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Joined: 2/8/2009
Msg: 1
ME 'N' CAT... Part One.Page 1 of 1    

Well, to start with, I lives at home with me cat, who I calls… ‘Cat’.
That's the only name it answers to.

Me and Cat get along quite well, except on Tuesdays, when I goes shopping and Cat has to wait till I gets home with the food. It hates waiting for anything and wont even look at me, if it has to wait for its food, or the litter-tray aint been emptied.
Anyone would think I was the slave and Cat was the master!

Me-self, I always thought I would rather have a dog than a cat; but then, if I had a dog, this book would never had got written, would it?
Though, sometimes, Cat is so difficult and takes no notice of what I say or do… A dog is different, aint it?
The thing is, with a dog, its got them sort of laughing eyes and a wagging tail. It sits by your feet and looks up at you with loving eyes, don’t it? A dog sort of knows you are the master and it is a dog, who does things for you if you train it, right?
But you can’t train a cat, can you? A cat has got its own way of doing things, don’t it? It wont sit at your feet or do what you want, it only comes to you if you feed it… And if you don’t do the things a cat likes, then it’s likely to up and leave you.
I’ve even heard of a cat leaving home, to live with someone else up the road, who feeds it with steak and gives it cream, then lets it sleep on their bed.
See what I mean? A cat don’t have no loyalty, does it? Very sort of regal, is a cat and expects us humans to wait on it, hand and foot, to open doors, so it comes in and out as it wants.

Mind you, I aint no expert, about the difference between cats and dogs, at this time of me thinking, it’s what others has told me and what I seen on the television, at dog shows and things. Well, you don’t see cats doing tricks and walking round, as dogs do at a dog-show.

Anyways, it aint that I never liked cats, it’s just that I was more a dog sort of person. Mind you, never had a dog, neither, but it don't make no difference, I still had a picture of a dog on me kitchen wall and that, by my reckoning, makes me a dog person.

But one day, me knowledge about cats took an almighty change… The day I met ‘Cat’.

There I was, in me own house and minding me own business… I’d just settled down, a mug of tea in one hand and ‘Choccie’ biscuit in the other, snug as a carrot in a field, when there’s this knock on me front door.
It’s a tricky business, getting up from an old rocking chair, with me hands full. So I’m up, putting me goodies on the table and grumbling me way down the hallway, opening the street-door.

Now, tell me if I’m right or wrong in what I’m saying. There’s nothing more disturbing to a person’s nature than when there’s a knock on your door, just as you has settled down, for a drop of tea and a ‘Choccie’ biscuit?
And it’s even worse when the person who has caused this disturbance, is a door-salesman, or someone you aint caring to see.
But, the worse thing of all, is when you get to the door, you opens it and there aint no-one in sight!
And that’s what happens to me. 'cause there aint no living person at the door, excepting there’s this big old cardboard box, with holes in the top. It’s sitting there, on the ground and I can hear some strange sounds and mutterings coming out from the box.

Well, it’s not that I’m a coward or anything like that but when you finds a flaming cardboard box mysteriously stuck on your doorstep, with strange sounds coming from it, you aint likely to go straight ahead and open it, are you?
So I goes back into me house, gets a poker and starts tapping at the box. Well, it all goes quiet, the noise in the box stops. So I taps the box again with me poker, only harder this time. I hears a sort of rustle and then it’s quiet as a graveyard.
Then, just as I bends down to inspect the box closer, the lid flies open and a cat’s head pops out!

Well, I aint never seen a cat like it, as ugly as sin. There we are, me and this cat, staring at each other. Just as sudden, the cat’s head pops back into the box and it all goes quiet again.
Without more ado, I opens the whole lid up and looks down at the moggy.
It’s as black as the night, except for the bald patches. It has one ear and one large yellow eye, which stares up at me. The eye blinks, like a light going on, then off and on again. I sees it has also lost part of its tail.
I must say, I aint ever seen such a mangy cat in all me life. There’s no guessing its age, it could be a hundred, for all I know!
And while I’m staring at this cat, it suddenly jumps out of the box, calm as you like and walks into me house.

It’s then that I sees this note, which is laying in the bottom of the box, it reads…
‘This cat is a special cat and whoever gives it a home will be very lucky in life and have great happiness.’
Well, considering the state of the cat, I reckons it weren’t that lucky, to have so many bits missing from its furry little body.
But, you knows, I could do with some luck and I aint got the heart to chuck the cat out, so I brings the box indoors and puts it in the kitchen, putting one of me old sweaters inside, making it into a cat’s bed.

Pouring out some milk in a saucer and some sausage I has left over from dinner, I call the cat. It don’t come, no matter what name I uses on it. It is busy sniffing round the house, getting itself used to the smells and sights of its new home.
In the end I just puts the saucers down and says…
“Please yourself, Cat.”
With that, the cat looks at me with its one yellow eye and makes this little noise, more like a squeak than a ‘Meow’, then brushes itself up against me leg, before starting to eat and drink.
“Is that it? Does you want to be called Cat?”
This time the cat stops eating and winks at me, as if to agree with me.
“Okay, Cat… I’ll just call you Cat!”
And that's how me and Cat comes to be together in the first place and, let's face it, there aint many with a cat called 'Cat', is there!

So, there we are, me and Cat, all settled in and house-mates. Seeing as I aint ever had a cat before, it takes some getting used to and the cost of keeping a cat can be expensive, what with the litter and food.
It’s a funny thing but, Cat has been with me a while and it aint ever gone out the door, not even for a look-see, that’s why I’m having to get a litter-tray, so Cat don’t do ‘Doodles’ on me kitchen floor!

I suppose, when you gets to know a cat a bit, you realize it’s a strange kind of world a cat lives in. I mean, sometimes Cat can sit for hours at a time, its one yellow eye closed, dozing, as it were, its one ear twitching, now and again, so you know it’s alive… Butt you aint got a clue what its thinking, have you?
Cat’s off, into its own little world and we humans are left, just wondering what a cat is thinking off… Funny business, aint it?

To be continued...
Joined: 2/8/2009
Msg: 2
Posted: 2/14/2009 11:37:45 PM

“You has to teach Cat to do ‘Doodles’ once a day”, says Teddy Bolster.

Teddy Bolster is like a Vet; well, not a real one… He sells Hot-Dogs off his little cart, at the end of our street, but he does know a lot about animals, especially cats.
It was him who first told me about saving money with the ‘Cat-Doodles’.
“The idea.”, he says to me… “Is to leave the ‘Cat-Doodles’ in the litter-tray, till it calcifies, goes rock-hard, like stone, then pick it out with sugar-tongs.”

