Posted tagged ‘mighty meaty’

When devils will the blackest sins put on

February 26, 2010

It never rains but it pours.

Leaving the lab yesterday I had to run an unusually violent gauntlet of extreme animal rights activists just to get to my car. Fortunately, I shouted my boss, Dr Proteus and he was able to distract the crowd while I made my getaway. Relieved that no one had been hurt I made my way home, dreaming of a warm cup of Horlicks and my DVD of ‘Doc Martin’ Series 2.

I love his management technique, I'm learning so much from him.

Clearly I’m going to have to get used to the fact that such creature comforts are a thing of the past. The house was like a landfill when I arrived home and, as Richard wasn’t there, I set about tidying the place up.

Finally, when the place was beginning to seem a bit more livable, I settled down to an evening enjoying the chameleon like acting of Mr Martin Clunes and the superior television writing that I have come to expect from ITV. I had no idea where Richard was and I was avoiding thinking about what he may be up to. For the time being I was happy just to enjoy the peace and quiet. As usual it was short lived.

I fell asleep in the armchair and drifted into a disquieting dream in which Richard was harvesting my organs during the night and selling them to animal rights activists to make environmentally friendly loudhailers. One particularly spotty protester was making a loud horn sound with my pancreas and chanting “DIGEST-IVE AND ENDO-CRINE/PASSING EN-ZYMES TO THE IN-TES-TINE!” . I awoke to find Richard blasting my face with one of those aerosol emergency horns, which I gather he had picked up especially for the purpose.

Very important

I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to be his way of telling me he wants food from now on.

I don’t know why he can’t just get his food for himself. Perhaps I’m being harsh here, and I would appreciate any other cat owners putting me straight, but this strikes me as pure laziness on his part. He’s already shown that he can operate computers, ATM’s and automobiles quite expertly, so surely dialing for a pizza should not be beyond him. He shuns the cupboard full of Whiskers and assorted cat snacks that I have sitting in the kitchen.

It was only when he turned the lights on to hunt around peevishly for the pizza menu that I realised what it was that was different about him. Where once Richard’s coat had been an indefinable selection of muddy browns, he was now jet black from head to toe. I tried to quiz him on the reasons for his transformation but he responded by simply pointing out the ‘Mighty Meaty’ from the menu, tramping truculently toward the spare bedroom and slamming the door. Moments later I heard ‘Malice Through the Looking Glass’ by Cradle of Filth issuing from within and realised for the first time that he had moved my stereo in there. This is especially annoying as I like to listen to William Shatner’s version of ‘Common People’ as I drift off to sleep each night.

I think we all know who is musically superior here

I’ve looked through all the guides to raising a cat that I can find but I can’t find a single reference to what you should do if your cat becomes a Goth. He’s sullen enough as it is.

Hopefully this is just a phase and he will start acting more like a normal cat soon. I thought owning a cat was supposed to be therapeutic but it’s proving more stressful than my sightseeing tour of Burma last year. Thank you very much Thomas Cook.

Perhaps I will buy him lots of new kitty accessories to cheer him up and make him feel a bit more cat-like.