Well it turns out my secretary is rubbish! All month I've been badgering her to type up my derring-doos with absolutely no response. Finally, today, She is organised.
So. August, where did that go? And what's with all this rain? I am more than happy to go walking in the rain, but it does bug me to have to get my paws wet every single time I go outside to do my business. At least Mum hasn't made me wear that stupid coat. I have told her time and time again, that's why I have fur! I don't need to wear the damn coat. Plus, wearing a coat minimises the need for a good rub down when we get home...grrr baby. Rub downs rule.
Anyway onto the important matter of the day. I have a suspicion that I have been returned to "Boot Camp". This is what Mum mutters whenever I am manfully asserting myself - either over That Whippet or in general around the house. Apparently we have different perceptions of what level of assertion is required. I say that I may sleep on the sofa or bed at any time, and that any plates or food lying around are mine and require guarding from That Whippet. She says that I may take toys off That Whippet if I must (and believe me, I must), but that guarding is out of the question (what???) and she insists of chucking me off the bed and sofa at every opportunity. This, this outrage, is Boot Camp. Otherwise known as "taking me down a peg or two".
So now we're at that tedious stage where she is pulling me up for grumbling at That Whippet, or using that oh so negative command "off!" with boring regularity. But don't worry, I shall get through it. I have infinitely more patience than Her.
So, She has now finished her toast (disgusting, She didn't share any of it). I am due for a snooze.