The reason Teddy was saying this was after I told him about Cat, how I had tried to put Cat out in the back garden and Cat had screamed like a banshee, it’s one yellow eye rolling round in its head like a galvanized marble.
“What I reckons, what you’ve got there is an agoraphobic cat.” says Teddy.

This conversation comes about when, one day, I am standing at Teddy’s ‘Hot-Dog’ cart, just chatting as he puts some more sausages on the grill, which sets them off in a burning sizzle.

“Agoraphobic cat? What’s that, some kind of sickness, Teddy… Tell me I aint got a mad cat in the house?
“No, your cat aint mad…Well it’s got some bits missing an’ that… But cats can be like some people, you know”, he says, poking at the sausages with his little shovel.
“They can have all sorts of things wrong with them, can cats… And I reckons your cat has agoraphobia… It aint going to go out and do its ‘Doodles’ in the garden like normal cats does.”

Teddy is silent for a while, turning over the sausages, then he says…
“Another thing is, once the cat had its time of ‘Doodles’, stick a sheet of grease-proof paper over the litter. Cats don’t like that. They like to dig into the litter and throw it about. With grease-proof paper, a cat wont do any ‘Doodles’, ‘cause it wont get on it. Saves money and teaches a cat to go only once a day.”

Good, aint he? See what I mean about Teddy Bolster? He aint got no degree or anything but he knows a thing or two, does Teddy.

Now, you’re going to ask me why does he stand at the end of the road, selling ‘Hot-Dogs’ off his little stall, instead of making loads of money as a Vet… Well, Teddy reckons that, being professional means you’re at everybody’s beck and call. While just selling sausages in a bread roll is freedom, you’re your own man, sort of thing!

Anyways, now Teddy leans on his little stall and starts telling me about ‘Cat-Conversation’.
Well, I must tell you I was surprised to know that cats can talk. Not like me and you, understand; but, according to Teddy, they talk with their eyes.

“Cats know what you’re saying.”, says Teddy to me. “You ask one a question and if it says ‘No’, it closes both eyes, slow like, in a long blink. But if it says ‘Yes’, it closes only one eye, like a wink.”

You’re all amazed, aint you!
Well, I would have been; but… “The trouble is.”, says I to Teddy… “Cat’ has only got one eye, so I aint sure if it was saying ‘Yes’ or ‘No’!”

Well, Teddy gets back to selling his Hot-dogs, while I goes home to share me sausage from the Hot-Dog with Cat… That’s after I does the ‘Doodles with me sugar-tongs.

So now I knows, not only has Cat got one ear, half a tail and agoraphobic; but, ‘cause it’s only got one yellow eye…It’s mute as well!
Makes you think, don't it?...

It takes a while for me and Cat to get used to each other, me not having had a cat before and Cat not used to me ways of thinking and doing things round the house. It’s funny, in a way, because Cat and I has some interesting conversations at times… Well, I does the talking, while Cat listens, sitting looking at my face as I talks, its one yellow eye blinking and winking all the time.

There’s a lot of fun to be had with a cat, especially when you lives by yourself and gets a mate like a cat. It’s surprising what things can give a merriment… Like the day Cat finds an old toffee under me bed. Well; I’m sitting there, minding me on business, when Cat comes in, its mouth going ten to a dozen. It seems Cat has got the paper of the toffee and is chewing, but its teeth is stuck to the toffee and so its mouth is going like the clappers, as if it’s talking. So I sits there and does the talking bit, like a ventriloquist with a dummy, talking rubbish, while Cat’s mouth is opening and shut, in all directions…
Great fun; and I recommends this to all you folks who has the time to spare and a cat to chew a toffee… I think it works with a dog but I aint tried it.

But we do get used to each other, after a while and has great fun… Like the time with me old rocking chair…

I‘ve got this old rocking chair, see. It squeaks and groans a bit with age when I fast-forward, but it’s still a good rocker, even though the old brocade has gone a moldy grey-green sort of colour.
Well, I got it for nothing, so I don’t grumble (At my age, you gets what is given with good grace and a humble air!)
But it’s got nice wide arms to it, even though Cat has clawed the old material from the pads, so some stuffing hangs out.

Thing is, I like to sit in it and close my eyes, just rocking and squeaking (Not me, the rocker!) And Cat sits on the arm of the chair, always on me right hand side.
Funny that, aint it, how a cat knows its left from its right? But I reckon, with Cat, ‘cause its only got one eye, the right one, it can’t see both sides of the chair, so picks the nearest side, which is on me right!

Anyways; me and Cat is there, I’m rocking gently and easy riding. Cat’s on the arm, its claws dug in, to keep hold and I says to it, idly speaking…
“Did you ever fancy going to sea, Cat?”
For some reason, I had been thinking about that poem, about the ‘Owl and the ****-Cat’, who went to sea in a pea-green boat.

Now; what I noticed, when I asks this question, Cat wags its stumpy tail-end. When I thinks of it, Cat does this whenever I talk to it.
Now; a lot of people think cats only wag their tails when they’re angry. But Cat wags it’s stump when I talk to it; not a real stumping-thumping kind of wag, just a gentle wave kind of wag.
Anyway, Cat looks right at me with its yellow eye and winks, as if it fancy’s a chat. So I starts off, closing me eyes and using me imagination, like.
“I’ve sailed the seven seas, Cat… In all weathers, me hearty.”

Strange, aint it… How, if it’s only you and a cat living together, you talk to them as if they’re human, allowing them to share your sense of imagination.

So, here I am in me ‘Rocker’, talking to Cat as though I’m Captain Bluebeard, allowing my imagination to run away with me…And Cat’s staring, with an unblinking yellow eye.
As I’m talking, my legs are pushing, so the Rocker is really rocking a real hard ride and Cat’s got its claws well dug into the padding and riding the waves with me.
“Heave-Ho! Row, me Hearties!”, I’m shouting.
Well, me old legs is shoving a mile to the dozen, the ‘Rocker-Ship’ is lashed by giant waves and ‘Shivering its timbers’. Now Cat’s hanging on like a devil possessed, with no thought of abandoning ship…
When… All of a sudden, there’s a loud ‘Boing’!
The spring on me right-hand side has gone! Then there’s this loud ‘Crack’ and I falls to one side as the ‘Rocking-Ship’ collapses.

Well, I gives a scream, as one does in shock-time
And Cat is shot off the arm like a bullet, ‘Cat-apulted’, you might say, its yellow eye opened to an amazing amount and its legs moving before it’s hit the floor, so it’s off down the hall like a rocket!

