TOMMY THE CAT SPEAKS HIS MIND

It was the morning of the day that faithfully comes between Tuesday and Thursday every week. I don't know the name of the day. I used to have it written down on a piece of paper, in case anyone asked me, but like a fool, I went and left the piece of paper in the pocket of my strait jacket before I put it in the washing machine. DOH! What a fool I felt, when the day came round again and I got a text from the Queen asking what day it was!. I bluffed her by texting back that my computer was broken. When in a tight corner you've got to think fast and breathe shallowly.
Tommy my cat and I were bored out of our skulls. A skull is a very important thing, it keeps your face from falling in on itself. Over in the corner sat Howard Hughes our television set. We call it Howard Hughes because it never leaves the house or clips its nails. The TV, or-Howard sat there, all gloomy and dark. Due to the number of repeats it had spewed out over the years, it was suffering from acute indigestion. Until it got better, all we could do was let it rest, keep in warm and make sure it got plenty of liquids. Every two hours, Tommy or I would pour a pint of orange juice through the vents in the back.
Oh how we missed Howard the TV, he used to keep us amused with programmes like, "How clean is your coal shovel" and riveting documentaries like, "My granny ate my face."
For three days, Tommy and I had been sitting on two hard milkmaid's stools staring at each other. No words were spoken, just hard scrutinising stares. The pressure was getting to me. Anyone who has sat on a hard milkmaid's stool for three days, staring at a cat will know what I mean. I could take no more, I knocked my knees together and yelled, "STOP IT!"
"Stop what?" said Tommy.
"Stop looking at me!" I yelled.
"I'm not," said Tommy "you're looking at me!"
"You looked at me first!" I yelled.
"I did not," said Tommy, "you looked at me first."
"I did NOT!" I screamed."You looked at me first. I remember thinking to myself, Tommy is looking at me."
"I remember thinking the same," said Tommy. "I remember thinking to myself, as you do, she's looking at me."
"You're a liar!" I roared.
"So are you!" screamed Tommy.
In the silence that followed, we both stole a glance at Howard the TV, oh he didn't look well at tall. His screen was blank and the little red stand by light was still not flashing.
As Tommy and I went back to staring at each other, Tommy gave a little smile and muttered, "I never would have believed it."
"You never would have believed what?" I cried.
"How ugly you are," said Tommy. "Sitting here staring at you for three days on a hard milkmaid's stool, has made me realise just what an ugly, horrible, frightful old bag you really are."
"How dare you!" I yelled. "I will have you know that during the war I was crowned Miss Shrapnel 1942."
"How did you get so ugly?" said Tommy. "Did your mother wash you with ugly soap?"
"She did not!" I yelled. "Every Saturday night, dearest mummy and darling daddy would tear the clothes from me and my 16 siblings. Then dear mummy would hold us by the big toe, under the kitchen tap. She would then hand us to darling daddy, who would dry us by rolling us along the floor with his foot. Then they would sew us into pillow cases, pile us up in a big heap and fling us into our beds. As dearest mummy put out the light, by blasting the bulb with a shotgun she would smile and say, "Sleep tight children and do let the bugs bite, because fleas are God's creatures too."
"What an idyllic childhood you had," said Tommy.
"Yes!" I said. "Just imagine if I had landed up with the Christian Brothers?"
"Bummer," said Tommy.
"You're SO right," I replied.
In the silence that followed I whispered, "Am I really--ugly Tommy?"
"No," said Tommy. "No, your face has--character, the criss cross lines and furrows on your face, the freckles, the moles, the warts, the way one eye droops, all denote a certain kind of raw, savage, animalistic, horrible, terrible-beauty."
"Thank you Tommy," I said. "Every single line on my face is a laughter line."
"I never though life could be so funny," muttered Tommy.
Then Howard the TV gave a creak, a groan, a horrible crackle followed by a shower of sparks and burst into life. Tommy and I whooped and cheered and pulled our hard milkmaid's stools closer for a good dose of fun, frolics and merriment. But when we saw the Steven Nolan Show was on, we turned Howard off again and went back to staring at each other.

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