Hijack

Yep! I’ve hijacked this blog because I’m fed up with waiting for “she-who-thinks-she-must-be-obeyed-but-should-really-obey-me” to get on and write something. She’s become really slack of late and I think it would be a shame to lose the loyal reader(s) just because she can’t be ar**d.

Allow me to introduce myself: I am Mollie.


Obviously, I’m in charge around Up Knit Creek and a good job too or nothing would ever get done.
I have a very relaxed style of management round here but can be tough when necessary (and believe me, it is often necessary), preferring, where possible, to issue my orders requests from a supine position on the sofa, window-seat or bed. My needs are few (warmth, food, comfort and total sensory indulgence) but you’d be surprised how often the humans round here fail to deliver the goods. Last night, for example, I had to raise my voice for several ear-drum splitting minutes before my evening repast was laid before me, and even then, it was not the freshly-killed small furry creature that I had requested; no, it was some *shudders* muck from a sachet! Can you believe it? A Sachet! I have to point out that life in the Creek was fairly comfortable (not purrfect, obviously, but tolerable) until she-who…etc, etc started on all this knitting and spinning mullarkey. Meals are no longer served at my every whim, the amount of stroking and tummy-tickling has decreased dramatically and she seems to be determined to encourage Lucy, my favourite, to be out of the house as much as possible – something to do with “college” and “part-time job”, whatever they may be. Huh! Doesn’t she understand that to maintain myself at this peak of physical and mental purrfection, I need constant attention from my slaves humans?
I am not the only one to notice this gradual decline – just the other day, I overheard some of the younger Creekies bemoaning the fact that dinner is served later and later and that they are, like, totally fed up with the refrain “just one more row”.
I won’t even mention the extra hazards that have appeared all over the house – the sharp pointy sticks, the vicious spiked objects in the spinning bag, and the ever-increasing amounts of tangly stuff that keep taking my rightful place on the sofa or armchair – don’t get me started…

Actually, I think this blogging lark could be quite fun as long as it’s not all about her – I’m a much more interesting subject.
Let me tell you all about me me me.
I used to be called Merlin (huh? what the…) and I used to live with an old lady a bit west of Up Knit Creek but she died (I think) so the people next door took me in. Of course, I could have looked after myself, but if they were willing, well, it saved me the bother of looking for another place. Unfortunately, these people did not realise that I had lost my cherry to the tom along the road (a whole other story, for a whole other time) and were not at all pleased when my girth increased considerably so they took me to a rescue shelter. It was here that I became a mother to three (or was it two?) adorable little kitties who were the spitting image of their mother – how could they fail to be adorable? They were soon snapped up by humans who realised that a house needs a cat, but I was left alone. I missed the kitties at first but knew that they were better off in their new homes. They never send me cards or presents at Christmas or on my birthday so I guess they’re getting on with their own lives now. Anyway, one day in January 2002, the Creekies (well, three of them) came to visit. I was very aloof but I could tell they were smitten. I had to have an operation to stop me having more kitties and they poked some techno thingy microchip under my skin (how demeaning!) and a week later I was put in a basket (the indignity of it!) and taken back to Up Knit Creek. I was left alone to explore my new surroundings but there was always a friendly hand to stroke me if I wished and food was readily available so I decided to stay.
I don’t get on very well with the neighbours (dogs are sooooo stupid) but then, I only go out when nature calls or if I have to defend my territory so that’s not really a problem.
I know I’ve moaned about the situation here, but my criticisms are all meant to be constructive in order that standards can be raised to my level. On the whole, it’s not a bad place to live, and if I’m honest, I have to admit that I quite like all this fibrey stuff – who knew that unspun alpaca fleece would make such a cosy bed…