D’you know, it takes me a week to get Cat to come down from the top of me wardrobe, up in me bedroom. When I goes to me bed at night, I can see this yellow marble glaring down at me, and blinking, like some demented lighthouse going on and off…

Very disconcerting sort of thing, when I’m trying to get some kip. I tries to turn me back but I know Cat’s up there, looking down and blaming me.
But, after a week of cursing me with that evil yellow eye, the smell of chicken brings Cat down, so it settles back to acting normal.

It’s gone now, that old rocking-chair and it took me ages to find another old armchair with wide arms so Cat could stretch out with ease. Mind you; Cat does tend to go round the chair a few times before jumping up on the arm, as if it don’t trust the chair.
But then, so would I, not trust a chair that had shot me up the hallway like a cannonball…Would you?

But me and Cat does get over alarms quite quickly, we are them kind of people!
Joined: 2/8/2009
Msg: 3
Posted: 2/15/2009 8:51:28 PM

“So what is it?”, asks Wonky Watson, on first seeing Cat.
Wonky Watson is one of them people who likes a ‘Dig’…Know what I mean?... One of those clever men who likes to have a ‘Pop’ at us poor souls, who aint had a decent schooling.

“So.”, he‘s saying, casting a wonky eye at Cat. “You aint ever thought of breeding it?”
Cat is sat on the arm of me chair, giving Wonky the ‘Evil Eye’ (Well, seeing as Cat has only got the one evil yellow eye, it’s the only thing Cat can do when it looks at anyone!)

“To be honest.”, continues Wonky, unable to outstare Cat and now turning back to me… “It’s got to be the ugliest cat I’ve ever seen. Can you imagine what its kids would be like? Has it ever been on a broom-stick?...How old is it?”

I mean, this barrage of questions, insulting Cat, did not upset me. The fact that I put Wonky outside the street-door and shut it, was not due to me bile… Nope, anger aint in me. It was just that I had some thinking to do, certain dainty questions to ask of me-self.

I mean, how old was Cat? It looked old when I first found it in the box. More to the point was…What was Cat, a girl or boy?

Now I aint a Vet, not like Teddy Bolster, who has the ‘Hot-Dog’ cart, so I aint got a clue what Cat is.
“What are you Cat, boy or girl?”, I asks of Cat.
I gets a large open-mouthed yawn and a wink in reply and, stretching itself out, Cat closes its one yellow eye.

So, with no ‘Cat-Answer’ I am determined to carry out me own experiment: so, with a swift movement, I snatch up Cat from the arm of the chair, before it realises and sticks its claws into the padding, clinging on like ‘Grim Death’.
Then, with this same determination, I carry the fiercely struggling Cat out the door and into the back garden.

Now, as you all knows, Cat is agoraphobic and, suddenly realising it's out in the open, it does a death-defying leap, out of me arms and ends up, clinging like a damp black cloth, halfway up the drainpipe, its one yellow eye, winking like a light-bulb about to blow and it’s making the strangest noises I ever heard!

My back garden is a jungle, if you gets me drift. I never was much of a gardener, more a slab of concrete sort, with, maybe, a tub with a cactus in it, to appease the nature of those country-sort of folks who are in love with Mother Nature.

Anyways… I’m there, in me ‘Olde-Worlde’ garden, scratching me head, with Cat halfway up the drainpipe, having some kind of epileptic fit.
I wasn’t being cruel, you got to understand. The idea was to bring Cat out in the garden to get some kind of reaction, as to how it reacts to other cats; to find out if it likes boys more than girl cats, or the other way round.

Normally, out here in the garden, the air is alive with cat-calls and all sorts of cats creeping about on secret business. But I reckon, because I’m out here, the cats are staying in hiding.
So here I am, scratching me head, with Cat squealing like some big kid and its yellow eye popping out in a contorted blob, when, all of a sudden, the bushes on me right side parts and there is the biggest old ‘Ginger-Tom’ that ever grew up in our neighborhood. It was Tiger, the killer cat, owned by ‘Old Mother La-La’, at number ‘Thirteen’.
Tiger has a fearsome reputation among the lady-cats. I mean, half the cats roaming the back gardens has got ginger marks and stripes streaking their little furry bodies.

Anyways. Tiger is sniffing the air, its green eyes blazing as it looks, first at me, then turns its fierce eyes upwards, to where Cat is now having some kind of spasms, before going into a catatonic freeze.
I tries to ‘Shoo’ the killer-cat away but it begins to spit and show the biggest set of teeth I have ever seen since I read that book with Red Riding Hood and the picture in it of the Wolf, showing its fangs.

Believe me, I aint your normal coward, there are strands of courage in me somewhere but this ‘Ginger-Tom’ is not afraid of me and, with steady walk, makes his way to the drainpipe and, looking up, starts to give this strange call.

Well, Cat suddenly comes alive, as if there’s magic in the air. Its one yellow eye opens up into a round yellow ball and the tail-stump gives that familiar wag.

So… That’s it!
Cat is in love with Tiger! Cat is exposed as a lady and I goes indoors, leaving Cat and Ginger to get it on (Or whatever cats do!)

Later that evening, Cat comes in, its whiskers twitching and its one eye almost soft-looking, while its mouth is almost smiling. I am in a funny and happy mood; you know, all the world loves a lover… And I’m happy for Cat.

The very next day; I’m in casual chat with Teddy, the Hot-Dog man, what’s a Vet, and I begins to tell him about Cat and ‘Killer’ the Ginger-Tom.

“See, Teddy”, says I… “ You never know about cats do you, like humans in a way. Sometimes a right good-looking young man falls for a real ugly woman and vicey-versa. Well, that’s like Cat and ‘Killer’, with Cat being so ugly and that.”

Teddy chews on his lower lip for a while, considering what I said, then, as he turns one of the sausages over on the grating, he says, idly…
“Even stranger, considering Cat is a Boy-Cat!”

Funny old world, aint it?
Joined: 2/8/2009
Msg: 4
Posted: 2/16/2009 10:24:42 PM

It’s like the time when I first comes across Cat and flatulence.
It was a quiet time, at night, when its dark and there I was, wrapped up in bed, listening to house creaks and groans, the wind moaning outside…
And I can’t sleep, ‘cause the old ‘Brain-Box’ is whirring, nineteen to the dozen.

“What do you reckon, Cat?”, I asks, pulling the blankets back to expose the curled-up black ball. Cat grunts… And then the smell hits me.

