by studying their pets, I'm sure even a gold fish would have some interesting point to make.

It's the weekend so Sparkling has been working and I've been left with painting the kitchen. In a colour called Lemon Pie.  I have never eaten a lemon pie before and it sounds a little sharp for my taste, but colour wise it is quite refreshing.  Only thing is a second coat is needed and my feet are so cream crackered (nackered) I just don't have the energy to hit the DIY store, walk back and again start painting.  Which is the thing with emulsion paint.  One coat is never enough, the same with chocolates, or biscuits.  There are things I could of done other than painting yet this seemed the best use of my time and I know Sparkles will be happy.  Even happier when the second layer has been added.

At last the Olympics is coming to an end.  The disasters of travelling in and around London have probably been averted by commuters themselves deciding to take this time off work and having extended holidays or better still working from the living room chair.  I've heard it said commuter numbers are down by twenty percent.  This seem about right, as I got on the tube I couldn't but notice there were actually free seats.  This is unheard of on the Northern line at peak travelling time.  No doubt central London businesses have suffered a blow from it all. 

Sparkling allowed me to tag along to an engagement party she had been invited to, lucky me.  But unfortunately I was given instructions to keep it low key.  It simply meant I was not allowed to get myself either too drunk or to dance, even if I felt like it.  At one point the rhythm nearly got me, as my legs tapped away to the beat of the music.  I got to meet Sparkling's work associates.  These were mostly young girls in their teens.  They all seemed to love Sparkling and at least two of them said Sparkling was like their second mum.  I saw her boss, a little man who I know had been obnoxious to Sparkling on occasion and refrained from talking to him about his behaviour.  It would not of done much good and I'm sure at some time he will get his karma come back to him.  It was good to put names to faces.  I'll get to see them in my mind next time Sparkles talks about them.  It was odd as I sat there, being half merry and enjoying the atmosphere how my internal voice kept yabbering away as though narrating a book.  It seemed to flow so easily, I thought if only I could remember all of this stuff going on in my head and then write it down.  Of course it doesn't work this way.  It's either a matter of get it written or recorded or it's instantly forgotten.  The eloquent thoughts have therefore flown away  on the wings of a butterfly.  Very gentle and very fragile.

It's just turned seven in the evening and Sparkles has still not turned up.  I know the cat's biscuit tin is empty and will need some more, he can moan if there's no food left.  Sparkling will likely want some food to eat.  What I should do then is think of making food.  Something light.  Something Sparkling will like as well.  Better go and find Oliver first though, wake him up tell him I love him in a loud cat way he'll appreciate.  As they say karma is a bitch.

Aunty Insomnia

So there I was yesterday blogging about how difficult it was to get some peace and the evil of interruptions, and today I'm at the Fish Factory, with hardly anyone around me, in a quiet office and unable to get on with what I should be doing because I'm now procrastinating.  The old Devil Mr Procrastination had perched himself on my shoulder and kept whispering in my ear "do this, do that, not what you're supposed to do," the thing was he won out a few times.  it could be because after a week of madness I'm exhausted with it all and just want to do something else.  Besides work.  Or it could be because I woke up with less than four hours sleep and was unable to drop off again.  It was the madness of Aunty Insomnia who had visited me.  I lay in bed just hoping by some association laying in bed would give me something like sleep, which it did not.  So there's no surprise when i eventually got to the Fish Factory and did half a morning's work I was feeling tired.  I need exercise, which always does manage to help me drop off.  Even if it's just a little.  Exercise is like garlic to a vampire an Aunty Insomnia is a vampire of sorts, she's there to keep you vigilant, alert, in those wee hours of the morning when the monsters come out and want to steal you away.  But they can't because you're awake and ready for them.  In such circumstances Aunty Insomnia has her place.  She is a valuable tool against the horrors of the morn.  Except for the fact such horrors do not exist because they didn't stop me from getting up going to the toilet or doing anything else I wanted to do.  These horrors are the stay awake thoughts of an insomniac.  Thoughts about nothing in particular, thoughts which make the bed not quite comfortable enough.  Whatever gland there is in the brain which kicks out sleep hormones wasn't working.  Certainly not last night.

