Smudge’s Diaries: January 2026

I Started the Year Off Right

The Blonde One and The Tall One abandoned me for New Year.

They said they were going to Portsmouth to visit The Blonde One’s sister. Apparently there is a dog there. A big one. A dog just like Rizla.

Ahhh, Rizla.

The only Rottweiler I would trust. The only Rottie I ever knew who didn’t bark. I know that sounds strange for a dog, but it was miraculous. I never heard his voice in all the years we lived together. We often wondered why. He simply observed. Like me. He had presence.

Rizla knew how to behave.

He understood personal space. He respected silence. He did not bounce. I miss him. He was a good boy. Rare. Gone too soon.

Anyway. My humans left.

The Golden Menace was also removed from the house and sent off to Gemma the dog groomer at Posh Paws. The Smoky One refuses to have him, which I respect. She values her furniture, her patience and her remaining years. She also has The Curly Intruder to consider. She lives the right way.

So there I was. Alone.

Well. Almost.

In walked The Takeaway Sharer.

Officially, he had been “tasked with looking after me”.
I do not acknowledge this version of events.

I do not need supervision.

Still, he arrived. He walked loudly. He breathed too much. He existed during sleeping hours, disrupting the peace. But then… he ordered Chinese.

So of course, he is my bestie. Well. My best takeaway sharer. These things can coexist. I value his friendship. Especially when it comes in cartons.

Now, I am not saying I demanded chicken. I did not beg.
I am saying I reminded him of the situation.

Humans like to share food. It makes them feel useful. I simply allow it.

He shared his chicken with me. Not all of it. But enough. Enough to begin the year exactly as I intended. Warm. Fed. Right. Enough to set the tone for the year.

The house was silent in a way it hadn’t been for months. No dribbles. No thudding paws. No random barking at nothing. No mysterious smells drifting through my living room.

Just me.
And chicken.

I slept deeply. I slept often. I slept like a cat who had made excellent life choices.

That is how you start a year just right.

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The Snowman Had It Coming

Then it snowed.

I did not join in. I observed.

From the bedroom window, the golf course looked like a glittering North Pole. Beautiful. Untouched. Wet. A place for idiots and paws I do not own. I admired it briefly, from behind glass, and then returned to my nap.

Outside, things escalated.

Children appeared. Loud ones. Armed with snowballs. They targeted one of The Robe Rangers’ cats. The short haired one. Was it Socks? Marmalade? I never know which is which. They’re spoilt anyway.

I will admit, watching pristine white snowballs hit a pampered puss did make me chuckle.

However. The principle remained.

Any cat could be next. And I am not about running from children. Especially not on slippery pavements and snow covered lawns.

Nearby, a snowman had been built. And then abandoned. Carelessly. Vulnerable. Asking for consequences.

I formulated a plan with the unwitting Golden Menace. Call it service to the cat community.

It was his first experience of snow, so naturally he was vibrating with excitement, investigating everything frozen. He hovered near the snowman. I encouraged him. Quietly. A suggestion. Subtle guidance. Then I gave the nod.

He knocked the snowman’s head clean off.

Justice was served.

The children ran around crying at their decapitated snowman. Balance was restored. Order returned to the street.

To thank him for his services, I offered my ultimate wisdom. I told him not to eat yellow snow. You’re welcome, I said. Thank me later. This information could save your life.

He did not grasp the importance of the moment, but I had done my duty.

The snow cleared in our neighbourhood the next day. Elsewhere, apparently, it had not.

I heard that Granny was still snowed in, so my humans drove supplies to her house. I approve. Granny must be protected at all costs. She is the source of weekend treats and extra attention for me. Favouritism? Yes.

In Granny’s neighbourhood there was a large field. People sledging. More snowmen. All intact, apparently. They seemed to know what they were doing.

The Golden Menace and The Curly Intruder were released into it together, which I’m told was “very sweet” to watch. Two idiots discovering snow at the same time. Running. Sliding. Colliding. Falling over. Getting back up and doing it again like nothing had happened.

The Curly Intruder, in particular, was beside himself. He ran in circles like a baby lamb discovering spring, except it was freezing, damp.

His curls collected snow until it froze into solid balls underneath his belly. Actual ice. Hanging there. Swinging slightly.

