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( 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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