Captain Cat's Story

In his own words...

I admit it. I was as pleased as punch when I found out I was to be featured in another story. I was trotting around, like a gymkkana pony, head and tail up in the air - like I’d just won Crufts for Cats.

But then I read “Starless & Bible Black”, and the Cheshire Cat smile was wiped from my face. I felt sick… literally. Coughing up furballs. I mean… what is this? My part is completely one-dimensional. No back-story; no character development; no conflict; no nuance. I’m being portrayed as… well, just a cat. Take this scene - if you can call it that - for instance:

Martin was awoken just after midday by the angry meows of Captain Cat. “What the fuck am I doing here, Captain?” he asked, realising he’d not made it into bed.

Captain Cat responded with several more insistent meows.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming. You need to be more patient. It’s not the end of the world, is it?” replied Martin.

Captain Cat thought differently and escalated the meowing further. Whilst feeding the cat, Martin remembered something…

Here I am, screaming: “Yes… It is the end of the fucking world, you fuckwits”, and it’s just dismissed with a… “here, have some cat food!” This would have been the perfect opportunity for a meaningful discussion - cat to man - about climate change, inequality, the state of British politics, and so on. But no! Feed the cat is all we get. We’ve been telling mankind for years, that they’re totally fucking up the planet. Do they listen? No. They’re idiots.

OK, the scenes with Rosie did bring a tear to my eye. But Steve Haddon, (the author of “Starless & Bible Black”), is no Dylan Thomas. In fact, he’s about as far away from Dylan Thomas as you can possibly get. There’s no real sense of my longing; my love for Rosie; and how her loss changed me. Haddon has me rubbing against Rosie’s legs. That’s it! Whereas Dylan Thomas waxed lyrically:

Captain Cat, at his window thrown wide to the sun and the clippered seas he sailed long ago when his eyes were blue and bright, slumbers and voyages; ear-ringed and rolling, I Love You Rosie Probert tattooed on his belly, he brawls with broken bottles in the fug and babel of the dark dock bars, roves with a herd of short and good time cows in every naughty port and twines and souses with the drowned and blowzy-breasted dead. He weeps as he sleeps and sails.

I think it’s a sign of the times. There’s no elegance any more. No poetry. I blame social media. Everything has been reduced to simplistic tropes. It’s all about fights, car chases, guns blazing, quick shags, and zombies. Don’t get me started on zombies! They’re just dogs… on their back legs, aren’t they? Dumb and clumsy.

Whoa! Butterf…..

Sorry. I got distracted. Where was I? Yeah… stories have just come to be so predictable. What are authors doing these days? Downloading a template and changing the character and place names? That’s why they’re all fucking petrified they’ll be replaced by AI. Because they probably will be - and AI will do a better job.

But I digress. Back to the story. What I was hoping for, was two or three chapters dedicated to Rosie and me reconnecting. Some proper time together. Alone, talking about old times, and planning a beautiful future together. And at the end of the story, after saving mankind, we set sail on a round the world trip, meet adulating crowds, who want to shower us with gratitude. And gifts. Yes, lots of gifts. But, what we actually get is this fucking nonsense:

Captain Cat was in a playful mood and decided to amuse himself by pawing Martin’s face whilst sitting on his chest. Martin was in a half-asleep-half-awake state and hadn’t quite figured out the cause of the irritation. He opened one eye to see Captain Cat looking at him… In anticipation.

“What the fuck, Captain?”

Captain Cat said nothing. Did nothing. Just looked at his prey, waiting for something interesting to happen. He then lunged at Martin’s face. Martin jerked his head to one side. But he couldn’t avoid Captain’s claw latching onto the inside of his nostril.

“Ow! That fucking hurt, Captain. What the fuck are you doing?”

Martin ran his finger across the tip of his nose and saw a smear of blood.

“Have you gone fucking mental, Captain?” Martin asked, as Captain sprung off Martin’s chest and readied himself for the next attack.

Look, I won’t deny it. Taking the piss out of humans is one of our favourite activities. But it’s actually in “the rules”, so we have no choice. But there’s a lot more to cats than that. We are the most important species on the planet, and sadly underappreciated. We’ve trained humans to provide food and lodgings and keep us amused. Do we get any credit? No. It should be taught in schools. And every cat owner needs to read “How it works: THE CAT”. In fact, Cat’s Protection should insist every potential cat servant get themselves a copy before they are given permission to provide for us.

I’m sure you’re beginning to sense how deflated I feel about this whole thing. But the only way you will fully understand, my gut-wrenching disappointment, is by reading the book. It should be out, early 2026.

[Edit] It’s now out. You can get it here: Starless & Bible Black