LIFE WITH A FELINE IS PURR-FECT

Welcome to the house of fun. At a time when fun is rationed and gaiety, merriment and jollification can only be procured with a nod and a wink from someone in the know, it is imperative that people know how to make their own-fun. Our parents and grandparents knew how to make their own-fun. Rickets, scabies, boils and two world wars, is historical proof that our ancestors were never at a loose end when it came to-fun. As this is a time of remembrance, let's remember those who have gone before us. Let us dress in black, pack a picnic hamper and make our sad way to the cemetery, partake of a small collation of colcannon and cranberries and as the sun sets in the West, salute, pull your simmet up over your belly button and sing lustily and loudly,
"YOU WENT AWAY AND LEFT ME, LONG TIME AGO
BUT NOW YOU'RE KNOCKING ON MY DOOR
I HEAR YOU KNOCKING, BUT YOU CAN'T COME IN
I HEAR YOU KNOCKING, GO BACK WHERE YOU BELONG."
The peace and comfort, that will come from this simple act, is unbelievable. You will leave the graveyard with a lilt on your face and a smile in your step.
I looked at Tommy my cat, who was peeing into the coal bucket, as he reinacted the relief of Mafeking. I was rolled up in a ball in the corner, pretending to be a hibernating, Hibernian hedgehog dreaming of Jennie with the light brown hair. Time ticked slowly away, soot fell down the chimney, the television chose that moment to explode in shards of glass and there we were, woman and cat, united in the age old practice of making our own fun. Then a butler from Butler street, ran in and rang the dinner gong. Soon it was all go as Tommy and I peeled spuds, diced carrots, cut the hind quarters from a wildebeest, filled a large pan with Crisp and Dry cooking oil and then put on our coats and went out for a fish supper. After dinner, Tommy and I gathered round the old family piano, which was lying in the city dump full of woodworm and death watch beetles. There we stood, surrounded by rats and sang all the old songs. The songs we used to sing, when a wet nappy was a reality and the thought of having teeth--just an unfulfilled-dream. As we walked back home under the twinkling stars, I hooked my arm in Tommy's, looked deep into his little, yellow, slitted eyes and whispered.
"We are mad, aren't we?" "As two loonies in a bin," said Tommy, "as two loonies in a bin." What a great relief it is, to have one's worst fears confirmed by a common or garden-cat.
I met Steven Nolan at our usual place, down the entry behind the wheelie-bins. Lard for Brains was pacing up and down, cracking his knuckles and twitching like a hooker in a nunnery. "Did you get it?" hissed the Tubby one in his trousers. "Yes," I said, "keep your tent on." "Give it here," yelled the terror of weighing machines. I looked furtively up the ally, pulled a family size bottle of HP sauce from under my kilt and handed it to the trembling wretch. He who has mountains as cousins, grabbed the bottle and put it to his delicate, impish, rose-bud lips. "Ah, that's better" gasped Tubby, as he stumbled back into a group of Japanese tourists. "Ah, so" trilled a mandolin playing mandarin. "Listen, Toe-Joe,roared Tubby "any more jokes about the size of my bum and I'll brust you." I watched Tubby put the bottle to his mouth again. "You're hooked Kid," I said. "You have a monkey on your back, a monkey with a red arse and HP written on it." "NEVER," yelled Tubby ,"I could give up the sauce anytime. I just like a little nip every now and again. It makes me spicy and-fruity. I can't talk to girls without the sauce. I get tongue-tied, hog-tied and wide-eyed, but when I have the sauce in me, I turn into a silver tongued devil." "You lack confidence," I said. "You need to build up your self confidence and believe me Kid, the answer you're looking for, don't lie at the bottom of a HP sauce bottle." "But where can I get-confidence?" shrieked Tubby. "Listen Kid," I said, "I know a little trick that will build up your confidence. This little trick was shown to me by the Dali Lama, just after he read the Daily Mail. You stand there with your back to me, then when I yell, JELLY TOTS, you fall backwards and I catch you in my arms." "It's a trick," yelled Tubby, "a dirty rotten trick to see me fall flat on my bum." "No it's not Kid," I said, "You see, this is where the confidence comes in. You must be confident that I will catch you." "And you promise not to let me fall?" said Tubby, "or give me a riser as I topple backwards?" "Cross my heart and hope to lie," I said. "All right," said Tubby, "I'll try it, anything to get off the sauce. Big Audrey, my mammy, thinks I have turned into a vampire."Tubby Nolan stood there, staring at a brick wall, where someone had scrawled, "Nolan is a ball of lard." I braced myself and yelled, "JELLY TOTS." Steven creaked, groaned and then, like a giant redwood toppled towards me. It was four days before they found us. Four long days and nights, lying under the blubberous mass that was-Steven Nolan. I kissed the crane driver who lifted Steven off me. Steven lumbered to his feet, looked all around, smiled and cried, "I'm cured, I'm cured. Four days without even as much as a lick of HP sauce and I feel fine. The addiction for sauce has left me. Oh thank you, strange, weird creature," said Steven and he planted a big, wet, slobbery kiss on my upturned mouth. I watched him lumber off, FREE, free from the terrible addiction of HP sauce that had broken up so many happy families and turned parts of Cullybaccy into no go areas. I reached into my knicker pocket for my purse and skipped off to the Greasy Spoon for an Ulster fry, covered in HP sauce. See me Hi, I can hold my sauce.
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Turned out nice again, think I'll get a mirror and squeeze my spots, well, you're not going to do it, are you???