Hello my name is Hamish and my kitty is the kitty of dreams. People see me skipping down the street in bountiful bouncy fits of joy singing about my kitty and they think I am crazy, but I can assure you that I am not. My psychologist says it is homocidal anger displaced as love and as long as I continue with my medication everything will be fine.

Here are some pictures of my flatmates:

This is Andrew. He spends all day at his computer and when he comes out from his room, he cooks lots and lots of meat. Sometimes he locks his door as a security threat in case I quietly creep up behind him and drop soap on his floor. He doesn't like that. Why won't he be my friend? Why?

Kyle is my mate. He is the coolest. He's my bestest buddy, especially when he lets me download porn.

B & W K. This is not Gary.

Since we have no pictures of Mark, in his place we have a photograph of somebody's foot (reproduced with the kind permission of Kyle and his foot fetish folder)

An artist's depiction of what the black and white kitty would look like if we saved enough money as a flat to hire the services of a freelance cat artist.

This is an infrared photograph taken in the dead of night of the kitty stealing a KFC chickenbone from one of the black polythene rubbish bags. It is no wonder the kitty is not respected. Hmmmph!

Robbie is not currently one of our flatmates, but he will be as of next year. He is since shaven his beard and is cleared of possessing any Aids-related illnesses, so go get him girlzzzzz!!!!

Oh and if you get especially excited over what you read here, please check out:

Kylestyle, and

Gibler's Realm, and

Gary's Page.

Farewell from Woodhaugh, Dunedin.