Greetings from my cage.
My cat's a prick.
I don’t usually go on about things like this but today I need you all to know that my cat is a fuken prick.
I’ve also got an update on Spark City book 4, but back to my cat.
You need to hear this shit.
He’s 11. His name is Taylor. He’s not named after the musician but instead the world class Irish boxer, Katie Taylor. Probably explains why the prick just took a chunk out of my wife’s face yesterday as she moved him from our bed.
In his defense, Jan was stroking him gently as she softly picked him up. There was some purring involved. That should have been the warning.
I’ll be honest, it's usually me he takes a chunk out of. Seeing her running around the house screaming frantically about her stunning good looks ruined from the “claws of a bollox cat” as blood streamed down her chin and all over my favourite pair of socks was wonderfully refreshing because it wasn’t me for once.
Asshole cat!!!
Anyway, that’s just a regular Tuesday. Taylor is also a super asshole cat because he’s started going walkabout down to a shopping centre near our house. He crosses three ridiculously busy roads to get there as well.
But why Rob? Why does he do that? Why are you bothering to tell us? Why aren’t you updating us on your next masterpiece?
Because he gets fed down there by idiots. Loads of well meaning, cat loving idiots. ldiots that don’t realise that the slow plodding fur ball with the “DON’T FUKEN FEED ME” collar was once a sleek badass who could take chunks out of a writer’s face with ease. Anyway, he's become a star on our neighbourhood forum.
Oh yes. Turns out our little shit has been visiting everyone these last few years, and it took a few photos of him sitting proud as punch outside the shopping centre with a little tin of processed cat food to start the fan club going.
Following the photo’s upload, there was a plethora of comments from neighbours.
“Who owns this cat? Cos our kids will take him and feed him more. We’ll call him Karl.”
“I feed him every day. He especially likes the cheap sugary cat food that make him go bat shit crazy. I call him snufflepuss.”
“He’s friendly as fuk. He sleeps in my house all the time and doesn’t attack me when I move him. We call him Zanthor, destroyer of Worlds. He seems to respond to that.”
I even received a panicked call from my sister last night. Our asshole Taylor also made the pages on her community forum and she lives in the next town over.
My stress levels are going up just thinking about it. And ugh, the annoyance of walking down to the shops every day to make sure he’s not there is taking its toll. Or worse, finding him there and then having to offer compelling arguments as to why the prescribed raw feed diet he’s on (because of his crappy kidneys) is a much better dinner option than the delicious processed chunks of horse and guinea-pig with added gravy chinchilla meat.
I’m getting known as the guy who climbs through the bushes in-between two lines of speeding cars rattling a tin of catnip treats.
I’m famous at last.
Not as famous as him but give me time.
But Rob, we really don’t care about your cat. Especially since he sounds like a normal cat. Stop talking about your cat.
My reply is SHUT UP I KNOW!!! But when I’m trying to write and climb into Spark City world, the anxious wait for the next update about our cat is distracting. Every time I see a notification on the forum I freeze, then start getting my pants on so I can go bring him home (I write in different pants. Not in my outside pants which are for climbing through bushes in the rain.)
SPARK CITY UPDATE FOR THE DOG LOVERS AND SKIMMERS INCOMING!!!!
Anyway, despite this distraction, I’m working hard on The Actions of Gods, the following on book from The Outcasts, the final book in the Spark City Cycle.
There you go. We can all chill now. I’m on it. My holiday is over. My new Steam Deck console isn’t arriving until February. Covid restrictions in Ireland aren’t fuking off any time soon. It's raining outside a lot and they gave me a heater for my cage. I’ve got this shit. Mostly.
I’m just over 150 pages into the masterpiece and having great fun deciding who is going to make it out alive and how I can make Aurora behave even crazier than before.
That’s it.
That’s my update.
Fuk my cat.
Take care guys, look after yourselves. Stay safe, stay healthy.
And where possible, try to wear a mask.
Cheers Rob
Aka Zim Zam.
PS- I just brought him in there a few mins ago and he was looking suspiciously well fed. Fuk you Kittie Taylor!