Charlie the Cat

Charlie the Cat

Hi, I'm Charles Quentin Mousemasher I, the celebrated blotched tabby Tom cat and Queen-magnet, commonly referred to by my adoring public as 'Charlie'. I've recently, and purrobably foolishly, agreed to move into Borlochs Hall and share my home with the rag-bag collection of dysfunctional humans that currently shelter under its roof. I only let them stay because they're purrfect for opening cupboards and doors, and it's very easy to deceive them into surrendering their strange-but-tasty food-in-tins to the rightful master of the house, namely me.

I was purrreviously domiciled in an awful council flat, with a few of my burrothers and sisters, as well as a purr of objectionably common and disturbingly boisterous Staffordshire Bull Terriers, and a gormless human, who I discovered was plotting to have me assassinated. I came to Borlochs Hall to escape the human's evil plans, and I've grown quite fond of the place. Charlie at home
Charlie in his favourite sleeping spot

I spend my days resting my purrfectly honed feline form in a nest of blankets over the central heating pipes in the humans' sleeping-room, made for me by the humans as some form of primitive tribute or homage, or basking on the roof of the shed. I like to make sure that I am out of the Hall by the time the smallest human, the one known as Pester Girl, returns each afternoon from wherever it is the Reichskinder disappear to each day, and so I patrol my kingdom in the garden, and the lands beyond that shall be mine, as soon as I see off that Muffy, the ginger jezebel from across the lane.

Charlie in the Garden After making sure my kingdom is free from invading inferior cats, and attending to other, natural feline duties, I return to the Hall for a late lunch, purreferably salmon, and then another well-earned nap, before the night-life starts as the sun sets. I have a quick wash and brush-up, making sure that all my essential equipment is properly cleaned and functional, before venturing forth once more, to delight and please the local Queens, and confirm to one and all that I am THE lurrve machine of Borlochs Hall.

I generally wander home again around midnight. The humans have a bad habit of falling asleep around then, and none of my commands or caterwauling can get them to open the doors for their master, so, if I spend too much time with the lassies, I have to demean my stature by sleeping in the shed.
Recently, a rather irksome young kitten by the name of Jasper has been brought to stay at Borlochs Hall. He's a pain, and seems to think that he can eat from my food tray with impunity, but a few well-aimed swipes soon taught him his place in the pecking order.

A late supper, and then I retire for the rest of the evening. I sleep on the humans bed, as I find that my presence re-assures them and stops them from fretting during the hours of darkness. It's touching to have such affectionate and loyal servants.

Charlie in his Punk Phase

Back to Borlochs Hall

Hi, I'm Charles Quentin Mousemasher I, the celebrated blotched tabby Tom cat and Queen-magnet, commonly referred to by my adoring public as 'Charlie'. I've recently, and purrobably foolishly, agreed to move into Borlochs Hall and share my home with the rag-bag collection of dysfunctional humans that currently shelter under its roof. I only let them stay because they're purrfect for opening cupboards and doors, and it's very easy to deceive them into surrendering their strange-but-tasty food-in-tins to the rightful master of the house, namely me.
I was purrreviously domiciled in an awful council flat, with a few of my burrothers and sisters, as well as a purr of objectionably common and disturbingly boisterous Staffordshire Bull Terriers, and a gormless human, who I discovered was plotting to have me assassinated. I came to Borlochs Hall to escape the human's evil plans, and I've grown quite fond of the place.	Charlie in his favourite sleeping spot
I spend my days resting my purrfectly honed feline form in a nest of blankets over the central heating pipes in the humans' sleeping-room, made for me by the humans as some form of primitive tribute or homage, or basking on the roof of the shed. I like to make sure that I am out of the Hall by the time the smallest human, the one known as Pester Girl, returns each afternoon from wherever it is the Reichskinder disappear to each day, and so I patrol my kingdom in the garden, and the lands beyond that shall be mine, as soon as I see off that Muffy, the ginger jezebel from across the lane.
Charlie in the Garden	After making sure my kingdom is free from invading inferior cats, and attending to other, natural feline duties, I return to the Hall for a late lunch, purreferably salmon, and then another well-earned nap, before the night-life starts as the sun sets. I have a quick wash and brush-up, making sure that all my essential equipment is properly cleaned and functional, before venturing forth once more, to delight and please the local Queens, and confirm to one and all that I am THE lurrve machine of Borlochs Hall.
I generally wander home again around midnight. The humans have a bad habit of falling asleep around then, and none of my commands or caterwauling can get them to open the doors for their master, so, if I spend too much time with the lassies, I have to demean my stature by sleeping in the shed. Recently, a rather irksome young kitten by the name of Jasper has been brought to stay at Borlochs Hall. He's a pain, and seems to think that he can eat from my food tray with impunity, but a few well-aimed swipes soon taught him his place in the pecking order.
A late supper, and then I retire for the rest of the evening. I sleep on the humans bed, as I find that my presence re-assures them and stops them from fretting during the hours of darkness. It's touching to have such affectionate and loyal servants.	Charlie in his Punk Phase