Excuse me Philip, I don’t mean to interrupt as I can see you are engaged in some deeply important gazing out of the window, but if you could stop chewing the end of that pencil for just a moment…
Oh. Erm, yes… who’s that speaking.
Me. Here. On the steps behind you. The cat.
Cat? You mean… Well, Squeak, as impressed as I am by your sudden ability to communicate in impeccable English, and not your customary caterwauling, you’ve got to appreciate that I’m in the middle of some very important work? I have neither the time nor the inclination to exchange pleasantries with a creature that has a brain the size of a Dreamie.
But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Philip. You don’t write nearly enough about cats. It’s getting you a bad name in the Armley cat community.
Are you sure you’ve come to the right website? This is meant to be a serious cultural forum. We debate the arts. We review stuff at The Howard Assembly Room. We use words like “semiotic”. This isn’t “Cats of Armley”.
That’s what you think. Nobody wants to read all that guff you write about the Playhouse or Leeds Grand Theatre – though we all loved your review of Cats last year. We noticed you did something about dogs the other day… it’s a step in the right direction. Why don’t you do something about that great trick I do with a ring of plastic I robbed from the bin?
I bloody well won’t. It’s a crap trick, Squeak, and if you knew how daft you looked when you get a pot of hummus stuck on your head you’d stop doing it.
How about my charming little ways then? Tell them how I jump on your head at four in the morning and we share a little joke about me not being able to tell the time?
But that’s not even amusing.
Makes me laugh.
It’s just irritating. Look here Squeak, I’m prepared to put up with a lot of things – even treading on another pile of cat vomit while going to the loo in the middle of the night – but I’m not going to have any of these twee, arch, saccharine stories on this website. Bugger off and go chase a mouse or something.
Not until you have written something about cats.
There’s nothing much to say about cats. Cats… cats are a bit dull.
I bet you’d have something to say if I came over there and scratched your face off, Philip. Anyway, you could write something about Connie.
Connie?
Yes, Connie… my sister?
I know who she is. Or should that be what she is?
I’ve heard you talking to her all the time.
So, I talk to the cat. There’s nothing very unusual about that.
That’s not the whole story, is it Philip?
Honestly Squeak, there’s nothing to tell. Can we drop it?
Drop it I scratch your eyes out.
Look, it’s not even interesting, nothing to write home about. I was cooking dinner last night, gnocchi and some fresh pesto seeing as you are so interested. Radio 4 was on, the news. And I simply asked Connie what she thought of the Labour Manifesto.
Out loud?
Yes.
You asked a cat if she was a Corbynista?
Well, if you put it like that, I suppose I did.
And? Go on then.
There’s nothing else to say. You’ve obviously spoken to your sister and know she’s a Socialist Worker supporter. She was bitterly critical at the level of corporation tax and wanted more action in support of education and health. No Trident and all that. She’s quite the orator once she gets going…
And you say you’ve got nothing to write about cats?
I haven’t… obviously one of us may have had a bottle of wine whilst shaving the parmesan, but I thought the cat made a good case nonetheless.
Anyway, you promised to mention it on the website.
I did no such thing! I said if I had a quiet day and nothing else popped into my head I may find time to write a sentence or two.
If I refrain from scratching out your eyeballs will you write a blog post?
Here Squeak, look a Dreamie…