Frank has been very chatty lately, so I told him to do something useful
and dictate me another story from his life, instead of just talking
about this and that (and asking for food all the time), so here is
another instalment of his chronicles.

______________________

Let me take you back to my favourite place in the whole world, our
summer island. It's nice here in town - you are always dry and warm and
comfortable, but I like it out on the island even when it rains and
there are high winds. Being out there stirs some deep memories of my
ancestors and what life may have been like for them, before they started
taking over the lives of hoomins. It's even exciting to use the Great
Litterbox outside, instead of the little ones here in town. There's
something very satisfying about digging in the dirt with your paws. My
paw pads get hard and calloused while we're on the island, from walking
on the hot cliffs and the rough forest ground.

The first summer I spent on the island, I couldn't quite fathom the idea
of using the Great Litterbox outside. I'd always used an inside loo, and
we kittens had been severely reprimanded if we went anywhere else than
in our box when I was a kitten at my Mum's place. So, the first couple
of days I used these boxes filled with soil that I found outside my
Grandmeowmie's house. However, it soon became clear to me that this was
not acceptable, and soon the hoomins put nets over those boxes so I
couldn't access them. My hoomin told me they were growing food there,
and I couldn't use them as my loo. Hmph. I looked in those boxes many
times during the summer, but all I saw growing there was weed. I even
tasted some of them, but the hoomins got mad at that too.

Anyway, I then tried going beside the boxes, where there was a thin
layer of soil on top of the cliffs. It was then that I discovered the
joys of digging in the dirt. This was a whole new experience. I later
found places with deeper and softer soil, and I would dig around, making
several holes before I did my business, just for the fun of digging
endlessly, without hitting the bottom of a box. Making a proper hole in
the Great Litterbox outside is a science in itself. You have to make it
perfect before you can use it. This entails trying out several spots,
squatting down on each hole, digging some more, then trying it out
again. I can't stress enough how important it is that the hole is just
right. And of course the holes have to be entirely different depending
on whether you are doing number ones or number twos. And when you've
done your business, covering the hole is a whole other science in itself.

The last few summers, my hoomin's brother has pitched a tent where I
like to go potty. There's still enough room for me to use the litterbox,
and the hoomin says he's not bothered, so I suppose this arrangement is
alright, but I do keep a sharp eye on him to see he doesn't do anything
to mess up my litterbox arrangements. One morning my hoomin and the
Grandmeowmie had watched me sit by the tent and stare in through the
door for some ten minutes. The hoomin was curious as usual and asked me
what I thought I was doing, but I told her to mind her own business.

Hm, I didn't mean to make this instalment all about litterbox practices,
but it is an important facet of a cat's life, and I hope I may have
taught some of you young 'uns something. I was going to talk more about
life on the island, but that will have to wait til next chapter in my
memoirs.