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.
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
The Great Groat Hunt
This morning as usual, I did my territorial survey around the beautiful seaside settlement of Streonaeshalch, and then went to pay a visit to His Worshipness Dagwald Caedmeron's office to render an exhaustive confession of all my activities and communications. Of course, I had to join a queue to be able to do this, and inevitably it took me some considerable time to work my way to the front, since many Northumbrian humans had a great deal to tell him. I think it's so public-spirited and plain kind of them to volunteer their personal details to His Nibs. I hope he's decent enough to acknowledge this - but I have my doubts...
During my own interview with him (it's so good of him to see me - after all, I'm only a cat), I was regaling him with accounts of all my daily encounters with mice, conversations with Feaxede the Fox, my recent visit to see my big feline friend Leo (remember him? He's still OK, but very bored with his oversized playpen), when I detected a look of distraction creep over Caddy Boy's face. His attention was evidently diverted down a cul-de-sac elsewhere, and he apologised for interrupting me mid-flow, but could he please be excused? If I wanted to supply any more details, I could always pop next door and see Mother May Trees - the Domestic Servant. I had little choice but to grant him leave, but before he departed, I asked him if I might ask the reason for his sudden departure. He told me that he had urgent financial matters to attend to for the Pig Society, and hurriedly left the premises.
So I went to see the formidable May Trees, and after yet another queue I volunteered my information. Living in a Northumbrian Kingdom police state is certainly a tedious and time-consuming business. A cat has better things to do with his time. I was certainly not a little peeved when I perceived that Mother May Trees' eyelids were drooping as I told her verbatim what I said to Feaxede yesterday, and what he uttered by way of reply. After sending her into a catatonic state with my fulsome accounts of my comings and goings (I can still hear the snoring), I decided to slink out of her office. Blow this for a game of soldiers. If they want any information from me in the future, they can damn well find out for themselves; I don't see why I should waste my time if the dolts can't even stay awake. If they think I'm a Viking terrorist who takes his strategy from the Eddas, then that's their problem. The ingratitude of the political classes - pah!
I asked my feline friend Lareow later what Caedmeron was up to. Lareow is (if you don't already know) the Official Custodian of Rodent Security in Caedmeron's busy residence, and he's a valuable source of hot goss. He told me that Caddy Boy has devised a New Wheeze to extract finances to support his ethereally obscure Pig Society enterprise. He's going to scour the streets for any dropped coins, and he's ordered his officials to search the tombs and graveyards of the Realm to salvage any spare hoards of cash that have been anonymously buried for the future delight of nerdish men with metal detectors.
This smacks of desperation in my humble feline opinion. What on earth is he really up to....?
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