Two tomcats

A.B.d.P. Johnson, wearing a dressing gown and nothing else due to the heat wave which in recent days had ravaged the United Kingdom, lay relatively lushly in his chaise longue in an attempt to get along with his sciatic nerve, that had been teasing him for some weeks. The doctor had said stress, something about knowing your limitations, and prescribed some pills. Therefore, A.B.d.P. Johnson knew there was absolutely nothing wrong with him and that he could just as well continue to get pissed off by little things (the kids) and small pebbles in the shoe (girlfriend). It was still early in the morning, everything breathed peace. There was complete silence in the residence except for a lone buzzing fly patrolling the airspace above his head and the star war unfolding inside it. It was widely known that A.B.d.P. Johnson was extremely quick-witted and that many a V-2 rocket had left his forehead towards a distant galaxy. He himself, was proud of his cognitive speed and unpredictability and considered himself a cheetah in a bamboo forest populated by dull pandas. He was now composing his inaugural speech, which was to be held later that day. Of course, he wanted to re-use some exquisite formulations from previous occasions, but was at the same time on the lookout for another apt sentence that would send a clear message to his opponents and to the entire population - "what I said, said I" or something to that effect. His encyclopedic and agile mind ran hither and thither between ancient poetry and modern philosophy with detours to religion and science. Ideas arose and collapsed successively and rapidly as civilizations so that he could barely keep track. In the midst of his enhanced brooding, the hot weather and the vexing sciatic nerve, he could suddenly hear another screeching sound, like a radio dial moved between two radio stations, and gradually this sound ceased and turned into a more regular rhythm; de Pfeffel, de Pfeffel, and TOO-TOO, TOO-TOO, which he no longer was able to perceive, but which the fly around his head registered as the sound of a scottish locomotive at close quarters. He was now dreaming of Larry, the Downing Street 10-cat, lashing out its paw at him while trying to stroke it. There was no love lost between the two tomcats.