I usually get up early, around 6 a.m. unless I 've had a night on the tiles. There's no breakfast to be had until my mistress gets up at eight, so it's a quick paw wash then out through the cat-flap to shit on our next door neighbour's lawn. I used to shit in one of his flowerbeds but a couple of weeks ago the bastard saw me and threw a brick at me. He now has fourteen places on his lawn which are a much lighter colour grass than the rest of the lawn, thanks to the chlorophyll in it being bleached out by the deadly cocktail that is cat poo. He hasn't twigged yet but the lighter bits will eventually spell out 'Twat' in dot to dot. After that it's a quick wail under his bedroom window to wake him up, then it's off to the park to practice my walk for an hour. You are all no doubt familiar with the way cats walk and probably think that it's natural, but nothing is further from the truth. To be able to walk in a proud and aloof manner when your tail is in the air and your arsehole is on view for all the world to see takes a lot of practice, believe me. It takes a fashion model years of training to learn how to walk on the catwalk in the proud and aloof manner adopted by cats. But then they haven't got the same incentive as cats as their arseholes aren't on view to all and sundry - although that won't be the case for much longer if the skimpy dresses worn by the models I saw at the Milan show on telly recently are anything to go by. My walking practice leaves me quite hungry so after I'm finished it's back home for breakfast. I'm on Pal at the moment. Yes, I know that Pal is a dog food, but it's half the price of my usual nosh, and if it's getting near the end of the month and my mistress is a bit hard up my Posh Cat is one of the first things to go. I don't mind really, it doesn't taste all that much different, and anyway I quite enjoy getting my own back by virtue of bringing up fur balls in her box of Maltesers. The boxes she's thrown away because she thinks they've gone off are nobody's business! You see cats are like that. Sly, mischievous, devious. Some would say malicious. Especially the man next door when I wail outside his bedroom window using my Whitney Houston impression. After brekky it's a catnap then I'm off out again. A cat is never short of something to do. You can run out in the road in front of cars and cause the driver to jam on the brakes and maybe crack his head on the windscreen. (My grandad told me that before seat belts this happened nearly every time, the lucky sod) You can climb up a tree and pretend to be stuck until the local fire brigade is called out, then scratch the fireman when he tries to grab hold of you. You can catch a mouse and keep letting it go before hauling it back with your paw until eventually the little bastard dies of fright. Yes, life is full of such pleasures if you are a cat. My favourite game is to chew some of my mistresses toothpaste until I am foaming at the mouth then stagger into the local playschool and pretend I've got rabies. Every so often I pretend to get lost. Usually when Pal turns upon my diet. I always turn up a few days later, none the worse for wear, but not until my mistress has spent a fortune putting adverts in the newspapers and 'Lost cat' postcards in newsagent's windows. Then once I'm safely back home I can look forward to a few days cosseting until her feelings of guilt are assuaged. Nice. Every afternoon I meet up with my mates. We always head for the vet who neutered us. All motor cars have a sort of grill on the bonnet for ventilation purposes, but it is also perfect for pissing through, which we all take a great delight in doing. The upshot is that the vet can't understand why all his cars smell of cat piss, and he has to service his car himself as there's not a garage for miles around which will touch it. Serve the bastard right. Then it's back home for dinner, then out again for more fun and games, which are even better at night when it's dark. I think my favourite game of all is 'Catastrophe!' which is a game I invented myself. What I do is stick a glass marble in my anus, find an 'S' bend on a lonely road, wait at the side of the road until I hear a car approaching, then get out into the middle of the road amongst the catseyes. When the car comes round the corner I start to walk backwards towards it and when the car's headlights pick up the glass marble in my bum the driver doesn't know whether he's coming or going. Many is the car I've wrapped round a tree. Wonderful! Yes, it's not a bad life being a cat. And I've got another eight of them!