Whilst surfing the cat blogosphere earlier this week, my attention was caught by the website of Nora, a moggy pianist from the US:
The cynic in me wanted to point out that Nora appears only to have one performance piece in her repertoire, but who am I to criticise a cat who has managed to build an international media profile on the back of a few tapped piano keys? (She even has her own line of merchandise. Respect.)
So, drawing strength from the saying that politics is showbusiness for the ugly, I have decided that my talents (and looks) are in fact much better suited to a career in showbiz than politics.
And like a true diva, music is my first love (although depending on how things go it might not be my last).
Given the absence of a piano in my house, I decided singing would have to be my instrument of choice, and went out onto the streets of Harpenden in the early hours of this morning to flex my vocal cords.
Readers, I do believe my impromptu open-air concert was a hit.
Certainly, the lady on Ox Lane whom I serenaded remarked that she'd 'never heard meowing like it', although admittedly she did eventually call my People to come and collect me. (I guess I still need to the learn the art of leaving them wanting more.)
So where do I go from here? I suppose I could enter Britain's Got Talent. There can be no doubt that I've got more talent in my little toe than most of the pond-life who get up on that stage. But I've never liked the look of that shifty Cowell fellow, and don't even get me started on the other two.
I think perhaps I would be wise to follow Nora's example and start with YouTube. I reckon a 30 second film of my singing at full throttle would have the internet at melt-down, and from then on all I'll need to do is sit back and wait for Oprah to call.
I'll go and get the camcorder.