Smudge’s Diaries

Life With The Golden Menace

A Blog By Smudge The Cat

Observations from the stair gate, the bedroom window, and the top of the garden fence.

Who’s Who In My World 🐾

Meet the humans and animals I tolerate, torment, or occasionally cuddle. Spoiler: The Golden Menace doesn’t make the favourites list.

The Golden Menace

A five-month-old Golden Retriever puppy with the grace of a potato and the brain of a biscuit. Bouncy, boisterous, and permanently muddy. Obsessed with soft things, barking at nothing, and nicking all the treats, even mine! Gets fussed over for doing absolutely nothing. I remain unimpressed.

The Blonde One (Blondie)

My human. Big heart, soft hands, smells like vanilla and stress. She talks to me like I’m a baby, decorates everything in pastel, and once tried to teach me line dancing. I tolerate her. She loves me deeply, which is the only reason I haven’t packed my bags.

The Tall One

My other human. 6ft 3, built like a warrior, voice like thunder, patience like a saint. He used to nap. Now he negotiates with a golden fur ball. I use his intimidating stature to threaten other cats in the neighbourhood. He remains blissfully unaware.

The Smoky One (Granny)

She arrives every weekend like clockwork, smokes outside (respect), sits with me in the garden, and naps like a seasoned professional. She brings treats. Real ones. No puppy nonsense. We vibe. She gets it.

The Curly Intruder

The Smoky One’s new puppy. A caramel coloured fluffball with short stumpy legs and woolly hair that hangs over his eyes, so he can’t always see what he’s barking at – which is everything and nothing. Looks like a lamb. Acts like a wolf. As wild as his curls! Until the Golden Menace gets the zoomies, then he’s quivering under the sofa! Steals treats. Steals attention. I preferred Granny before he arrived.

The Take Away Sharer

Blondie’s older brother. Feeds me when she’s away, gives treats, plays with me, and once shared his Chinese takeaway. Rare. Noble. Forever respected. Complains a lot, mainly about football and traffic, I think. I tune it out!

The Baker Boy

Blondie’s younger brother. Works in a bakery but never brings pastries. I repeat: never. I’ve checked his pockets. Nothing. Visits every other Sunday, watches football, and lets The Golden Menace bounce all over him like he’s a living trampoline. I don’t even get a pat on the head.

The Red One

The Baker Boy’s teenage son. Red hair that matches my patches, coincidence? I think not. Talks about zombies, exams, and is obsessed with his phone. Friendly, but stingy with snacks. I sit near him just in case.

The Bag Lady

Blondie’s bestie. Turned up to a sleepover with a handbag that looked expensive and smelled like Asti. I shredded it. Not out of spite – out of principle. She prefers me to The Golden Menace mwaaahaaaahaaa! Finally, a human with taste. I keep an eye on her accessories now. You never know when inspiration will strike.

Jasper the Ex-Nemesis

Lives next door. Grey tabby with a white bib and sits like he owns the pavement. Scared of nothing. Used to be my nemesis, but we called a truce. We get on now, mostly because we have two Golden Menaces to outrun every time the front door opens.

Comet the Black Ninja

Jet black and mysterious. Doesn’t say much. Doesn’t need to. Moves like smoke and vanishes just as fast. I suspect he’s part ninja.Jet black and mysterious. Doesn’t say much. Doesn’t need to. Moves like smoke and vanishes just as fast. I suspect he’s part ninja.

Pickle the Influencer

Fluffy, pristine, and always looks like she’s just stepped out of a grooming salon. Her fur is soft, her whiskers are symmetrical, and her human insists on dressing her up, hats, bows, once a tutu. It’s a lot. She’s sweet, but it’s hard to take anyone seriously in a glittery cape. We think her real name might be Princess, but someone once misheard it as Pickle and it stuck.

The Next Door Neighbour

All sunshine and soft tones, like a CBeebies presenter who runs her house like a military base. Full of smiles but we all know she nags, relentlessly. Can fire off a text faster than I can flick my tail. Leaves food out for other cats but shoos me away. Suspicious.

Barry the Pharm Guy

Camp, cheerful, and always humming 80s power ballads while pruning his rose bushes. A pharmacist by trade. Owns a smug Tabby with a superiority complex. I pretend not to know its name, but I absolutely judge his flamingo garden ornaments collection.

Gwen the Moon Watcher

Gwen smells faintly of incense and something else I can’t place. She wears dark clothes, dark lipstick, and is rarely without a crystal or two. Her expression is permanently pinched, as if she knows something I don’t. She feeds the strays. Religiously. Some of them don’t always come out.

The Topless Gardener

Mows the lawn with his six‑pack out like it’s a public service. Owns a Vizsla called Atlas, who is equally fit and painfully aware of it. I treat his smooth grass like my personal litter tray. He trims. I tinkle. Atlas watches. We coexist.

The Robe Ranger

It doesn’t matter what time of day it is. Pamela is in a dressing gown. Spotted, floral, stripes. We place bets on which one it will be next. (I always win.) Her hair is white as snow. She is firm but kind, and she has two long haired ginger cats, both spoiled beyond reason and fully aware of it.