Nelson's Column

It's a cat's life...

22 April 2009


There was an, er, incident, on Sunday night. I can't possibly reveal details for fear of being stalked by Albanian gangster toms, but suffice to say it left me somewhat shaken.

She Who Controls The Can Opener naturally got hold of the wrong end of the stick and, after fussing far too much over me the last few days, carted me off to my private physician. There, I was prodded, poked and forced to endure the indignity of having a thermometer - no, I couldn't possibly say where. All this followed by two very unpleasant injections. It's a poor show when a gentleman's propriety is thus invaded. Fortunately my natural good manners meant I would conceal my discomfiture.

I am finally back in the privacy of Wordsmith Towers, where I shall lounge on the sofa tonight in resplendent comfort and partake of a little light entertainment on the TV. I shall also be expecting some of Her smoked salmon and posh chocolate. I know She has some - I just need to find out where She has stashed them...

09 April 2009


No, not me (for once), but Her. She Who Controls The Can Opener. She left the house at 5pm on Tuesday afternoon, after giving me my supper (tuna Whiskas, hardly my favourite) and said She'd back by 11pm.

Well, I sat up until midnight, sprawled across my favourite yellow club armchair (the one I'm not supposed to use), but there was no sign of Her. I kept waiting to hear Her key in the door, but the house was deadly silent.

By 6am, I was restless, hungry and desperate to go out for some fresh air, exercise and a chance to chat up the fit young queens in the vicinity. I nipped upstairs to pounce on Her with my demands as I assumed She'd slunk in in the small hours.

The dirty stop-out. Her bed was clearly unslept in.

Gah! The hours ticked by and still I was alone, abandoned and starving. Was I doomed to be walled up here and left to die from lack of nourishment?

She finally reappeared at 3pm. 3pm! By then I was weak from not having eaten for almost a whole day. If I hadn't become so enfeebled, I would have flung myself at Her in fury. She did have the grace to tend my needs immediately, giving me masses of food, hugs and an open back door.

The weird thing was that after She had apologised profusely, She insisted that She'd been delayed as a result of crossing The Void and entering a parallel universe. Does She really think I'm stupid enough to believe She was kidnapped by aliens then rescued by a Timelord? I have watched Doctor Who with Her, after all.

There's something rum going on here, and I intend to uncover the truth...

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