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Saturday March 1st
( Cat Nirvana Day - day of good
fortune for all cats.)
My worst fears have been
confirmed, a dog has taken up residence in the house next door. He’s
exceptionally ugly. I think he must have had an accident with a
stretch-machine for he’s very long and short. His legs barely keep his tubby
little body off the ground. He looks really silly running around the
garden barking at leaves. (His name is Brutus - which is very appropriate
for he’s a bit of a brute.) If I hadn’t scored out my resolution to create
world peace between cats and dogs I might have gone to the fence to talk to
him. I certainly would have told him to bark more quietly for his noise is
preventing me from getting my beauty sleep.
Brat-2 has not stopped producing
those horrid smells. And he spends all day lying down doing nothing (apart
from creating dreadful pongs and a lot of noise). Really! By his age a
kitten would have learned to do useful things like chase leaves.
To get away from the noise of the
dog and Brat-2, I went to the park with Lucky. For amusement we tried to
catch a squirrel. These overgrown mice can really move fast and every time
we chased one it would be at the top of a tree before you could say, “Six
silly squirrels sitting in a circle.” So we cleverly devised an infallible
plan; Lucky would creep up from one side and I would creep up from the
other. When we had it surrounded I would give the signal to charge. There’s
no way a squirrel could outmaneuver two nimble cats. We selected our victim
carefully, a young thing that looked all tail and no brain. With all our
feline cunning we circled our prey like two lions stalking a wildebeest.
Silently, like eagles hovering over a rabbit, we moved in on the hapless
creature. As we began to charge, the squirrel spotted us.
“Excuse me,” he said
aggressively, “can I see your squirrel hunting license.”
“License!” I exclaimed, “What do
you mean?”
“Don’t you know that you need a
license to hunt squirrel in the park,” he said, “Are you completely
brainless?”
Not wanting to appear stupid, I
replied, “Of course I know - but remind me again.”
“The law is quite clear,” he
said, shaking his head at us as if we were morons, “unless you have a
special license, hunting is forbidden on bank holidays, full moons, Rogation
Sunday, Shrove Tuesdays during leap years, the third Friday in alternate
months, and of course on any day that has a Y in it.”
“I know that,” I said, my head
spinning in confusion.
“So if you don’t want me to
perform a citizen’s arrest,” he said forcefully, “you’d better get out of
here quickly.”
As Lucky and I hurried away we
could hear chuckling from the top of an oak tree. I think we were duped - I
bet this is one of the days when a license isn’t needed!
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