The Blonde One laughed hysterically while trying to remove them, which did not help. The Golden Menace refused to come inside because he was “having too much fun” and would not be interrupted for something as minor as hypothermia.

The Tall One, experiencing this level of snow for the first time, stood in the low winter sun looking confused. He comes from a hot country where snow is theoretical at best. He has seen flakes before, but not sledging. Not snowmen. And certainly not dogs behaving like this.

He had not prepared. No hat. No scarf. No gloves. After approximately five minutes, he went back into Granny’s house for warmth and did not help with the removal of ice balls or the retrieval of Golden menaces.

I respected that.

I stayed warm. I enacted justice. I shared life saving advice.

You’re welcome.

New Year, New Me (Apparently)

The Tall One made an announcement.

This was not unprovoked.

It began when The Blonde One gave us both juicy sausages. A generous act. Poorly timed. The Golden Menace enjoyed his immensely and then, some hours later, redecorated the garden decking with what I can only describe as regret.

Everywhere.

The Tall One hosed it all down in silence. A dangerous silence. When he came back inside, wet, cold, and defeated, he delivered his ruling.

No more human food.

He told The Blonde One, in no uncertain terms, that the pets were no longer allowed any human food.

First of all. Pets?
Who is he calling pets?

Apparently, we already have enough cat food, dog food, and snacks, and there was “no need to mess up our diets with human food”.

Has he met us?

The Golden Menace and I exchanged a look. A long one. We joined forces for the second time this month. January was pushing it.

Treat routines changed immediately. My Sunday roast chicken vanished. The Golden Menace was given carrots and praised for eating them, which I found deeply disturbing. They did not offer me a carrot. They know better.

I was offered something dry. Something joyless. Something that crumbled when it shouldn’t have.

We began resistance.

I sat and stared. No blinking. The Golden Menace mirrored my movements without knowing why. If I sat, he sat. If I moved, he followed. If I stared, he stared. The humans noticed. I heard them whisper to each other about being watched.

Then we divided them.

I focused on The Blonde One. Soft eyes. Slow blinks. Sitting close. Too close. Close enough to remind her who she loved first.

The Golden Menace targeted The Tall One. Heavy sighs. Dramatic flops. Following him from room to room like a damp regret that refused to be ignored.

Next came emotional manipulation. Blonde One only.

I refused to eat while maintaining eye contact. The Golden Menace ate carrots slowly and sadly, as if he had lost faith in joy itself. The Blonde One said things like, “Aw, look at them.”

Victory began here.

At 11am, our usual prime treat time, I escalated. This was my window. The Tall One was at work. The Blonde One was vulnerable.

I stationed myself at the bottom of the stairs and miaowed continuously. Calmly. Purposefully. I could hear The Blonde One sitting alone and eating her elevenses. Crunchy toast. The smell of butter. Some fruit. A private moment she thought she was entitled to.

Her voice softened when she spoke. She was weakening.

I continued until midday, when her Teams call began. At that point, I stopped. No point embarrassing her professionally. I would try again tomorrow. The important thing was this: I could feel the shift. My job was the daytime campaign.

The Golden Menace took over when The Tall One came home.

He began psychological warfare.

He suddenly needed to go outside. Repeatedly. He would go out, immediately turn, and stare back through the patio doors, asking to be let in. As soon as he was back inside, he ran straight to the kitchen.

Five minutes later, he needed to go out again.

They didn’t want accidents. The Curly Intruder had already shaken their confidence in that area. So they kept getting up. In. Out. In. Out. Confused. Tired. Broken. Each time wondering what was going on.

This continued all evening.

A coordinated effort.

The Tall One remained firm.

The Blonde One did not.

At first, it was leftovers here and there. A quiet handout. A whispered “don’t tell him”. Then it happened more often. A little slice of ham while passing. A taste. A habit. Eventually, it became routine again. Just… quieter.

Sunday roast chicken returned. Peace followed.

We have not had sausages since.

A loss. But a reasonable one.

January tried to impose rules.
We corrected it.

And that, frankly, is a win.

Conclusion

January reminded me of my standards.
That snow is optional.
That rules are temporary.
That carrots are an insult.
And that takeaways must always be shared.

There were announcements.
And unnecessary confidence.

I observed.
I waited.

Chicken returned.
I remained fed.

January did not win.
I did not change.