Last night I for once slept soundly and uninterruptedly until like five twenty in the morning, no mean achievement for a bloke of my seniority. Only gradually did it dawn on me, upon waking up, that the house had been turned into a site of carnage during my sleep.
What finally emerged, without delving into too much of a traumatic detail: three different disaster locations around the house, contaminated with rodent blood and rodent leftovers and three matching piles of cat puke, some of it quite fresh. What a nasty awakening to the realities of death. It is in mornings such as this that the lack of servants becomes acutely felt. I was compelled to re-enact the part that Harvey Keitel aka Winston Wolfe "The Cleaner" performed so well in Pulp Fiction, in want of a loyal domestic workforce. But although I had to clean up the sordid mess by my self, I was hardly alone. A bunch of impassive felines with a criminal record kept me company, eyeing my every movement with their disinterested interest. You get the picture, I presume.
Quite recently, we had a couple of visitors - Kim and Anne Britt who came to stay the night over on their way to snowy Norway, a country they partly originate from and partly inhabit. We are still munching on the chocolate, they kindly brought along. Thanks a lot guys!
The cats, however, didn't take this sudden influx of strangers lightly. There was a short frenzy of activity amongst them that you might characterize as the big dispersal or the great exodus. I saw with my own eyes Wimbelina mount the fence and dash without looking across the street. She was totally incommunicado and oblivious to my attempts to halt her escape. The other cats just disappeared in the bush previously known as my garden. And Aerial is still going feral, haven't seen him for many days now. Hope you are good out there, mate. The cats kept low profile for the duration of the visit. Only Norsky came in close contact with the visitors slash invaders. He went so far as to thrust himself against Anne Britt's exposed leg. Perhaps he had an inkling that she too was a norse, just like himself. In any event, Anne Britt didn't actively resist his advances but instead just waited patiently for him to finish his business. Later, she avowed not really being into cats. But then, denials often contain the seeds of admission. Like exile and repatriation.