I ask you, the question being, when it comes to flatulence… How comes, when a dog passes wind, you hear it, so you are given time to move away? But with a cat, It don’t make a noise, so you get the full stink, all unexpected like!
Funny…Aint it?

Anyway, Cat is alive to my shaking the blankets, wafting the smell to a higher ceiling, and it grumbles away, the yellow eye glaring balefully at me.

“You awake, Cat?”.

We do that, don’t we, us non-sleepers, waking another up and asking if they are asleep. It comes from a knowledge that someone else ought to join us in our misery. I mean, how can Cat have a comfort of sleep while I’m so awake?

“I can’t sleep, Cat… Did you hear me, Cat?”, I says, giving Cat another good shove as I see the yellow eye close as Cat settles down again, to resume the comfort of sleep.
This time the yellow eye pops open with a vengeance, angry rebellion raising the black fur.

“Oh, you’re awake, Cat…That’s good.”

Somehow, I gets this idea Cat aint happy with me, so I sets out to amuse Cat with me mind’s musing.
“You ever heard of****Widington, Cat?”
Cat aint saying nothing, just the one ear twitching in exaggerated irritation.
So I carries on… “He’s the man who goes to London with his cat and his cat sees a mouse under a chair.”

Now, I know some of you is thinking I got it all wrong. Of cause. I knows old****Widington is the one who turns back and becomes the Lord Mayor of London!
Every body knows the real story, don’t they? But I has it in me to confuse Cat at times. It often likes to sit on the arm of the chair and listen to me stories.
Mind you, I sometimes wonder if Cat knows when I’m telling tall tales, cause it gives me this funny look …(If a cat with one mean yellow eye can give a funny look!)…
It gets its face all screwed up and peeps the tip of its tongue out and blows, a sort of soft raspberry sound.

I aint ever sure what it all means but Cat does this thing and I gets the feeling Cat is more knowing than I gives it credit for.

Anyway… As I starts to talk again…
Cat’s yellow eye moves, turns away and then back to stare at me, so I catch sight of the eye, rather like a ‘Cat’s-Eye’ flashing, like one sees in the road, when driving the car at night. Then the eye blinks once more and I hears Cat spring from the bed.

“What you think, Cat?... Cat… Where are you going?... And what’s that smell… You stink-pot, Cat!”


Y’know… I often wondered how a woman with a child would feel if she, being man-less, brings a new man home.
I mean, what if the kid don’t like the man and the man feels the same way about the kid.
That means the woman has to chose who she dumps, don’t it?

That’s the ‘Acid Test’, in all its acidity, aint it!

Now, me, personally (It being the choice between me kid and me lady-love)… I’d stick the kid in a waif’n’strays home and have a good old time with the woman… But that’s me personal choice.

Exactly why me mind is musing this way is because I have a similar situation arising… In the sense that I have met a certain Virginia Longbottom, daughter of ‘Old Mother La-La’, who lives at number ‘Thirteen’.

Now; things have come to such a galloping pace that I have invited the said mother and daughter round for tea and a biscuit…
And that’s why I am up in me bedroom, putting on me new black boots and tying the laces (The rest of me already brightened up, with that red ‘Rupert Bear’ jumper and yellow trousers my old Mum used to like!

As I’m getting meself ‘Dolled-up’… Cat is laid out on the bed, it aint saying nothing, but I can sense the resentment coming from its black furry body, like mist rising over the moors in an early dawn.
It knows something’s up, very intuitive is a cat; but I continues to brush at meself in a good sense of ‘Ego-Bashing’.

So, this is why I’m musing about the ‘Acid test’… What happens if Virginia Longbottom don’t like Cat, and vicey-versers?
“Guess, you’ll have to go to the ‘Knacker’s Yard, Cat”, I says, giving myself one last look in the mirror, before descending the stairs, ready for the ‘Kick-Off’.

And it aint long before me guests arrive.

So; here we are, me in me arm-chair, with Cat perched on the arm-rest, while ‘Old Mother La-La’ and Virginia are seated on the other two straight-backed chairs.
I get this feeling I’m being interviewed by the mother; you know, all the personal questions…When, suddenly Old Mother La-La says…
“Can you take that disgusting moggy out. Look at the state of it. It smells and I don’t like the way its starring at me. Put it outside, somewhere.”

Now… I takes umbrage at that… I mean, Cat’s me kid and I aint having some old woman calling me kid disgusting!

So….Now…Here we have the ‘Acid Test’… Do I dump Cat or Virginia Longbottom?

Well, to cut a long answer short, in me writing, that is… I puts Cat up in the bedroom and, before locking the door, I says to it…
“Wont be long Cat… Just going to make me guests some tea and sandwiches before they go. And I will need to get some more tinned cat-food later, because I’ll be using yours as a filling…”
Cat winks at me, before settling down on the bed, its one ear pricked up as it hears me go down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Wont be long!”, I shouts to me guests. “Just making the sandwiches…Hope you likes meat-paste!”

Upstairs; Cat twitches its one ear. The tail-stump gives a wag and Cat closes its yellow eye and I… I have made me choice!
Joined: 2/8/2009
Msg: 5
Posted: 2/17/2009 9:28:18 PM

“Getting a bit of a pod on him.”, remarks Teddy Bolster, eying up Cat, who , for some cat-reason, has taken to laying on its back, on the mat, with all legs stretched out, as if sun-bathing.
I must admit. I had noticed that Cat had put on some weight and now had a small plump ‘Pot-belly’.
“Old age, Teddy?”, I queried.
“Nope”, says Teddy, and qualifies this answer with the observation that Cat is a cryptorchid.
“A what, Teddy?”
“A cryptorchid… Cat’s only got one testicle. Strange that, aint it… One eye, one ear, one leg shorter than the rest and only got one of those… Didn’t you ever wonder why cat walks sort of wonky, over to one side?”
“Well, I did notice that, Teddy… But I puts it down to Cat having one leg shorter than all the rest.”
“Nope, its weight distribution, y’see…All hanging over, one-sided.”

And, what I notice, the conversation is one-sided as well. But then, Teddy is a Vet of sorts, even though he runs the ‘Hot-Dog’ cart at the end of the street; so I lets him rattle on.
“Mind you.” He says, “It wont hurt Cat… It goes with the rest of its missing bits… But you might have to do something about the weight.”
After Teddy has gone and I has a ponder over Cat’s weight problem, then it hits me… I has the answer!

Now, I aint the sort who lets an inspiration grow cold, so, putting on me coat, I leaves Cat in its crucified position and makes my way out the door and down the street.