By some telepathic sympathy, Sparkling to did not have a decent night's sleep either.  It could be a combination of her hypertension and knowing she had to start work early.  She was on the 8 a.m. shift this morning, and then is to do an evening shift this minute.  Today may be part of the weekend for most people but for some it is the start of the working week.  For some who do not spend the weekend chillaxing.  I hope she has a good sleep tonight because she will otherwise be exhausted and she needs it. In the end we are all going mad in various degrees, but usually for different reasons.  Aunty Insomnia can be one of those reasons, it's the reason why you hit the workplace and feel tired out with no energy and could kill anyone who wants to get on your nerves.  I don't think Sparkles has killed anyone yet but she does have high blood pressure, this worries me.  I want Sparkles to be in the best of health and to not have insomnia more so than myself.  If it helps I'll volunteer myself to take on her insomnia just so she can sleep.  Which I have done at times when the cat has decided at 2:30 a.m. he wants to get up have a bite and go out for a bit of play time with the other cats.  If an animal can suffer from the attention of Aunty Insomnia Sparkling's Olly (cat) certainly has it.  Then Olly does spend all day sleeping on every soft cushion or surface in the house he can find.  No wonder he's nuts.

I know I am not getting enough exercise which is probably the main key to getting better sleep.  It has been raining every day for the last two months so it doesn't help the matter.  Yes I don't let the rain get me down and actually don't really mind it but it is another excuse I can throw in the bag and blame on old Aunty.  Further I am not getting any younger.  Now if there's a cliché that sentence is a cliché and is axiomatic.  Nobody is getting any younger if they were then they would of tripped over the fountain of youth and the world would know about it.  I don't think anyone in their right mental state would want to live forever, but they would certainly like a good night's sleep three or four times a week.  Damn.  I got to get out more.  The secret could be getting physically tired so as to evade Aunty Insomnia, because then no matter how much she bangs on your bedroom door, nothing can be heard, because counting sheep is in progress.  Yet it's not just physical tiredness which is important.  The head has to be switched off so it is not generating thoughts of any kind.  Mind exercise is also needed.  If I don't mind, neither will Aunty.

Stinky the pissing cat and exercise.

Stinky the cat is pissing all over the place.  He's nothing like our old cat Tigger.  When Tigger wanted a piss or crap he would meow at the door to be let out.  Stinky just goes to the same places and pisses on the carpet.  If he's already pissed there he goes to his second best place to piss.  Not only that his piss stinks bad.  I don't know what to do, but if he carries on then there will only be one place for him, an appointment with the vet and a one way ticket to another place.  I love the cat but there is only so much piss you can keep mopping up.  If anyone knows how to train a cat to meow at a door and then piss outside please tell me.

Last night I decided I would hit the gym today.  I was hoping to get up early enough so I'd be there for 8 a.m., but I just couldn't do it, so made it for 9 a.m. instead.  There were not many people about this morning so it was good.  I like it when there's few people around.  There's no cuing up for machines then, no arsehole pricks just standing about by machines or in front of mirrors seeing if they look any better than they did the last five minutes ago they looked at themselves.  It seems with youth and body beautiful types there is a high narcissistic trait.  I bet Eysenck didn't even know it existed when he constructed his views on personality types. On the treadmill I had to take it easy and begin with my usual slow fat man routine, this is alternate five minutes of walking then running for half an hour.  During the walking periods I grasp hold of the bars and measure my heart rate through the sensors.  This is interesting because one measurement of fitness is recovery rate.  The faster you can recover from a strenuous exercise to a relaxed rate the better for the heart.  Well I think so anyway.  It was good to see after my first set of walking and running I'd managed to drop down by sixty heart beats in five minutes.  So I might be a walking middle aged fat boy but there is something there still just waiting to burst out into a fine featured athlete.  Unfortunately this middle aged fat boy probably has two athletes inside him waiting to burst out.  I don't at this moment have much in the way of discipline to get on the scales and begin the hard slog back to fitness.  The reason is it is a bloody hard slog, hard demanding and relentless.  It is so much easier just to be middle aged and fat than middle aged an athletic.  Even if there are certain advantages to being healthy.  Like not losing brain efficiency for one.  I could of course always run around after Stinky with a cloth and bucket, that might make me lose a few calories and slim down.  With the rate he pisses it I could be on a winner here. 

