Born free

So who wants to live in a zoo? Today's Independent explains that there's a risk that the tigers could get out of London Zoo and into the park. Can't say I blame them. And there's an interesting history of creatures escaping from zoos around the world - we particularly enjoyed the one about the spectacled bear that tried to 'commandeer a bicycle'.

Jess couldn't find a clouded leopard. Or wouldn't: apparently some of her fellow bloggers don't like cats. Tough litter.

My new cousins in Borneo

Big mrows today to celebrate the discovery of a whole new species of big cat. Bring on the clouded leopard!

I shall dig my claws into Jess's feet until she knuckles down to finding a picture of one...watch this space...

Not a fake pianist

Nora - what a creep. I mean, she just makes it up as she goes along. miaowww!

My cousins from Argentina

Courtesy of The Daily Telegraph's Pictures of the Week, here are my three new cousins from Buenos Aires Zoo, where Jess & Tom spent a happy hour admiring their parents a year ago. White Bengal tigers. My kindred spirits. I may be orange with green eyes, but I can see in the faces of these little guys that we're soulmates. My staff may not recognise that I am simply another version of a Bengal tiger, but I know it's true, and that's good enough.

[NB: My staff request an addendum: they only read the Telegraph online and would never fork out for the thing unless there's a free giveaway of a 1940s movie with a soundtrack full of violins. Don't ask me.]

Monet's cat

So where did our favourite artist Clawed Meownet start out? Why, by doing pastel drawings of cats, of course. How else?

See Monet's early drawings in a new exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts (starts 17 March) and read all about it in today's Times.

“People discuss my art and pretend to understand it as if it were necessary to understand, he famously said, “but it is simply necessary to love.”

In my new capawcity as ballet reviewer...

...the other day we switched on The Sleeping Beauty, performed by The Royal Ballet, in the middle of the last act, not having realised that the TV broadcast started at 4pm. And not a moment too soon: we were just in time for the real star turn: the pas de deux of Puss in Boots and the White Cat.

Jess told me that usually this exquisite number is a lot funnier than those on-screen cats allowed it to be. But what do you expect? Cats have a way of putting on their best behaviour when there are cameras around. Apparently the oboes, too, usually have a high old time, camping up the score with feline yowls, but again they must have had their eye on posterity.

What puzzles me most of all, however, is the placement of the Bluebirds' pas de deux immediately after the cats. Any bluebird worth its salt would fly for its life if there were two self-respecting kitties anywhere nearby. Mr and Mrs Flutterfeet wouldn't stand a chance. Just as well we never see on TV what goes on backstage at the ballet...


BEHIND THE SCENES AT AURORA'S WEDDING - ACCORDING TO SOLTI
The Wolf would gobble up Red Riding Hood, Puss in Boots and his female friend would be trying to kill and eat the Bluebirds, the Bluebirds would be flitting about avoiding certain death and scaring any ladies with Birdophobia, the two-girls-one-boy trio would be scandalising everyone by coming out as a menage-a-trois, the Queen would be having a near breakdown trying to update the court fashions by 100 years in time for the wedding, Prince Florimund would be in therapy because he didn't believe in fairies before all this happened, and Princess Aurora would find a quiet corner for a little snooze...

Des pattes sur la neige

Jess has complained to me that there's some confusion between her blog and mine: this estimable site chronicles my recent unfortunate constriction to the interior of the present mansion, while hers describes paw-prints in the snow, as composed no doubt by one's favourite maestro Clawed Depussy.

So here's what happened. After the autumn debacles with Maurice and Big Ginge on various sides of various fences, we had one trip to the vet too many. After assurances from said vet that most cats are quite happy to stay indoors after around 3 weeks' acclimatisation, and will willingly use litter trays due to natural and admirable fastidiousness re bodily functions, They decided to lock the cat flap. A vile grey plastic Thing, its tray filled with bits of whatever they make this stuff out of, materialised in front of it.

Heck, this is meant to be clean? What planet are these people on? They expect a self-respecting feline to return to the same site over and over again for one's daily performance? Dearie me. I'd like to see them try if someone removed their flush facility.

Now, cats are possessed of one very important secret weapon. The claws and the teeth have their uses, as does the natural gift for running extremely fast and climbing things. But the real big gun is concealed safely in our bladder and can be applied at will, to devastating effect. It's wet, smelly and disgusting, and makes women in particular suffer neurotic spells and nightmares when it's found in places it shouldn't be. Such as her favourite cushion, his leather armchair, or the stove. Oh yes, the stove. Well, the stove gets cleaned every day, so what's the problem? Hehehehehe.

So finally They unlocked the cat flap. Now everybody is happy again.