On my return, Cat’s on the arm of the armchair, its yellow eye looking at me in an accusing way, simply because I did not explain my mission.
But it blinks, its whickers bristling with curiosity as I start to open the large plastic bag and draws out, first the cage and, in it, nibbling away at some food, is a little brown and white mouse.
Well, that has Cat’s interest, because it jumps down from the chair and starts sniffing at the cage, its yellow eye squinting through the bars of the cage at the mouse, which shows no apparent interest and continues to nibble.

“And that aint all, Cat.”, says I, pulling out the round, plastic, exercise ball.
Then, opening the cage door, I gently lifts the mouse out.
Cat sits, watching all this, licking at its lips in that way all cats have before a meal, its yellow eye gleaming in anticipation, watching as I put the mouse into the plastic ball and lay the ball on the floor.

The idea is that the mouse is supposed to run, setting the ball rolling, thereby rolling the ball along, so it gets some exercise for its little spindly legs.
The idea also being that Cat, like any normal cat, should run after the ball, trying to catch the little rodent inside the ball and eat it!

But nope, not Cat!... It sits there, watching the mouse, who, in turns, sits up, staring defiantly at Cat from inside the plastic ball, scratching at itself with tiny paws, refusing to move.
Cat peers for a closer inspection, when the mouse lets out a squeak so that Cat, in startled exaggeration, gives the ball a swipe with its paw and the ball is off, rolling like a bullet out of a gun, skidding along the floor, the mouse’s legs, spindling away for all they’re worth.
The ball bounces off the table-leg, ricochets off the door, to then bounce its rebound into a corner where, in a joy of reprieve, the little plastic door pops open and the mouse is deposited onto the floor, to come to its mouse-like senses and find a hole in the skirting board…And to vanish!
The last I see is the boot-lace tail following its little furry body down the hole!

I goes back to me chair and gives up, while Cat lays on its back and stretches itself out in a ‘Pot-Bellied’ state of idleness.
Joined: 2/8/2009
Msg: 6
Posted: 2/18/2009 10:14:55 PM

Now; we all knows, don’t we, that a cat has fleas!
I mean, a cat what don’t scratch is something to behold, like an angel what can’t play music ‘cause it aint got a harp.

There was once a time, a while back (Which I don’t care to talk about too much!)… When Cat has an attack of nerves which caused Alopecia and all its fur drops out.
You know; it’s amazing how skinny a cat is with no fur, like a skinned rabbit you can see at your butchers.

Anyway; the point is, even without a bit of fur on Cat’s scraggy body, it still scratches… Not that I could see any fleas on the pink skin, so I reckon its like when a man gets his leg chopped off and still feels the missing limb. Same thing with Cat, it aint got fleas but can feel the little blighters having a ‘Nip’N’Drink’!

Cat’s got all its fur back now, excepting for the bald patches but, the point is… I aint getting no peace, ‘cause each time me and Cat sit to watch a bit of television, or I gets to telling Cat a story, Cat starts scratching… And it’s driving me round the bend!

Now, Cat knows all about ‘Flea-Sprays’.
Once you’ve given your cat a spray of the liquid, it never forgets, does it… And as soon as you bring out the can, the cat is off, like a blue-bottomed fly!

But things being what they are, with me sitting in me armchair and Cat on the arm in continual scratch, something has to be done… And I has to do it with some personal guile, know what I mean?
Now, every so often (And here I don’t mean to offend any sensitive readers.)… I has a bath, naked and everything, except for me socks, which I leave on ‘cause that saves me washing them with the other things. Me socks are red, with yellow dots on them and I finds the colour runs into the other clothes when I washes them all together.

So, there I am with the bath running and Cat is peering round the door, its yellow eye glistening through the steam and, I can see, it is right suspicious of me moves. Cat knows it’s unlike me to have two baths in a month and this is an unusual event. So I stars singing and acting natural, to ease Cat’s suspicious nature.

The bath’s ready and I am in me nudity, excepting me socks, of course… And I puts the big green bucket in the bath-water so its floating around like an old boat in choppy seas.
I’m still singing me melody and cat has gone into a state of carelessness, sitting and having a good old scratch…
When, like a snake, in one swift motion, I grabs Cat and I puts Cat into the bucket… Then I grabs the flea-spray and jumps into the bath!

Now, Cats screaming its head off, cat-a-wailing, its yellow eye about to pop out of its head, but afraid to jump out of the green bucket because it don’t want to get its little furry body wet.
So I has Cat at me mercy… And it gets a liberal dose of the old spray on all parts, till we is both gasping from the fumes and the steam coming from the bath.

Cat is clinging to the side of the bucket and, to my amazement, in a state of frenzy, it gets its two front paws over the side of the bucket and starts to paddle to the edge of the bath. From there, it does a death-defying leap, out of the bucket and its running like a demon, so I hears it screaming its head off and the sound of its paws, flying up the stairs, to hide under the bed.
With that, I puts the bucket on the floor and settles back into the warm water.

Now; I knows that I won’t be getting away with that trick next time; Cat has a good memory for them kinds of things.
But, all-in-all, a fine day’s work… Cat will be free of fleas for a while and I have given me socks two good soaks in a month!
Joined: 2/8/2009
Msg: 7
Posted: 2/19/2009 11:20:46 PM

At number ‘Sixteen’, three doors down from ‘Old Mother La-La’, lives this kid called Shirley Freckles.
Well, it aint the kid’s real name (Aint got a clue what her real name is.) But she’s got this mop of red curly hair and a liberal dose of freckled spots and so, for this reason, she’s known as Shirley Freckles, even though I thinks she’s more like ‘Lil’ Orphan Annie’!
Wonky Watson calls her ‘Dot-I-taly’, because he reckons that if you join all the freckle-dots up, you gets the map of Italy.
I can’t see it meself but then Wonky always did have a strange mind.

Anyway, this kid has got herself to taking a fancy to Cat. I suppose its like she’s on a Samaritan trip, you know, taking it on herself to feel sympathy for those in suffering, those afflicted like.
And she has Cat in her sights.

“Can I come in and see Cat?”, she asks, when I opens the door.
“Cat aint well.”, I says.

It aint that I’m jealous, see. Nope, jealousy aint in me nature’s water. But I takes umbrage at a kid who thinks Cat’s in need of succour and stuff.

“I’m sure cat will want to see me.”, she says, a foot in the door and her green eyes almost hard, like chips of burning emerald.
I got to admit, this kid gives me the creeps, a child of the damned!

