Editorial

He found that special someone: then he killed it, ripped off its head and deposited it on your doormat

Because that’s what I do. I’m a horrible human being, but I’m a marvellous cat. There’s no shame in that. But this one will be different. Her name is Lady Flageoleté; we met rehearsals for Meldidrew’s “My Soul Lies In Harlaxton Manor” – she was playing Queen Twiddlydiddlydee. We got talking and I felt we built up a good rapport over the intricacies of dog-baiting. We share a passion for the finer things in life: sleeping, chasing balls of string, catnip, tormenting small defenceless animals, everything a healthy person should be into.

So, I have high hopes for this woman. Wother-Borrington told me that it was his opinion that it was high time I settled down, ceased my constant feuding with my boiler and got out of the country. I told him where he could stick his opinions, but now I’m not so sure. Could this be the final reformation of Mr Cuddles the Cat?

So, what’s in the news? Ah, yes, my good friend, dear Pope Palpatine, has announced he’s going to step down. Weakling! What is he thinking of? I’ve been guzzling wine every day at work for the last 50 years, and it’s never done me any harm, but the man is complaining it’s impairing his ability to serve his public. I mean, he’s got the blooming Popemobile, it’s not like he has to walk anywhere, just raise his hand and flap it about a bit. Margaret, get me the Vatican, I want a word.

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