Cool Cats

Yes, there it was again; a cinch, a dead give-away. A scratching sound, at the window pane. I was instantly awake, from dreaming of chasing bunnies or something. This had to be it - the big one. You work it out.

I threw back three fingers of Munch Bunch Drinky's, the snack of mega Cowboy grub could wait; I couldn't be loaded down, not tonight. This was the big one, and I was ready to cut the mustard. I was shod in my velvets, with the funky fur trims. I sure could cut a dash, be in a hurry like. Those wide boys would be out there waiting for me to show, but I could outsmart the lot of them. Old Clive was still champ, the business, and tonight, man, I was in business, the business - get the drift??

Want me to wise you guys up? So this is the score, the plan... to get to the Vicarage to scoop the Nestles full cream condensed milk in the Royal Worcester dish, which dishy Linda, the Rector's wife, always puts out on Christmas Eve, for her, excuse my smile which could sell a million, for her cute and cuddly friends. My mission? To get to her place before Fr Felix and his Frantic Cats stole the show with a racket, "Christians Awake, Salute the Happy Morn." I knew I was no match for this guy.

The window was firmly closed, so I made my way through my hatch. "OK Grandma," I said, "I'm with you. Let's go, shift, it's going to be a doddle." The set-up was the living end. The night - calm, still, with a full-moon. We cut a dash along to the Vicarage. All the little church mouse daisies would be tucked away replete on their raid of Harvest Festival stash. No need to be side-tracked by a squeak. Our object was a dead give-away - get to Linda's place - but quick, man. Then we saw them, Fr Felix and his gang, already tuning up. We flung ourselves into the attack, but then we heard it... a sweet gush of "Oh look!! Clive is here as well, with his friend. That means we will put another plateful out" said Fr Mike. I mean, this was the end, get the picture? Those cool cats had won.... again!!

Oh well!

Happy New Year, all.

Rosemary Goulding

 this item was written for the New Year but unfortunately missed the deadline for the February issue.