The Diary of a Killer Cat

2: TUESDAY

I quite enjoyed the little funeral. I don’t think they really wanted me to come, but, after all, it’s just as much my garden as theirs. In fact, I spend a whole lot more time in it than they do. I’m the only one in the family who uses it properly.

Not that they’re grateful. You ought to hear them.

‘That cat is ruining my flower beds. There are hardly any of the petunias left.’

‘I’d barely planted the lobelias before it was lying on top of them, squashing them flat.’

‘I do wish it wouldn’t dig holes in the anemones.’

Moan, moan, moan, moan. I don’t know why they bother to keep a cat, since all they ever seem to do is complain.

All except Ellie. She was too busy being soppy about the bird. She put it in a box, and packed it round with cotton wool, and dug a little hole, and then we all stood round it while she said a few words, wishing the bird luck in heaven.

‘Go away,’ Ellie’s father hissed at me. (I find that man quite rude.) But I just flicked my tail at him. Gave him the blink. Who does he think he is? If I want to watch a little birdy’s funeral, I’ll watch it. After all, I’ve known the bird longer than any of them have. I knew it when it was alive.