BUT WAS THE DEAD CADAVER REALLY DEAD AT ALL?

I was sitting in front of the fire, slowly roasting a small Norwegian dwarf on the end of pointed stick. He likes it, it's cold enough in the fiords to freeze the brass balls off a copper kettle.
Suddenly, or was it just before that? Tommy my cat rushed in. Oh he was ashen, I've never seen Tommy so ashen. "Tommy!" I yelled "you're--you're--ashen".
"I feel-ashen" cried Tommy "so if my ashiness, is imprinted on my countenance, it shows just how-ashen I am" "But Tommy" I cried "what is the cause, or effect of this chronic ashiness?"
Tommy caught his breath, that was just running out the door and cried " They are burying old Jericho McTweet tomorrow"
I felt all the blood drain from my face and I knew it, I just knew it, that my face too was-ashen.
"Is old Jericho dead?" I screamed. "I hope so" said Tommy "for they are burying him tomorrow".
"Quick" I yelled "there's not a moment to lose, pull the second hand from the clock, while I have a quick read through War And Peace" Three hours later I yelled "Old Jericho may not be dead, time is of the essence, get your coat and follow me"
"If the time period is critical" said Tommy "you should follow me, I can run faster"
"Shut your gub Tommy and follow me" I yelled, with a swish of my cape.
"NO!" yelled Tommy "you follow me"
"Follow me Tommy" I roared "or I'll brust you!".
"NO!" yelled Tommy "you follow me".
For five long hours the debate raged. Then we reached a compromise. We would run together, holding hands, so neither of us could claim to be the leader, and we did.
There was a wake going on when we got there. I took my hat off to old Ma McTweet. She had thought of everything. Tommy and I pushed our way through the throng yelling "Make way, make way, let the cadaver inspectors through!".
The stairs were blocked by old people, dying for a look at a dead man. You can look at a dead man for as long as you like. He can't look back and stare you down.
I have known old women, bent, gnarled, twisted and deformed like veritable fairy trees, sit on a hard chair by the side of a corpse and stare at it for 14 hours. 14 hours of hard, penetrating scrutinization, broken only by the odd cry of "Ah, he was a good man, a good, quiet man, you would hardly know he was in the house at tall".
On her way home from cadaver gleeking, she would meet another auld wan on her way to the wake. "Well Maggie" the auld wan would leer "was it a good wake?"
"Aye it was" auld Maggie would say "but the wee buns were hard, the tay was too cold and the sandwiches were turned up at the edges".
"Is there much grief?" the auld wan would say "how's the family taking it?"
"Devil a tear was shed" said auld Maggie "and I was there 14 hours. The widow is prancing around way a smile on her face an' talking about going to May-orcia".
"Isn't that the way" said the auld wan "God it's tarra, ah sure the poor man is better off out of it".
"A quiet wee man" said auld Maggie "sure you'd never know he was in the house. Ah, may God, his blessed mother, saint Patrick, saint Joseph and all the angels and saints in heaven, meet him at the pearly gates and lead him to his just reward in heaven".
Then she would hobble on her way, renewed by the thought that she was still alive and her auld, thick, turgid blood was still making its way through her hulk of a body.
The supposed dead man was in a coffin, old Ma McTweet had thought of everything. "Right!" I yelled "Who pronounced this man dead?"
"The doctor" sobbed old Ma McTweet, with tears in her eyes. Oh she was good, I'll give her that, she was good.
"And you believed him?" I roared. "Of course I did" sobbed old Ma McTweet, "he's the doctor".
"We have only his word for that" yelled Tommy. "Have you tried to waken him?" I yelled. "Shouted in his ear, rang bells, blew horns or poured hot water over him?"
"Of course not" cried old Ma McTweet "he;s dead, my wee Jericho is dead".
"We'll soon see about that" I yelled. "Tommy, tickle his feet and I'll try and make him laugh by pulling faces".
It was that same tableau that met the eyes of Sir Hugh Orde when he entered the room.
"'Ello, ello, ello, what's going on 'ere then?" cried the white-shirted anglo saxon.
"This woman AND her cat, have interfered with my dead Jericho" yelled old Ma McTweet.
We wuz nicked and led away, charged with interfering with the dead we wuz.
The old judge looked down and yelled "Are either of you two necrophiliac?"
"NO, my Lud!" I yelled "I have no fear of heights and my friend Tommy always lands on his feet".
200 hours community service, that's what we got. We have to tidy up the city cemetery.
What a chance to make sure that all the cadavers are really dead! I must bring a stethoscope and a big bottle of smelling salts.