Purrfect Pitch Accounting

Blog

  • Reminder: Extension Deadline Approaches

    For clients who filed for an extension, the deadline arrives on 15 November for some and 15 January for others, depending on a formula Gerald has explained eight times and which Dumpling has declined to hear.

    If you have not yet gathered your documents, please begin. The following will be needed: a list of income, your receipts, your receipts, and a note identifying which of them you chewed.

    We are available Monday to Thursday, 9 to 5, with an audit nap from 2 to 4. After 4 p.m. the building belongs to Marguerite, who has asked that visitors not bring food.

  • Preparing for the Holiday Treat Surge

    Treat spending between 20 November and 31 December rises by an average of 73 percent, a figure that includes stockings, advent calendars and a portion of ham that was never supposed to be on the table.

    Set an allowance now. We suggest $140 for the season, split into $80 for planned treats, $40 for guests who unexpectedly bring fish, and $20 for the cat who will, at some point, sit in the tree.

    Review spending weekly. If you reach 60 percent of the budget by 10 December, stop and consult us. Do not consult the other cat, who is also over budget and has stopped answering the door.

  • Mailbag: Is It Fraud If the Human Believed Me?

    A client has written to ask whether it counts as fraud that she cried at the pantry door at 6 a.m. for eleven days in a row, and her human fed her three times each morning, on the grounds that nobody had fed her.

    We looked at the definition: a knowing misrepresentation made to obtain a benefit. You did cry. You did receive food. The misrepresentation is arguable, as you did not say you were unfed. You simply cried, which is a fact about your voice.

    We recommend no further action. We do recommend that you avoid writing the sequence down in a diary, which could be seized and read aloud by someone with a clipboard.

  • Case Study: The Estate of Old Tom

    When Old Tom passed his assets to his two nieces, the estate consisted of a velvet cushion, 14 bottle caps, a comb and a half share in a chair. Both nieces claimed the cushion. A third niece, previously unknown, appeared on the porch holding a letter.

    The letter was a menu. We nonetheless treated it as a claim and reviewed it with the same care as a will. It was found invalid on the grounds that it listed fish only, and Old Tom disliked fish.

    The cushion was split by weight and alternate weeks. The chair was valued at $9 and sold to a neighbour. The bottle caps remain with us and are held in a drawer that we are not at liberty to open.

  • The Catnip Question: Medicine, Recreation or Both?

    This season we have fielded 27 inquiries about the deductibility of catnip. The rule is that expenses must be ordinary and necessary. Catnip is certainly ordinary. Whether it is necessary depends on who you ask and how recently they ate it.

    If prescribed by a veterinarian to manage anxiety, a modest quantity may qualify as a medical expense. A bag of 14 grams over the year, at $8.50, is defensible. A bag of 400 grams with a stuffed mouse made from it is a hobby.

    Hobby losses are not deductible. Neither, we regret to say, are the three days you spent on the stairs afterwards.

  • What an Auditor Actually Wants: A Field Report

    Gerald has attended 112 audits. In every one, the auditor wanted four things: a clear trail from the return to the receipt, a reasonable explanation for any unusual item, a cup of tea, and for the cat not to be looking at the stapler.

    The stapler is a persistent issue. An auditor asks about a deduction and the cat watches the stapler. The auditor looks at the stapler. The cat looks at the auditor. Twenty minutes pass.

    Our advice is to remove the stapler. A tidy table speaks to good controls, and an untidy table speaks to a stapler on the floor, which is where we usually end up regardless.

  • Year End Planning Starts Now, Whether You Like It or Not

    Gerald would like it known that there are 91 days until the end of the year. He would also like it known that he has said this to the same clients in the same words since 2019, and that most of them were asleep.

    This is the period in which small decisions carry weight. Pay the vet bill in December rather than January and the deduction moves a year. Buy the new bed before the thirty first and it can be depreciated. Delay the catnip until the second and it cannot.

    Book your planning appointment now. Slots are limited to 14, and Dumpling has already declined six on your behalf.

  • Third Quarter Close: Ledger Notes and a Lost Pen

    The third quarter closed on 30 September with a net operating margin of 18.6 percent. Revenue per client rose to $412. The only material variance was a missing pen, valued at $1.60, last seen in Marguerite’s paw.

    An internal inquiry was held. Marguerite was asked whether she had the pen. She said that she did not have the pen, in the tone of a cat who has the pen. We have let the matter rest.

    All other accounts are in order. Our thanks to the team for another quarter of careful and uneventful work, and to Dumpling for guarding the door against an entire flock of couriers.

  • A Note on the Fiscal Fortnight of Bird Watching

    Every September, a spike in window based activity coincides with the migration of finches. Our clients report average viewing sessions of 94 minutes, up from 61 minutes in the summer.

    This has consequences for productivity. We estimate that cats in our sample forgo 3.4 hours of other nap activity per day during migration. At the standard shadow price of $2.10 per nap hour, that is a cost of $7.14 per cat per day.

    The benefits, however, are hard to measure. The finches do not pay. But there is no price on the feeling of a chirp through glass, and we say this as people who put a price on everything.

  • Meet the Bookkeeper: Marguerite Whiskerton

    Marguerite Whiskerton keeps the books at Purrfect Pitch with the kind of precision usually reserved for hunting. She is a black and white cat of seven who files by colour, by date and, when in doubt, by mood.

    She reconciles eighteen accounts a month, has found three errors in the last audit by the Revenue Service and has been publicly thanked by none of them. Her desk is bare except for a single pen, which she has not moved in four years.

    Her one indulgence is a small bowl of oat crackers at her elbow. Ask her about it and she will say it is a petty cash fund. Do not ask her about the balance.