His pace
slows as we lock eyes across the cul-de-sac. He appeared around 18 months ago,
a poor excuse of a ging-er, the runt of the litter I imagine, scrawny,
all bones and no frill to speak of. He lives with his two minions in the house
opposite. His abode is inferior as it lacks the door of plastic so he has to
summon his minions by mewing to open their flap so he can enter and exit. Most
inconvenient. Sometimes his minions refuse to do his bidding and he has to hide
under the rabbit hutch in the rain waiting... I on the other paw can curl up on
the soft comfy cream sofa; leaving a tell tale trail of muddy prints in my wake from flap
to blanket for the Chief Minion to tut about and wipe away when she arrives
home.
I do not
know why the one known as Jasper (aka Jazzer) has been sent but I feel it is my duty to instruct him into the
ways of the Ginger and uphold our fine traditions of not being as other,
inferior felines such as the tabby or, a black and whitey (oh, the horror)...
My
unexpected incarceration has left Jazzer behind in his studies and we have much
to do today. I am Yoda to his Luke. I call him and he slopes towards me,
his head bowed in reverence and respect. I turn and the 'Phantom Menace' follows me at the
required three paces behind as we head to the tunnel under the road that leads
to the dark side...
May the
force be with us.
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