Hello. My name's Bob and I'm a wooden cat. Blogging isn't really my bowl of milk but lately, I've had a lot of time on my paws and I'm still only on my first life.
I live in the Warsaw, which is in Poland, half way between Catalunya and Katmandu. I have a vantage point on a high shelf from where I can see outside and down to the Skup.
Skup monsters run on alcohol and the area is awash with them. Each day, a tide of them drift in, picking over the rubbish and collecting bags full of beer cans to be taken to the skup and converted into more beer. It's called recycling.
In our apartment, there are other wooden cats; Mimi, Fifi and Kiki are three French cats who sit on a green floral sofa gossiping and giggling. They are very pretentious and will only speak french - Parisian at that.
Then there's Dorota, a Polish Siamese who is rather over-decorated and wears too much make up for any self-respecting wooden cat (cheap perfume too). Quite different from K3. That's Meow, Mog and Serek, a group of intellectuals that I have been teaching Catalan to at the University of Koreki. In fact, most of the time we never start the lesson but discuss notions, potions and pussy cat lotions.
There is also a black furry, moving animal here. Too big for a hamster but smaller than a horse. It's name is Harvey and he could be a cat but the lady of the house refers to him as 'the rodent', which is about the most insulting thing that you can say to a cat. He has an imaginary friend called Barney who, he asures me is nothing like Robert Mugabe and has never even been to Zimbabwe but apparently, smokes, swears and has many nights on the tiles.
I have to go now as the Man about the house has just come in and if he knows I'm writing a blog, he will be jealous.
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