He swaggered so much when he walked that if he didn't slow down he flipped himself over.
Maurice is a cat's cat.

"The sergeant pulled Sardines out of his pocket. The rat was eating a biscuit, but he raised his hat politely. "Isn't that a bit . . . unhygienic?" said the mayor.
"No, guv, he's washed his hands," said Sardines.

"It's odd," said Peaches, "but we didn't know the shadows were there until we had the light."
A philosophic ra... err... rodent.

"Did that cat just speak?" said the mayor.
Maurice looked around. "Which one?" he said.
"You! Did you just talk?"
"Would you feel better if I said no?" said Maurice.

"I suppose there is a Big Cat in the Sky, isn't there?"
I'M SURPRISED AT YOU, MAURICE. OF COURSE THERE ARE NO CAT GODS. THAT WOULD BE TOO MUCH LIKE . . . WORK.
Death has a soft spot for cats.

"I heard of a man who made a fortune selling homing pigeons, and he only had the one!"
Yes ... well ...

He'd realised there was something educated about the rats when he jumped on one and it'd said, "Can we talk about this?" ....

A good motto in life, he'd reckoned, was: don't eat anything that glows.

"Heaven knows what Malicia's doing this time."
"I expect you'll find out when you hear the bang, sir."

She thought animals were just people who hadn't been paying enough attention.

The terrier's face screwed up in the horribly worried expression of a dog trying to have two thoughts at the same time.

She obviously though it was no good looking inconspicuous unless people could see you were being inconspicuous. People in the street actually stopped to watch her as she sidled along walls and scuttled from one doorway to another.

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