Spring is in the air

I've had a rotten weekend. It all started yesterday when she came home and said to me 'It's the right time of the year for spring cleaning, Fatpuss' with a look in her eye that could only mean one thing. The weekly humiliation of a shampoo and towel rub. I was astonished at the dirt that came out of me and my fur bunged up the plughole quite impressively too.

Not much better today. She woke up, came downstairs and tipped me off my blankie before shoving it in the washing machine. After that the curtains went in, which she said were hemmed with my slime, which seemed a bit of an exaggeration. Then she went round the downstairs scrubbing the skirting boards and walls, looking at me every now and then with disdain. 'This dirt is all you, Junkbum', she said, which was harsh in two ways.

To round off my misery, she is now plugged into her red thingy and dancing round the lounge with a stupid smile on her face. I hope Ginger isn't looking in. The shame of it all.