Dogs are much easier to train and get into the mind of.  Cats are too girly like.  Too emotional.  Or it just might be Stinky is an exception and is psychologically damaged.  Rather than the nice soft feel of grass he likes the soft feel of a carpet to put his arse on.  Cats you certainly can't kick up the backside.  If you did they'd go flying and probably lose a life.  Hell they need everyone one of their lives and Stinky could well be running out of his lives at the rate he's going.

Better go and fill the bucket up.  Lose a few more calories and make the house smell a little better.

Its cold out and the cat's pissing in the loo

It's starting to get cold out.  Winter has popped it's head around the corner and blown into the air.  I can feel it, luckily this morning I put on a thermal vest and have felt shielded.  In Scotland there has even been snow and ice, there it's minus one.  Here in London it's been five degrees.  This is a far cry from Malta's 17 degree winter chill I was feeling just a few weeks ago.  I can understand why people go to hot countries in the winter and come back to the UK in the summer.  It makes sense, six months here and six months there.  Keep out of the cold and in the warm, suffer not the burn of chilblains.

Our cat Stinky is pissing on the floor of the loo.  I wonder if he's feeling the chill? There's no doubt about it.  He's a dirty little bugger, if his bollocks weren't already detached they'd be removed.  In fact, I might attach a pair of bollocks to him just to get the pleasure of cutting them off.  The toilet now has a cat piss smell about it.  The door doesn't close properly when it's closed, so it's easy for him to push it open with his paw.  He's now got into the habit.  For a week we'd been pulling the door closed so it clicked in place and he couldn't get in there.  Then Big Mama forgets to do it and he pisses there.  It's no good for the chip board floor which appears to have the surface start of rot.  He'll get more than imaginary bollocks cut off if he keeps it up. I tried searching on the Internet to find out a little about cats.  It seems chastising them doesn't work.  But hell it helps me when I shout at him or stick his nose to the carpet.   It helps me because he keeps away from the toilet if I'm around.  The cat's mind appears not so much a mind as one running on histrionics according to the literature.  I ask, who the hell can get into the mind of a cat?  Surely only a cat can.  Next time he does it I'll get angry again.  I'm pissed off with the smell of cat piss while I shave in the morning, it's not anything like the fragrance of Armani.  One source indicated cats dislike the smell of citrus.  Personally I think he'd dislike the smell of dog.  One big butch Rottweiler please, just to guard the loo.  I'm sure it would keep him out of there.  Only thing is what do you do with a Rotty when that begins to shit in the loo?  Well, I suppose dogs can always be trained, cats are too high strung and need a 24/7 psychiatrist to unfold the workings of their brains.  I'm so fed up now I don't want to stroke him, because if I stroke him he may in some weird cat way believe I am giving him approval.  Which is something I don't want to give him for making me wince from the stink of his piss in the morning. It's not like he is a useful cat, he's never caught any of the pigeons who think our garden is a playground and dance on the roof at four a.m. when they wake up.  In summer that is.  For sale, one screwed up pissy cat.  I wonder what I'd get for him on ebay?  Or whether some group of cat lovers will want to beat the shit out of me for even thinking about it.  Hell, they can have Stinky for free, no charge of any kind.  Just add comments to this post, I'll eagerly check it in the next ten minutes to see if there's any replies.

If it's not the pissing it's the morning meows.  They will begin anytime from two a.m. onwards.  He sure can't blame it on the pigeons because he sleeps in the kitchen.  But it doesn't stop him crying out for a couple of hours just waiting for someone to get up and let him out.  I'll let the bugger out alright, but I'll not let him in. Letting him piss in the cold will certainly not effect the toilet.  God now I got to think about a rotting floor, a plumber and a carpenter will cost a fortune to fix it if the bloody thing gets real bad.  Big Momma doesn't understand these things, no matter how much I tell her.  The reality of this pissy floor could be hundreds of pounds.

OK for sale, One pissy cat, otherwise quite affectionate and lazy to boot.  What will you offer me on this cold chilly day?