Stray cats and greeedy footballers.

Great show yesterday kid. A great show which promised much and delivered much-oh pleasure and feelings of great joy. Mr Coyle's fable about being attacked by a feral pussy in an industrial estate had Tommy, my cat's, ire metre in the red zone.
After Mr Coyle had cut a short story long Tommy yelled,
"J'accuse Mr Coyle of knowingly and willingly slandering the good name of pussies everywhere. That so called story was a fabrication built with untruths, and fibs and laid on a foundation of LIES! Let's examine the facts. An industrial estate late at night. A lonely pussy and Mr Coyle. That poor cat had been abandoned, strayed, given the great heave-oh by its cruel, nasty owners. When that happens to a feline, our instinct is to try and curry favour from the first human we meet,hoping and praying, in our own little pussy way,to be taken home and adopted. And how did Herr Coyle react? Mr Coyle reverted to type. He threw stones at the poor little pussy,as if it were a soldier in the Green Howards. Oh cruel, blighted,solitary man. You don't deserve a little pussy purring on your pillow and gazing with wide,slitted,yellow eyes at your huge, parasitic eye-brow. WRETCH!" screamed Tommy. "May all your golf balls bounce off trees and come back and hit you right up the kisser. May your toes curl into talons and your golfing gansies unravel into mouldy, mounds of wool and thread. Apart from that, mind how you go and have a nice day."
"Never mind all that!" I yelled. "Have you seen the headline in the paper?
SPUD MAY MOVE TO SPAIN! Speaking from his home in Chester, Spudman, and granny-groper Wayne Rooney said,
"Yeh, da thing is-like,I ain't getting no respect-like. I is thinking of taking my talents to Spain or if not Spain-like, some club in Europe-like. I ain't in football for da money-like. I is da man and I deserve respect-like."
"You whinging, whining, King Edward-faced tube!" yelled Tommy. "Go to Real Madrid and see how you get on. In the name of Peter Doherty and the heavy leather ball, modern day footballers get right up my hooter. Sir Alex Ferguson can always call on Jackie Fullerton and after the blunder Van Der-Sar made at the weekend, Tubby Nolan is ready to wrestle on the green jersey and step into goal."
"What a line-up!" I cried. "And its Giggs to Fullerton. Fullerton stops to tell a long story about growing up in Ballymena. Fullerton is robbed by an old man with a zimmer frame. The ball trundles slowly towards the goal and through the fat,flabby, Giant of Rhodes, legs of United keeper Tubby Nolan."
"GOOOOOOOOOOOAL!" yelled Tommy.
Tommy looked at me and said,
"No time for Jim Rodgers this week?"
"I have neither the time nor the inclination!" I yelled. "Let sleeping, leaping Lord Mayors lie."