Wednesday, 2 March 2016

Things I say to the Cat I'm Sitting

  You're always so quiet crunching your dried food and you never gnaw it with your side teeth.
  Actually, is it dried food?
  Oh, it is. 
  Maybe I could have done that with a between-fingers test and not with my teeth. 
  Mad Max eats cat food.

  Isn't that sound of chains we can hear like Marley's ghost coming up from the cellar in Scrooge's house? 

 You can't go outside now, sorry, it's dark.  And I saw the dog fox. It was enormous! Looks like it's had extra midsectiony bits grafted onto it.

 'Oscar ran to the door!' Sorry, I used to shout that when the doorbell rang at Lady Cave's when I was housesitting, and her sheltie had made his usual dash for it to bite whoever it was. 
  You don't tend to do that, no. The most I've noticed from you when the doorbell rings is a slight turn of your head. 
  Talking of which: when I put the TV on, your head was right near the edge of the blind you were hiding behind; interesting that you reversed right back all the way along the window sill and come out bum first to watch Ibiza Weekender.

  What are you watching now?  I was only getting another glass of stout. Look at these people. They're the kind of gay who adopt because they know they're too old for Disneyland themselves. 
  Have you eaten your breakfast?  Yes, I know I can get up from here and go and see for myself, but the last time I did that it was only semi-dark, so I didn't bother switching the light on and fell over the garden timber stacked ready for the next day. 
  Yes, you did indeed find that hilarious.
  But have you eaten your breakfast?

 Here's the nice gardener man come to see you. Yes, he's going outside. He has to because that's where the garden is. And it's daylight. 
  If he works until it gets dark, I promise to reassess the going outside boundaries I've set for you.   
  I know foxes aren't strictly nocturnal. There was the one at South Villas who used to sit on the picnic table underneath the music room when I was doing my singing practise. 
  But that fox was mangey, infirm and scared of next door's Burmese.
  He would probably have even been scared of the mice when the Bulgarians in the basement caused the infestation. 
  Who puts chocolate in traps in the food cupboard and then leaves for Bulgaria for all of Christmas and New Year? 
  I had two mice in my bedsit during King Kong
  To be strictly fair, it was the remake so much longer than the original, which would affect the ratio of sightings to timescale. 
  But you're still not allowed outside when the fake-middle-section fox is in the offing. 


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