Treacle's diary. Extracts from the blog of a feline secret agent.
|Thursday July 16. 11.00 hours|
|Thud and Blunder|
|The Wilsons at number nine have a low wooden gate. I mention this, because I am in the lane regarding it thoughtfully while licking a few stray hairs on a forepaw into shape. Sometime reasonably soon, the shambling hulk of the Wilson's black labrador is going to wheeze around the corner. The stupid mutt has been trying to catch me for the last twenty minutes, though admittedly ten of these were spent with me sunning myself on a garden wall, with the idiot barking himself into a frenzy and trying to scrabble his way up the wall every time I 'accidentally' let my tail drop -almost - within reach.|
But back to this gate - its your traditional picket type. Wide wooden slats about six inches apart, and painted shiny white. And on each side a nice thick hedge. Everyone should have a gate like that.
come on bonzo, it's a wall. If you can't get over it, you go round it. What's keeping you? Aha - speak of the devil. Here he comes round the corner, baying like the hound of the Baskervilles. He sees little me. Poor defenceless thing, sitting alone in the middle of the lane. He's got me now! I eye him over my paw, and give it a last lick. Wait for it ...
I'm running like the clappers, and can almost feel his breath on my tail. Another two yards, and he's got me. I shoot through the bars of the gate, leaving a few hairs from my flanks on each side.
Ow! That must have hurt. Five stone of dog vs a frail wooden gate. Almost buckled the gate, in fact. It certainly seems to have buckled the dog. Ohhh, look, the poor thing has scratched his nose. I wonder if I can persuade him to try wriggling through this prickly hedge?
|Sunday July 12. 8.00 hours|
|The cat with many faces|
|8 am. Ugh! It's that diet stuff again. loathsome. I might be somewhat er, sleek, but that's no reason to starve me. Oh well, might as well eat it, since its here.|
8.30 Hanging around the back of Georgio's cafe. Sure enough, regular as clockwork out comes old Georgio. And the scraps of uneaten sausage, and a few bits of bacon from all those English breakfasts he serves to the morning punters. Purr, purr rub, rub, 'Here you are leetle kitty' It's like taking candy from a baby, really.
9.00 See Mrs wilkins walking down to the shops. She always locks that dratted mongrel of hers indoors when she goes out. H'mmm ...
9.10 Dog food is not my favourite, but it's given a certain piquancy by being accompanied by the Wilkins mutt going mad barking and hurling itself against the glass of the back door while I eat its breakfast off the bowl on the patio.
9.30 Sitting by the door of the batty old dear at the bottom of the street, making big, round eyes at her as she makes her tea. 'Ooh ... it's that poor stray again, the darling little thing!' A saucer of cream. Lovely, double cream too, if I'm not mistaken.
10.05 Heading home for my morning snack, and I see a rather fat little vole poke its head out from the Hydrangas. I look at it thoughtfully for a moment, but I can't. Not on top of all that cream. I'd get heartburn.
|Tuesday July 7. 19.00 hours|
|Listen, it was a health and safety demonstration. Very important to the work environment, and essential for the instruction of the junior staff. Health and safety, what part don't you get?|
Yes, I was on the rug by the patio door, and yes, I did see a butterfly sunning itself on the path outside. Being something of an amateur lepidopterist I immediately identified it as a Largely Annoying Brown and Blue Thingy that generally flutters just out of reach in the garden.
So I practiced a bit of stalking, so what? Into the classic crouch position, backside lifted up and given a quick wiggle to settle me into position, and then ... wham! into the glass of the patio door.
I don't know why everyone thought it was so funny. I was just demonstrating how over-rated are the dangers of cutting oneself by jumping into glass doors that some idiot sneakily cleaned without posting a decent warning.
It was all planned, as I shall explain to the staff, when I speak to them again. In about a week.
Maybe longer. I might emigrate.
|Wendesday July 1. 19:00-19:20 hours|
|The ability to get inside an opponents head is one of the most under-rated arts of espionage. For your edification, I present this masterclass demonstration.|
Look at me ... no, not at the television, at me. That's it. Look at the pricked ears, the alert whiskers, the incredibly sweet expression on my kittenish face. Above all look at my big, round eyes.
Look at the love and longing in my eyes as I follow the movement of your fork, down into the baked salmon, up into your mouth. See the despair in my deep, soulful expression as you swallow, and another mouthful is wasted.
You can't stand it, can you? The shame, the guilt of wallowing in your baked fish while all I have to eat is some smelly offal you dumped in a bowl, oh, ages ago. Look at me, see how much I'd love to have a mouthful, or at least a sniff of that wonderful fish, which you, oh masterful fisherman, have obtained through your boundless strength and wisdom.
Come on, just a little bit, how can it hurt? Then you will at least be able to eat the rest with a clear conscience. You know you aren't enjoying it while I watch you like a starving orphan at a feast. Just one teeny bit? Are you so callous?
Here we go, yep, he's putting it on a napkin, and its a dirty great chunk too! Score another for the meistercat. Eat it? Well, actually, I'm not that hungry, and I don't really fancy the dill dressing. But that's not the point.
|Thursday June 25. 22.00 hours|
|Let me in. Come on. Noooooow. Let meeeee in. |
Thank you. What kept you? I was out for over an hour. You know I like to check up on you regularly. Now you can let me out again.
Let me in. I've just remembered, I also wanted to have a nibble of my biscuits. Come on, get a move on in there. Open this door immediately.
Oh, rabbit flavoured biscuits. I don't care for those. Let's go to the other room, and I will practise stalking and survellience techniques with you.
No you fool! Not outside. I didn't want to go outside. Let me in right now. That's better.
No, hang on, I just want to spray that bit by the garage - gotta do in now, before Sugarkin comes round and tries to mark it for herself. Now! Now! Let me out.
Okay, done it. You can let me in again. Hurry up. That's better - response time is improving. Well done staff. Now let's do that survellience. Come on, let's go.
Why have you put me outside? Did I want to go outside? That meow was not a 'let me out' meow, was it now? Oy! Don't go turning out the lights in there! Let me in now. NOOOOOOOOW
Thank you. Really, the imbeciles I have to work with. You just can't get the staff.