A.K.A. Fudgepuddle. Fin J Ross

well, you know. So with my beauty genes and his strength genes, our kisskies will be just purrrrrfect. Like me.'

      'Hmm. Modesty's a curse you know. So's humility by the way,' I say. 'I just bet none of them will be as much fun or as easy going as my kisskies, bless their hearts.'

      'Yes, well I bet they were a mixed bag.'

      'What do you mean?'

      'I just figure that if you had kisskies they'd probably be every colour under the sun but without a hint of symmetry or style,' Zsa Zsa responds in her haughty voice.

      'Individuals, yes, every one of them. And I taught them to be independent. I bet yours will be spoilt rotten by deuxjambs and completely unable to do anything for themselves.'

      'I'm tiring of this conversation,' Zsa Zsa huffs. 'Besides, it's time for my morning nap. So let it be known that Queen Christobel is retiring to sleep.'

      'Jeebs, what a performance. Anyone would think she's vying for an Acatemy Award,' I say, somewhat wittily I think. I hear Big Dan and the other boys chuckling.

      'She does run the drama classes here,' Big Dan says. 'Apparently her umbi and fuddy are also sought-after actors.'

      'Sure, and mine are champion athletes.'

      Just then I notice a white feeli move to the front of the pen next to Maharani. I raise my paw and nod in his direction. 'Hi there, Juno's the name.'

      'You're wasting your breath on him, he's deaf as a post,' Maharani advises.

      'So what's his name?'

      'Apparently his deuxjambs call him Snowy. Yeah, really original. But his name's actually Oscar. We all call him Beethoven though.'

      'Why, coz he likes music?'

      'No, silly. Because he's deaf.'

      'Oh, I get it. Why's he got his ear to the floor?'

      'He feels the vibrations; he can tell when Miss Steph's coming way before any of us can hear her.'

      'That's handy.'

      'Yeah, it gives us a chance to stop what we're doing and put on our pussano faces so she won't suspect anything,' Maharani says.

      'But what is it you do that you don't want her to know about? I mean apart from the exercise stuff.'

      'Well, in the afternoons we have choir practice, bingo, reading group, music appreciation, ping pong, dizza, um, if it's warm enough we have luaus outside, or queekee spotting. It just depends on what we feel like doing. Or you can do nothing if you want. Some of the older ones just like to sleep all afternoon, but hey, that's up to them.'

      'What's dizza?'

      'Oh, that's a fun game. We'll show you later. Just make sure you don't eat all your kitzbitz, 'cos you'll need 'em for the game.'

      What's in a name?

      I wake up feeling a bit thick headed, like you do when you've enjoyed a really deep sleep and you're not really sure whether you're awake or whether you're still dreaming. I yawn and stretch my front legs out, spreading my claws. I roll onto my back and take a lazy glance out the window, with my legs still stretched out above my head. Nope, I wasn't dreaming. This is heaven on a fishstick, this place. I suddenly realise there's a lot of whispering going on around me. I prick my ears up.

      'Shh, I think she's awake.'

      'Must be, can't hear the snoring any more.'

      Oh, oh, I have a terrible feeling they're talking about me.

      'Could you possibly snore any louder?' Maharani asks.

      'Who, me? I don't snore! I never snore.'

      'Oh yes you do,' comes a number of voices in unison.

      'We all had to put our heads under our blankets or armpits to drown you out during catnap hour,' Red and Mars remark.

      'I definitely think you're a candidate for aerobics, you need to get that heart pumping and get some air in those lungs. We'll be starting soon,' Maharani says with a flourish of her tail.

      'So what are we waiting for?'

      'The music of course. Miss Steph always turns the music on at two o'clock. But you might as well get down and start with some stretching exercises.'

      'Oh, okay,' I say, reluctantly. I notice Maharani wriggling her chokeystrap up over her ears and onto her forehead. 'What on earth are you doing?'

      'It keeps the fur out of my eyes, okay. I mean, you can't exercise properly with fur in your eyes,' she explains condescendingly, as though I should have known all about this gym club fashion faux pas.

      'I've gotta say I've never really had that problem. You look like Olivia Newton John in Let's Get Cynical. Thank God you haven't got a leotard.'

      I'm making my way down the ramp, I hear speakers - right over my head - crackle to life with the opening refrain of Cool for Cats which is, without a doubt, my absolutely favouristest song of all time. I look over and see Maharani putting her front paws up on the ramp.

      'Here, watch me,' she says, 'I'll show you all the moves.'

      I get myself into position and follow her lead. First we press our shoulders forward until our chest touches the ramp. We do that a few times. Then we turn around and spread our back legs and try to touch both sides of our pens with our front paws. That takes quiet a bit of effort for me and I know there's no way I'm going to reach.

      Then she's got me standing on my hind legs stretching my whole body as high as it can go and next I'm on the floor doing puss-ups. This is getting pretty exhausting, I must say, and I feel like I'm about to break into a sweat.

      'Hey, slow down a bit, will you?' I call out.

      'What do you mean slow down? This is just the warm-up.'

      'Cripes,' I pant. 'Well I think that's it for me. I'm gonna throw in the towel.'

      'Oh, you're really puss-weak; you're never going to lose that flab if you don't put in the hard work. Don't tell me you're like Zsa Zsa and would rather pay someone to do your exercises for you.'

      'Well it is all so unladylike,' says Zsa Zsa. 'And quite unbecoming to a feeli of my pedigree.'

      'Hah, I s'pose you think your kackapod doesn't stink,' Rocky remarks.

      'I am not even going to deign to answer that, you horrid wuzzer. It would be quite beneath my dignity.'

      'Everything's beneath your dignity, Zsa. You've got that much stuff beneath you it's no wonder you sit up there so high and mighty,' Rocky says.

      'Pfffft,' Zsa Zsa spits. 'And you only think you're tough because they put your tattoo on the outside of your ear. I bet you're really just all hiss and wind.' She scratches the carpety stuff on her ramp 'Oh, darn it, I've broken a nail.'

      'Well I am tough, I'll show you all my scars to prove it,' Rocky protests.

      'Young man, if you were so tough you wouldn't have any scars because you'd never come off second best. I bet Big Dan doesn't have any scars, do you?' Zsa Zsa says condescendingly.

      'No madam, you're quite right, I have no scars and you have to look very closely to see my tattoo.'

      I wish I could get to see Big Dan. His voice is enough to make me go weak at the knees; I'd love to know what he looks like. He sounds like such a gentlefeeli.

      'When I was young, all the other kisskies in the street would goad and taunt me, trying to get me to fight, I guess because I was always so much bigger than them. I did box professionally for a while, but I found it all a bit pointless really, because I always won.

      Sometimes I'd just give my look and they'd back off and wuss away with their tail between their legs. But I was quite famous there for a while. I still