Caedmon was an early English Christian poet who lived in Whitby in the 7th century. The writer of this blog has no pretensions to such exalted gifts, and for this reason (as well as the fact that the name has already been taken) has chosen his Cat. They say that a cat can look at a king; this cat certainly does that. He's also had a good Christian education from his master, and he's quite prepared to use it when necessary.
Friday, 6 May 2011
A Fur Result?
You might be gratified to know that I eventually did wake up after my Election/Referendum-induced nap. To be perfectly honest, I was vaguely hoping that the issue which had stimulated the sleep reflex within me had actually been nothing more than an intolerably dull dream - but once reality took hold of my awakening mind, I realised that I'd awoken into the same grimy and slushy morass that had overcome me with torpor in the first place. Life is full of disappointments.
Once I'd woken up with a good breakfast and had a briefing from my benevolent master Caedmon, I thought it only right and proper that I should go round and visit Blaeck Clegge (the Dear Shepherd and Leader of the Liberationist Faction) to congratulate him on such an astounding victory in the Elections - for both his faction's successes in the local Witangemots and for the Alternative Voting System Referendum. A New Age Has Dawned. Meh...
Why did I decide to congratulate him? - you might ask. According to what Beeby See and her other dribbling soothsayer colleagues are saying, he and his Faction have endured the most humiliating defeat of all recorded history (well - since the last one, at least). But I'm applying a kind of reverse logic here; after careful and considered observation, it appears to my feline mind that if Beeby See and her equally imbecilic country cousins call something black, it must be white - and vice versa. Since they all appear to have a natural propensity to either lie or exaggerate at the very least, it only seems reasonable that the opposite of what they're saying is actually true. And what Clegge's Liberationist colleagues have been saying is that they have achieved an outstanding victory through the overwhelming support of the public. This is truly a victory for Common Sense. Well - if that's what they're saying, it must be correct. All of the backroom deals and the reneging of electoral promises has been vindicated by the overwhelming support of the electorate.
So. I went over to Blaeck Clegge's substantial home to try and find him to pass on my hearty congratulations and best wishes. The front door was shut, and didn't open in response to my call. Fortunately, there was an open window, so I made use of it. No one was at home - but I noticed that La Señora Clegge had been in the process of preparing some home-made chorizos; it was evident that she'd been interrupted, and had left the ingredients ready to continue work upon them upon her return. I tasted the mixture; it was saturated with unhealthy gristle, fat, herbs and garlic, and it left an unpleasant taste on my refined palate. I felt strangely sick.
When they return home, they'll find an enhanced version of their chorizo mixture. Suffice it to say that it's that time of year where I moult. Copiously. Blaeck Clegge with have a dietary supplement which will help to compensate for one thing - despite his outstanding successes - that he lacks.
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