"You know, animals are very psychic. I mean, the least sign of danger and my pussy's hair stands on end."
So trilled Mrs Slocombe in an episode of Are You Being Served back in the 1970s
People that overly pamper their pets have always provided sitcoms and movies with stereotypical battle axe matrons and camp old queens, who kiss their pooches on the lips whilst cooing
"Whose mummy's little soldier?"
I generally don't have much time for people that treat animals like surrogate fluffy babies
And so
What have I found myself doing?
Mr Gray's Pussy |
I have been making a rod for my own back
That's what I have been doing.
A few weeks ago, in a fit of decadence, I bought Albert one of those expensive gourmet food packs from the supermarket.
bugger alone knows just why...instead of his usual non branded, foul smelling meaty chunks, Albert was suddenly faced with a "cuisine seafood medley" or a "chef's collection" of delicate " mini fillets in a sumptuous gravy"
And it all went to his head.
Now he won't touch his normal food
And looks at a mound of whiskers as if I have just offered him a pile of my own faeces on a plate
I have created a gourmet loving monster snob cat
"I've got to get home. If my pussy isn't attended to by 8 o'clock, I shall be strokin' it for the rest of the evening."
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I will conclude today's rubbish with a bit of a sad tale. A woman from the village knocked on the cottage window early doors, to tell me that one of my chickens had been squashed in the lane.
The car that hit her was a 4 x 4 out on the school run, and the chicken, that was killed was left right in the centre of the road for someone else to deal with.
Escapees always run the risk of a careless driver
And Sod's law dictates that she was one of my best layers.
Hey ho