“I made a dolly for Cat.”, she almost growls and, to prove it, holds up this bit of striped rag which looks as if it’s been washed in a puddle. It’s tied up in the middle with string and there are two black buttons sewn to look like eyes.

“Cat don’t want it.”, I declares, trying to push her out but, by this time, she is inside the door and sorely determined.

“Cat!” she shouts… “Cat!”

Suddenly I hears a sort of chirruping sound and turns to see Cat, its nose twitching and its eye almost like a round, yellow, ‘Loving bowl’.
Again, it makes this chirruping sound and its arched neck is stretched out to full extent, as it comes between me legs and up to Shirley Freckles.

Well, I aint seen nothing like that in me life. It aint that Cat is not tuned into strangers, it takes ‘em or leaves ‘em as the case may be. But, with kids, Cat has no patience at all, giving them the evil eye if they come too close.

But here we are, this kid with its striped rag of a doll…And Cat, in a most amorous mood, purring its sorry body out and being overly-active!

“So, you better come in and shut the door.”, says I.

You see; that’s me problem, big-hearted and generous to a fault.
You just imagine; you got a kid, who’s yours and you water an’ feeds it to ‘Teening’;
then along comes a complete stranger and your kid, without so much as a backward glance, walks away from you, so you have this useless sense of disloyalty, like morbid indigestion.

So I leaves them playing under the kitchen table.
Shirley Freckles has laid the rag-dolly on the floor and Cat is on top of it, carrying on something awful, mouthing the doll and purring away, as if it’s in love.

Well, I leaves them at their game and gets me coat on, I know when I aint needed. I makes me way up the street, towards Teddy’s Hot-Dog stand. But I only gets as far as number ‘Thirteen’, when out comes ‘Old Mother La-La’, screaming blue murder.

“What’s the matter with her?”, I asks Harry Cobblers.
Harry is like one of them ‘Old Girls’, who knows whatever is going on, he’s the ears and eyes of the street.
“From what I can make out.” he says, without turning his eyes away from the screaming woman… “She’s washed her cat’s blanket and hung it on the line to dry… And someone’s come along and cut a lump out the middle, left a bloomin’ great hole it.”

Now, me brain aint slow in the thinking department, and I starts to get an inkling of what and who is the culprit.
‘Cause, the blanket belongs to the ginger ‘Killer-Cat’ called Tiger, who Cat's enamoured with. And it befits me thinking that Shirley Freckles has cut the piece out of the blanket and made a dolly with it, knowing that Cat would get the scent of its lover!

That’s why Cat is drawn to Shirley Freckles, it makes sense now, don’t it?
Meanwhile, ‘Old Mother la-La’ is screaming for the police and Harry Coblers has moved in with his bit of sympathy, to get the full history of this event.

And I… I’m on me way back to me house to see a mad-child, about a certain striped dolly!
Joined: 2/8/2009
Msg: 8
Posted: 2/20/2009 9:52:14 PM

Strange, aint it, how opposites attracts, as they say?
Well, I’m thinking this because Old Mother La-La’s daughter, Virginia Longbottom has taken up with Harry Cobblers… I mean, Virginia is quite a big girl (I calls her warm and cuddly.), with a pretty face and giggly disposition.
Now; your Harry is of a different ilk, if yer gets me drift. He’s small’n’wirey and can sort of fit in that big handbag she carries.

I has to hold in a giggle at the thought of Harry’s head, sticking out of Virginia’s handbag, because the said couple is seated there in me front room… But when they goes (Which I secretly hope is soon!)… I will delight in telling Cat about me thoughts.

Cat is under the armchair, its head swiveling from one to the other as they speak…
“I reckons you ought to have one of those cat-flaps put into the street door, so Cat can come and go as he pleases.”, says Harry.

“He don’t need to get a door flap, just for the cat… He might as well kick the cat out at night and let it back in when morning comes.”, says Virginia.

“Can’t do that… He loves the cat, it’s like his kid, aint it?”, says Harry.

Have you noticed how, when you get a love-couple visiting, how they holds a conversation between themselves, as if the host has no existence? I mean, there they is, seated across from each other and having a conversation about me dealings with Cat, as if me’n’Cat aint around.
Cat swivels his head round, giving me a yellow one-eyed look and winks.

“I can stick a cat-flap in for you, if you like?”, says Harry, dragging me into the conversation.
Now, what he says makes sense. I mean, Cat has got this urge to want to go out at times, standing by the door and howling, like a wolf who aint got a sky to moon at. It’s been ever since Cat met the Ginger-Tom, Tiger… And the urges have increased even more since that mad-child Shirley Freckles brought the ‘Dolly’ round… One whiff of that and Cat is at the door with some form of impatient demand.

So, it all happens, one event following another. First; me guests have left, still talking to each other, then comes the morning…And with it arrives Harry, his tools, a cat-flap and a hole in me front door.

So, in a wonder of time, me street door has a cat-flap in it!

Now, as all you folk , which has a cat-flap in your front, with a cat not yet used to it, you has to train the cat to go in and out, pushing the flap so it has its exits and its entrances.
Cats are a nervous animal and don’t care to chance what they cant see. And I don’t blame ‘em, does you?... I mean, would you take a jump through a curtain, into another dimension, without knowing what’s there?

Anyways, me and Harry is there… Harry’s outside the closed street door, calling for Cat. I’m on the inside, with Cat caught in me hands and I’m trying to shove it through the cat-flap.
But Cat aint having none of it and is terrified, screaming and spitting. I even puts the rag-dolly through the flap, hoping Cat follows it, but Cat wont go.

I then gets a brain-wave and, wedging Cat under me arm, I removes one of me socks and sticks it over Cat’s head.
Well, Cat goes dead quiet; either it’s seduced by the dark or else the smell of me sock has knocked it out!
“Coming through, Harry!”, I shouts and pushes Cat through the hole.
“Coming back!”, yells Harry…And I receives Cat as a return passenger.
Well, this goes on, backwards and forth, till I can take the sock off Cat’s head and Harry and I know Cat will go through… Once it gets over the disturbance of mind and climbs down off the wardrobe up in the bedroom.

That night, me’n’Cat is wrapped up, ‘Toasty-Warm’ in bed, like book-ends, back-to-back. Me eyes is closing off to sweet dreams, when I feels Cat moving and then I feels the bed bounce as bit as Cat jumps off.

Thinking Cat needs to use the green bucket, under the bed, I closes me eyes again, then opens them as I hears the cat-flap in me street door open and then close with a noisy ‘Flap’… It’s Cat, gone out of the house on a night’s visit and I smiles in fond reality, as does any parent who knows its kid is out on a date.

