Pipe Dreams

"That's two great shows in the can and another three great shows to come," said Tommy my cat, as he turned off the radio by giving it a lethal injection.

"How I love great shows!" I cried, as I went to the large wooden crate and lovingly unwrapped another radio for tomorrow's great show.

"Gerry talked a lot about ghosts and goolies today," said Tommy.

"Yes he did," I said, "but if you look in the dictionary, I think you will find that ghoulies is spelt ghoulies and not the way you said it".

"I'm only a cat" said Tommy "You must expect the odd mistake."

I threw two small hand-grenades into our beds to air them and said, "What do you think of Mr Coyle and his tedious, interminable dreaming?"

"Tommy took a clay pipe from out his breeches pocket, filled it with Magic Dragon tobacco, which is guaranteed to give a better puff and lit the pipe by rubbing two small Swedish dwarfs together. I don't know what it is, but there is something about a cat smoking a pipe that is SOOO soothing.

Tommy took a puff of Magic Dragon and said with a worried frown, "I am worried about Mr Coyle. The lad is not himself. He is restless. One day he wants to be a little sailor and the next day he wants to be a drummer in a modern day beat combo."

"There is nothing wrong with him!" I yelled.

"Mr Coyle should make like a pair of curtains and pull himself together."

"Tommy lowered his voice and said, "Mr Coyle may be suffering from night starvation."

"Well let him do what I do!" I yelled. "I take a packet of Jacob's cream crackers to bed with me every night. I would be lost without my-Jacob's."

Tommy knocked his pipe out on my head and went out muttering, "Darwin has a lot to answer for."

After a light lunch of poundies and smarties, I covered myself with paste, rolled in wood shavings and went round Belfast as a hobby horse.

"Nay," said the people. "Nay-Nay."

But I declined on the grounds that I was a little horse.

As I passed an all-night rickshaw repair centre. I heard a-hiss. I looked down, but it wasn't me. It was Tubs. Yes, it was Tubby Nolan.

"Over here," hissed Lard Boy. I hurried to Tubby's side, hoping, praying that tonight would lead to-l'amore!

Even a little l'amore is better than no l'amore.

I stuck my false teeth in, smiled and said, "Well hello, big boy. What lucky low-loader brought you here tonight?"

He who is not thin grabbed me by the neck and growled, "Have you been putting it about that I'm fat?"

"Why?" I gasped. "Were you trying to keep it a secret?"

"Never mind that" growled Tubby. "Listen, I want you to do me a solid."

"A bucket!" I yelled. "Why did I leave the house without a bucket?"

"Stop that frivolous, chitter-chatter you ugly flibbertigibbet!" yelled Tubby.

So many F's and all before the watershed.

"I want you to do me a favour," whispered Tubs. "The time has come for me to shed my skin. I want you to hold my clothes while I go behind yon big building and slip out of my skin."

Two hours later the new Tubby emerged. Oh he did look clean, slick and unwrinkled. Tubby was burdened down by two armfuls of his old skin.

"Steven," I said, "what are you going to do with your old skin? Can I have it to pave my driveway?"

"NO, you can not!" growled Tubby.

Then the plump one chucked and said, "I am going to attach a small basket to my skin, put a small boy in the basket and fly my skin over the mountains of Mourne."

"You fiendish fiend!" I cried. "Poor Noel Thompson will jump out of his anorak."

When I left, Tubby was laid out on a rock in the sun warming up his reptilian blood.

All this and more have I seen as the lovely Sarah Travers fed me grapes, forks and spades in a shady nook, chock-a block with babbling brooks.

Turned out nice again. Think I'll go to my bed, get up and do it all over again!