JAN 8th
D.I.
Zeuss has been practicing his interrogation techniques on me.
He sat on my chest as I lay on the couch exhausted after my first
day back at the GYM after 3 weeks of idleness, gluttony and bacchanalia.
“So”, said Zeuss, pressing his nose against mine, “Where
were you between the hours of 9 and 11am this morning?”
“At the GYM”, D.I. Zeuss”.
“And what, precisely were you doing at the said GYM?”
“Exercising D.I. Zeuss”.
“Exercising your right to…?”
“Just exercising”.
“Yes but didn’t you perhaps, exercise your right to,
say, kill someone?” he said dramatically, looking at Grommart
and Sticky to make sure they were watching.
I looked at him and rolled my eyes, “I most certainly was
not killing anyone Zeuss”.
He squinted enigmatically at me, “So let’s just say
you were exercising your right to exercise your right then”,
he said.
“He’s very good isn’t he?” said Grommart
admiringly.
D.I. Zeuss lowered his face against mine, his nose pressed against
my ear, there was a long silence while I waited for his final summation.
Suddenly I realised he was snoring. I figured my interrogation
was over.
Jan 9th
Phantom
got some new shoes today. He’s been wearing them out
in a matter of weeks so I asked for 6 inch heels.
“Six inch heels!!” scoffed Persil, “What is this?
Pimp My Horse?”
Phantom looked slyly at me and gently grabbed my fingers with his
lips, “Actually”, he said, “I quite like the
idea. It’s kind of, well, GLAMOROUTH”, and he batted
his eyelashes at Persil.
Persil looked aghast, for a little Aussie Stock Horse, this was
too much.
I had to assure him we joking and that no one was getting 6 inch
heels, not even me.
6 carrots later Persil was placated and to my relief I noticed
the two of them playing together in a ‘matey’ sort
of way later that afternoon.
Jan 10th
Television
is appalling at the moment. Endless reruns of The Simpsons
and Reality TV abound. The cats and I sat around suggesting
titles for new Reality shows that we would watch…
‘REFUR MY CAT’ suggested by Zeuss, referring to Flossom,
whose fur is growing back at an alarming rate.
‘SUPER SIAMESE ME’ growled Flossom, though Zeuss has
been doing this for a while now.
‘SPECIAL CATS UNIT’ said Zeuss, looking at the mad
Grommart.
Then we remembered the Reality Show we used to have – ‘SURVIVOR
TROPICAL FISH TANK’ – this was a long running show
featuring a team of mad Guppies pitted against an athletic and
determined Team Danio. Unfortunately the tank had to be left back
in Hawkes Bay as it was too big to transport. We will be setting
up another.
‘THE FISH TANK’s GOT TALENT’ self explanatory
really.
‘SENSING DINNER’ – another Flossom suggestion.
‘C.S.I. MCLEODS RD’, where D.I. Zeuss investigates
the mysterious disappearance of 5 mice and a rabbit. Zeuss looked
pleased with himself when this was suggested by Sticky.
“’FAT CATS CAN’T HUNT’” suggested
by Zeuss looking at no one in particular.
After that suggestion, there was a furious battle and Zeuss and
Flossom were escorted outside to cool off.
Jan
11th
D.I. Zeuss came screaming in from the fields wailing like a siren.
His fur was standing on end and his eyes were wide open for once. “The
COWS are REVOLTING!” he wailed.
“You’re telling me”, growled Flossom, “Cows
are foul”.
“Actually,” said Sticky, who has studied such things, “COWS
are of the BOVINE persuasion.”
Meanwhile, I could see the ‘revolting’ cows busting
through the electric fence. Zeuss was quite right; they had staged
a break-out in search of water. Their own water trough had sprung
a leak and they were coming over to take over the horses’ trough.
It took most of the day to restore peace and calm. Later I noticed
some of the cows standing around the trough obviously trading ‘water
cooler’ jokes with the horses.
Jan 12th
The
House God has lost his voice altogether.
He looked up at me as I bent over to kiss him good morning.
“Oh Zeuss”, I said, “Are you ok?”
He pointed to his mouth.
“Oh dear,” I said, “Have you lost your voice?”
He nodded pathetically.
Flossom smirked, “I’m sure I saw him put it down a
rabbit hole”, she said. Zeuss glared at her. She continued, “It’ll
probably turn up in somebody’s stew”.
Both cats got unceremoniously dumped outside again.
Jan 13th
Brent
and I spent the day tackling the wilderness that surrounds
the house in town.
We slashed and burned our way through the back yard. I expected
to find several lost tribes and maybe a rare man-eating Southern
Yeti. There was evidence they existed there once.
Brent heaved aside a mound of tangled vines and hacked at a towering
Toi toi clump. He wrestled something in the undergrowth. Suddenly
he yelled. I rushed over, vaguely wondering if I should be armed
and ready to fight for our lives, but it was too late. He proudly
held aloft the limp form of something that looked as if it had
been in a ferocious battle but had been defeated. “LOOK!” yelled
Brent triumphantly, “My underpants; they blew off the line
last year”.
Jan 14th
I told the cats about Brent’s’ missing underpants.
D.I.
Zeuss was very interested.
“Did you question them?” he asked.
“Zeuss,” I said, “You can’t question a
pair of underpants”.
“And why not?”
I rolled my eyes.
“They were probably traumatized”, said Grommart knowledgeably.
“SO”, said D.I. Zeuss, pacing the floor, “We
have, a pair of traumatized underpants, turning up, out of nowhere,
after one whole year, of no contact; did ANYONE,” and here
he spun round and pointed at each of the cats in turn, “bother
to file a missing underpants report?”
They all shook their heads solemnly.
I was shaking my head in disbelief.
“So I take it”, D.I. Zeuss continued, “We don’t
actually know, at this stage, whether the underpants in question,
were in fact, abducted and held prisoner, in which case they may
have formed a bond with their captors”; here, Sticky interjected – “That
would be known as the Stockingholme Syndrome”, he said. The
cats have been watching far too much television lately.
“Thank you, yes,” said D.I. Zeuss continuing, “or,
if they were able to escape”.
He stopped and washed his face with well licked paw.
Sticky and Grommart were very impressed. Flossom looked at me somewhat
crossly.
“Is he talking about what I think he is talking about?” she
asked, raising her furry eyebrows at me, “YES” I replied,
relieved that there was at least one sane cat in the house. “That’s
shocking”, she continued, “Those underpants will never
get over it”.
