Eric Morecambe, 15 April 1996-27 April 2010

Eric Morecambe, founding member of the Reservoir Mogs, is no more.

It was a rock'n'roll end, involving a pretty brunette and a syringeful of powerful drugs.

Happy Birthday Eric Morecambe!

Yes, obviously I mean the furry one. Not the comedy legend.

Our Eric is 14 years old today. He has dined very well on prawns and monkfish, and is currently basking in great comfort on the comfy chair. He declined the banoffee pie, so I scoffed it with help from Tig and Bailey.

Life is hell for an elderly cat....

Eric rules...err, ok then

Mr Eric Morecambe, senior Reservoir Mog, has been giving me serious cause for concern.

In fact, on Tuesday I thought he was heading for the Great Catflap in The Sky, and whisked him off to the vets, prepared for the worst - the Dignitas treatment.

During the journey, he perked up. On the treatment bench, he eyeballed the vet and his whole attitude said

Whatever you were going to do with that thermometer, change your mind NOW.

So the big jab became one long-lasting antibiotic and one painkiller. I left with a bottle of Metacam and a cat who can still do the killer stare.

And result! Tonight I came home to find a skinny black cat with attitude sat at the gate waiting. So I did what any grateful owner would do - put the collar back on. Oh yes, if he's up to playing outside he needs his Hi-Vis and flea collar.

He's skinny, perky and massively pissed off with the outfit.

Cat behaviour explained

Akif_Pirinçci apparently collaborated on a book about cat behaviour.

I should buy a copy. I'm having problems with a line of reasoning from Jasmine.

Eric is still feeling sore from a recent tooth extraction. To be brutally honest, all his back teeth out and a biopsy which has revealed a slow but malignant cancer.

Combining honest discomfort with a healthy desire to milk the situation for all the tuna it is worth, he is playing up. He's on lovely nutritious treats, all mashed/chopped/blended, while the others think it is fantastic and wolf down their shares at warp speed.

The little mouse almost went unnoticed, as I lay on the floor persuading Eric to eat spag bol. He has invented a nice little sport - he gets under the dining table and weaves in and out of the chair legs, knowing I can't reach him. All the better to avoid antibiotics and bad food choices.

There it was, neatly placed under his favourite chair. I knew Eric wasn't up to hunting, Tig was snoring on the sofa and Bailey doesn't catch mice.

Jasmine went into raptures when I asked "Did you bring Mousie in?". She likes praise for honest graft. But if he is wary about tackling mince, how did she think he would manage a mouse?

Answers by carrier pigeon, just in case he gets peckish. *groan*

The Second Mid-Life Crisis

When I was 32, I realised it was unlikely I would settle down with someone, and have the "2.2 children and half a dog" life, any time soon.

I decided to take the plunge and buy a house. As you do.

The last week of May 1996 proved a bit hectic. In the space of 3 days I got the keys to the house, had my navel pierced and acquired Eric Morecambe, Cat Legend. I wondered if it was my mid-life crisis as both my paternal grandfather and my father died aged 64 and I started to brood about it.

Two weeks later the IRA bombing of Manchester on 15 June had a profound effect on several members of my friends and family, and made me realise that nothing should be taken for granted in this world. Although they said there were no casualties, some things did go forever.

At the time I owned a little blue Mini, called Muttley. I sold it 6 months later and regretted it instantly.

Fast -forward to 2010: the house is still standing and so is Eric, but totting up the gains and losses over 14 years made me feel that I was being sad and complacent again. I applied the 'Death Bed Regret' criteria. What would I regret NOT doing, with my final breath? Obviously it had to be something I could change for myself. I decided it was time for a new MLC. I'd always wanted a convertible and the trusty Yardis was becoming a wee bit of a money pit.

So meet Muttley II.

Colin Bell the Caterpillar

I've acquired a new critter.

I found this caterpillar on a bunch of freesias, bought from a famous American rip-off supermarket.

I do have high minded principles on this place, but they get shot down when I need milk on the way home, and I can fit in their size 12 jeans.

Shallow, but well-meaning, I am.

He's called Colin Bell because when he made the bid for freedom after the photoshoot, he chose the framed photo of Colin Bell as the preferred escape route.

*if you are wondering why I have a framed, signed photo of Colin Bell on the bookcase - it involves alcohol, a charity auction and the fact my dad really rated him as a player. My dad normally didn't comment on these matters, but he did like Colin Bell.

Well, that was the year that was...

Well!

What can I say about it really?

Good bits - getting out of the comfort zone with a 2-stone weightloss, first 10k run, first and last firewalk, and a very brief appearance in a falconry display.

Add Faye and Kevin's wedding, and the look on Tyler's face as he held his first guitar, and there are a few nice memories there.

I could also add the joys of wind-up penguin racing on Christmas Day, but there was a blatant case of race fixing (Kev, hang your head in SHAME). Here's the starting lineup;



There are loads of others too, but I am currently suffering self-inflicted chocolate overload, which isn't helping my memory at all. Clearly need detox and a nap.

On the massive downside, I didn't get to share any of them with my mum.

So to move life on a bit, I have already formulated a load of plans that will never see the light of day, and dispatched them with the list of resolutions I resolutely refuse to make.

2010 will be just fine.