Editorial

He puts the “cat” into “Aargh, get this damned cat off of me!”

No, piss off, Horatio, I’m trying to write. Fine, have a banana, you accursed elephant. No, don’t do that, oh, now look, you’ve made a mess on the cashmere carpet. It’s going to take an age for Mrs Blackstone to get that out. And don’t touch that, that’s a genuine Cézanne. Right that’s it, now I’m angry…

For sale: elephant burgers; tuppence a bun; 100% organic; no questions asked.

Right, that’s that sorted. Now, where was I? Oh yes, so I got a call from the President of the Old Cats Society – my dearly beloved friend, General Spikspane – last Thursday, asking if I could be the key note speaker at their annual meeting. I must say, I was rather honoured with such a proposal and accordingly spent the weekend picking out my best bowtie. Unfortunately, I got down to the event on Saturday evening, running slightly late due to an overturned lorry, only to discover that upstart – Lord Flashton – had been asked to fill in due to my absence. I sat seething through three minutes of that excrement he called a speech before storming out. I swear Lord Flashton will rue the day he took this speech from me.

So, what’s in the news? We’ve invaded Mali and we want nurseries to look after more children to alleviate pressures on the home. They both sound like eminently sensible policies. If only we could find some way to combine them…

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