A Storm in a Gravy Boat.

Great show yesterday Kid. Yesterday's show reminded me of little, well dressed men you see on a frosty Autumn morning, coming out of the newsagent's with the Newsletter under their arm. Their little shoes are shining, they have razor sharp creases on their little trousers, they wear kid gloves, a muffler and a flat cap. These clean, neat, tidy, little men never stop to talk to anyone. Home they go to a little apple-faced wife, who is wearing a white starched apron, baking an apple cake or drowning kittens in the sink. Who are these little men? And what do they want?
Noticing a window on the wall that wasn't there last night. I thought I would make use of it by looking out of it and there, in the garden was Tommy my cat. Tommy had just planted an acorn and was standing with hands on hips waiting for it to grow.
I tapped the window and yelled,
"Tommy, don't go climbing that tree while my back is turned."
Incandescent was the colour Tommy turned.
He came bursting into the house, like Sean Coyle's bull and roared,
"Why must you ruin everything? Why must you shatter all my dreams? Why can I not run my own life? You make everything I do turn into ashes. My dancing career? Ashes. My acting career? Ashes! Why yesterday, even the dinner you served up tasted of-ashes."
"That was ashes," I replied. "I had run out of Bisto."
"Run out of BISTO?" screamed Tommy. "What sort of person runs out of-Bisto? A house should be built around-Bisto. Bisto should be the first thing carried into a new home from the removal van. And yet," yelled Tommy, with his eyes leaping out of his head and the veins on his temple throbbing, "you ran out of--Bisto! What are you like?" hissed Tommy. "What are you like-eh? A creature!" cried Tommy.
"That's what you are. A slimy, creepy, repulsive, vile,cold blooded, loathsome creature, who has crawled out from some putrid cesspool of filth and decay."
"Stop bring up my Ballymena background!" I yelled.
"Come out to the back yard!" yelled Tommy.
"You what?" I said.
"You heard me!" roared Tommy. "Come out to the back yard and bring your face with you, because I'm going to brust it."
The last time Tommy and I fought,I ended up in very, very intensive care. I had to find a way to get out of the fight.
"Tommy!" I cried. "I know what Sean Coyle is looking for tonight."
"I care not a fig for Coylers or his wishes,wants or desires!" yelled Tommy. "Come out to the back yard!"
But the seed had been planted. I decided to add a little Wonder-Grow.
"Tommy," I said, "Sean Coyle is looking for something very special tonight and I know what it is."
Tommy stopped. His ears stood up straight on his head and his tail thrashed about like a snake.
I waited. Tommy turned and said,
"OK. What is Mr Coyle looking for tonight?"
"A little bit of Bully!" I yelled.
Then Jim Rodgers leaped out from the broom cupboard and screamed,
"NIGH! NIGH! NIGH! You get nothing in this game for two in a shed."
It was the icing on the cake. It was the final touch. It was the end game. Tommy threw back his head and laughed and laughed. That was just before he knocked me out with a left hook up the kisser.
And all because the cat loves--BISTO!