I must have dozed off, ‘cause it’s pitch dark and the moon’s risen to a swollen state, as I sees it through the window.
But then I hears this noise. A sound from downstairs, lots of ‘em, noises of burglars!

Now, this is where us unmarried men lose out. I knows full well that all them married men sleep furthest away from the door, the Missus being the nearer…And come a slight knocking sound in the night, it’s the Missus who has to get up and have a ‘Look-See’!
But, me being alone and only having Cat to partner me, it’s up to me to creep down the stairs and face them burglars, or whatever is roaming about, making a grab at me riches.
“Who’s there!”, I shouts, still upstairs and hoping me voice puts whoever it is to flight.
No answer, though there’s a shuffling sound and then noises, like water rushing out of the taps.
“I knows your there!”, I calls again.


Now it’s time for me to make me move, and, in hero fashion, I dives down the stairs, into the kitchen and turns the light on.


It’s burglars alright… ‘Cat-Burglars!’
The cats is everywhere… In cupboards, on the table, under the table and in the waste-bin. They are spitting and fighting, calling and performing certain love rituals (Well, the ones which aint fighting or eating!)… And there, on top of the plate-cabinet is Cat, cuddled up with Tiger, the Ginger-Tom from number ‘Thirteen’.

Now, I aint a violent man, known throughout the street as a meek and mild-mannered man… But me dander is up and, when me dander is up then I’m a sight to behold.

“Get OUT!”, I screams.

And, with that voiced effort, there is ‘Cat-Pandemonium’, as the cats, in a confusion of colours, are running everywhere, up the walls, up the stairs, up the curtains and in the toilet!
And I’m ducking and diving, opening windows and doors to help the furry exodus.

Three hours later, the house is clear… ‘Cats has Scats!’, and I’m searching in me toolbox.
With a hammer in one hand and nails in the other, I makes me way to the cat-flap!
Joined: 2/8/2009
Msg: 9
Posted: 2/21/2009 9:11:18 PM

So… Here we are, all crammed into Old Mother La-La’s front room. There’s me, Harry Cobblers, Teddy Bolster, Wonky Watson…And Uncle Tom Cobley an’ all.

Wonky Watson has the chair, one eyeball going round as he talks, while the other one stares straight ahead; and I gets to thinking that we are after Moby****and he is Captain Ahab!

“The thing is.”, he’s saying… “Tiger is the fourth cat to go missing…”
Now there’s uproar as everyone starts shouting, while Old Mother La-La, who was the owner on the Ginger-Tom called ‘Tiger’, is doing her sackcloth and ashes thing, wringing her hands and pulling at her hair. What a carry-on… (Even though I had seen the ‘Old Girl’ give her cat a boot up the backside on more than one occasion, when the cat has left its ‘Messy-Message’ on the living-room floor.

I might explain to your listening ears that there’s been a run of ‘Cat-Naps’ in our area, a number cats suddenly disappearing off the streets. And so, in that case, the residents of the street decides to have a meeting to discuss what action needs to be taken.

Now, I aint exactly taken with being dragged into this meeting. For one thing, Cat has taken to staying in, lying under the table with his ‘Dolly’ (Weird, aint it, Cat preferring the scent of ‘Tiger’ than the real thing; rather like a man and a blow-up dolly, if you gets me drift!)

“So what does they do with the cats when they gets them?”, I asks, above the din.
“ They sell ‘em.”, reckons Harry Cobblers.
“Nope.”, asserts Teddy Bolster. “They skins them and makes gloves out the fur.”

This starts Old Mother La-La off, screaming a tantrum, that somewhere in the world is a person walking about, wearing a pair of ginger-striped gloves.
“And they make Davy Crocket hats off them.”, says Wonky, warming up to the theme… And, turning to me, he says…
“Well; they wont make a Davy Crocket hat out of your cat, will they… I mean, can you see a kid wearing a Crocket hat that’s only got one yellow eye?”

Now, you all know me by now… I wont hear one bad word said about Cat… And that’s me, out the door and marching up to me own house, to its comfort and to give Cat a big hug of security.

Cat has dragged the dolly up onto the arm of me chair and lays on it, purring away, as I figures out me next move… How to protect Cat from any ‘Cat-Napping’.

There are times in one’s life when a doze is a sort of bed-spring for an idea; you knows what I mean, it’s like losing something, or trying to remember a name, that you gives it all up and carries on with your normal workings.
Then; suddenly, the brain has been down to bed-rock and pops up with the answer… You remembers where you left something, or the name suddenly pops into your head.
I believes in me heart, that Cat has this bed-rock mentality, ‘cause it will be laying there in idle scratch when, suddenly it will just up, as if some flea has bit its posterior (Good word that, aint it?)… And it will suddenly remember that it has some food left over or the litter-tray needs infiltrating!

Anyways; I suddenly wakes up with a jerk, blinking me eyes in reality. Cat has its yellow eye on me, in some yellow concern, becoming even more concerned when I grabs it from the arm of me chair and plants a love-kiss to its furry bonce.

“I got it, Cat!”, I explodes… “I know what to do!”

Well, Cat is still in a state of flummox, having jumped down and now watching me with some concern, its yellow eye in blink’s-confusion… I aint ever kissed its head before and Cat needs time to get over this new experience, plus, Cat has never seen me dancing up and down the room with a total enthusiasm, shouting out… “Eureka!”

Cat is watching me from under the table, its whiskers twitching like antennas, that’s searching the sky for sudden invasion.
They’ve got this radar, aint they, cats? They know when something aint right, when something or someone is about to commit itself to interfering in a cat’s life.

So Cat watches me, with some apprehension, as I gets this empty cardboard box and tapes the bottom up so its nice and escape-proof. Cat starts to edge out of the door, its whiskers electrifying the air as its cat-senses gives shock-alarms. It looks round the edge of the door as it hears me make a hole in the side of the box, then Cat scuttles off, to hide on top of the wardrobe, as I look up, me eyes in shining knowledge.

Now, we cat-people know about cats, don’t we…And we also knows the old saying that ‘Curiosity kills the cat!’.
And that cat-knowledge can save a whole lot of your working day, in the sense that I can sit in me armchair, appearing to be in a natural state of doze, but one of me peepers slightly ajar.

After a while… Cat comes downstairs and I sees it yellow eye staring round the doorframe, first at me dozy form, then widen in yellow appreciation as it espies the open cardboard box… And it aint long before its head follows the eye, followed by the rest of its black furry body.

