Despite being saddled with the appearance of a feline beauty queen,
Tyler is a big yobbo at heart. Sprawled on his back in front of the
telly is where you'll most often find him.

On Sunday nights, for some reason, he seems to want more. He wants to be
a cat of action. Last Sunday was a case in point.

First he gave his teddy bear a good biffing. Then he turned to the
ball-on-elastic on the top of his scratching post, which put up a
slightly better fight. There were a few logs stacked up in front of the
fireplace, so he gave them what for. No response. Next he took a couple
of swings at Roger Federer on the telly, perhaps a step in the right
direction; that fellow was clearly more in the biffing mood, but Tyler
was unable to attract his attention.

Next Tyler marched up to Violetta the tiny tuxedo girl, swatted her tail
and informed her (I think... I may have the translation wrong) that her
mother roots chihuahuas. She just laughed at him and cursed him back. No
satisfaction there. He stomped off, kicked around his empty food bowl a
bit, then knocked some dishes into the sink.

Finally I heard the sounds of feline wrestling in the hall. Orlie the
ginger bloke had finally been persuaded to join in a little biff session
and Tyler was a happy cat again.

And what did I get? Aside from an evening's entertainment, when I headed
off to bed, I leaned over to say goodnight to Tyler the yob and got a
little Tyler kiss on the cheek.
Awwww!