And I’m up… Like a ‘Jack’ who’s new-sprung out of its box…
Slamming the lid down and sticking it fast with tape!

The next you see of me is I’m riding me trusty old push-bike, with the cardboard box tied to the handlebars, diving through the traffic… And all the time, I am aware of the yellow eye, staring out the hole in the side of the box, looking up at me, as if I have committed the most disloyal and heinous act a man can commit against a tried and trusted friend.

But I aint got time for guilt (Funny, aint it…That its only them as has time on their hands, to feel guilty about anything. Mind you, the clever ones is them that pass their guilt onto other!)

So… Here I am at me furthest destination and pulls up and, leaving me bike up against a wall, I takes me box into the Vet’s surgery.

“What is it?”, asks the Vet, having let me open the box and is now peering down at Cat, whose blinking up at him with a yellow-eyed dislike.
“It’s Cat!”, I exclaims.
“And what do you want me to do with…Errr… Cat?”
“What I wants, Doc… Is for you to put one of them things in it, so if it gets stolen or lost, it can be traced.”
“Oh..I see. You mean you want me to insert a chip into it!”

Marvelous, aint they, these professor-sorts… Years of training and education and they still has to think before they catch up with themselves.
Now; I aint a mean man or ill-natured, as you all know…And I can have the patience of St. Vitus, when I’m tested…So I gives the Vet a look, as if he has deduced this assessment from somewhere outside of brilliance.
“That’s it, Doc.” I says… “You has got the very idea.”

So here I am, holding Cat down on the table and Cat is not happy at all, Its shivering, its stump down between its back legs, its one ear, flat on its head, its yellow eye swiveling upwards as the Vet approaches… And when it sees the size of the needle in the Vet’s hand, its eyeball out-sizing its casing, a shocked yellow marble.
With this Cat lets go a scream and faints, its little furry body limp in me hands.

“That’s all there is to it.”, says the Vet.
He had lifted the scruff on the back of Cat’s neck and injected the chip just under the skin. He then checks that it can be read, by passing a electronic reader over Cat and I hear it go ‘Bleep’, before it reads out Cat’s particulars..

Now; I’m feeling quite upset over the treatment and I promise Cat all kinds of happy times as I cycle home… There is no sound from the box, no yellow eye poking out through the hole.

And for two days, Cat lays in comatose state, under the table, not caring or even lifting its head when the ‘Mad-Child’, Shirley Freckles comes to visit, stroking and covering it with the ‘Loving-Blanket’. .. But even the scent of ‘Tiger’, has no effect.

Well; I’m sitting in me chair and feeling a sad kind of lonesome without Cat on the arm of the chair, beside me. Even Shirley Freckles has given up and gone, so now I sits in gloom and whistles a quiet tune.
It’s funny when you comes to think on it, how music can cause different moods. I mean, here I am, whistling the ‘Death March’ and all I gets is more morose (Good word that, aint it…Morose? Makes me think of a sad, long, face of a man who lives a life, that aint got any week-ends in it, know what I mean?)
See how me thinking is… Full of ‘Morose’.

Now that really depresses me and to rouse meself into some kind of cheerfulness, I gets up and puts some ‘Rock’n’Roll’ on the old music-box.

Well the music starts blaring when, suddenly… In a fusion of wonders, Cat sits up, its yellow eye alive with some sort of electric shock, its stump of a tail, bolt upright, while its fur is startled in a degree of confusion… And more…
Cat is up and dancing! It is hopping around the room in time to the music, more alive than any electric eel about to have its head cut off.

At first it frightens the life out of me, I aint ever seen Cat dancing before… Come to think of it, I aint ever seen any cat dance, have you?
The music blaring and there’s Cat, boogieing away to Elvis, like there’s no tomorrow.
I aint seen such a sight since Old Mother La-La’s bloomers blew of her washing line, to slap themselves round Billy Lingoe’s face and he had to be treated in hospital for shock and loss of breath. He suffered from hypertension for months after that!

But me dancing Cat takes the biscuit and, fearing it might collapse from over-exerting itself, I turns the music off.
Now; this has an immediate effect on Cat… As soon as the music stops, it flops down on the floor in a panting fit and then it closes it yellow eye and lays like the dead.
“Cat?”, I calls, softly… “Cat, are you alright?”
No answer. Cat is so quiet that I gets up and picks up the lifeless furry little bundle and starts to croon to it, all sad-like and paternal. Gently, I lays the bundle down, on top of its ‘Love-blanket’ and sits back in me chair. Me heart is in breaking mood, with Cat dying on me, what do I do?... It’s a sad state of affairs and I gets to wondering if Wonky Watkins still has that puppy for sale.
Joined: 2/8/2009
Msg: 10
Posted: 2/23/2009 12:20:47 AM
Can't be bothered writing any more...No comments and too much of an 'Old Boys' network...

See you!
Joined: 7/21/2005
Msg: 11
view profile
Posted: 2/23/2009 4:17:20 AM
Ah Poet, I know there are many who are enjoying your posts and are following the stories. I haven't posted to your thread because I didn't want to break the flow of the tale.

Joined: 11/30/2007
Msg: 12
view profile
Posted: 2/23/2009 6:19:45 AM

didn't want to break the flow of the tale.

Joined: 6/3/2008
Msg: 13
view profile
Posted: 2/23/2009 1:24:09 PM
Hey Ron,

you left us all hanging here, like a cat on a hot tin roof.

No fair!
Wasn't nice!
Make friends, and then fly away like a butterfly,
goodbye, farewell, not nice to play games,
oh by the way grow up!

P.S . I am not going to read your work anyway!
 Written by Hank
Joined: 3/8/2008
Msg: 14
Posted: 2/23/2009 10:50:18 PM
To bad. I liked this story.

Don't know if you're lurking about, but I'll leave you a message: This is a creative writing forum on a dating site. Of the millions of people on this site, only a handful visit this end of the forum spectrum. Those that do, read, but rarely leave comments. Shouldn't take offense.

When I post something, I'm happy if just ten people bother to click on the thread. I think it's great that somebody read it - even if it's just one person. Doesn't matter to me it they leave a note or not (well, a note is nice, but not required). When I want comments, I post to a writing forum on a site designed just for that. There are a couple good ones - well, a couple of okay ones.
 mystic writer
Joined: 5/27/2007
Msg: 15
view profile
Posted: 2/24/2009 7:19:17 PM
I have the book...Me 'N' Ron S King, available through Amazon...along with a variety of other books he has published...
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