As Vernon and I have had 'flu, I'm not exactly ready for Christmas. Just the other day, a lender's representative called in, bringing a much welcome gift - a bottle of Glayva liqueur. Just the thing to sip upon when feeling yucky - guaranteed to bring a warm glow when feeling full of nasty sniffs and sneezes! So I thought I should offer this person a cup of tea or coffee at the very least. Coffee was the agreed beverage so I set the kettle on to boil and ladled freshly ground coffee into the cafetiere. As we sat and chatted, Waffles was wandering about and placed herself on top of a computer monitor, curling up to warm her nether regions. At about this point, I bemoaned my lack of preparedness for Christmas saying, "Why I haven't even had a chance to organise a turkey for Christmas Day!" I thought nothing more of this at all. After a coffee or three, our guest left and as she did so, Waffles ran out of the front door and off into the garden.

A little while later, Vernon had to answer the call of nature and enthroned himself into the downstairs loo. Next thing I hear him calling out, "Helen! Helen!" Thinking he had flushed himself down the U-bend, I rushed to the loo door and opened it, to find him sitting there, trousers and pants round his ankles, but generally looking fine. "What's up?" I asked. "That cat has a bird outside, I'm sure of it." I heard nothing but gently opened the front door. A mighty black-furred, one-eyed, feline huntress strolled in, complete with very alive and quite large thrush clamped in her jaws. Waffles gave her usual "Mowwww-zz" greeting. "Silly cat! That's not a mouse, it's a bird. Give the nice bird to Mummy." I said. Waffles was deeply offended at my feeble attempt at humour, so she just said, "Mowwww-zz!" again and refused to give the bird to me. By now the thrush looked up at me with pleading eyes, and a very perturbed "Squawk!" uttered from its beak. "Waffles, give the nice birdie to Mummy, please." I asked. "Hiissssspitt!" was the response. A sort of feline, "Go forth and multiply" answer, judging from the tone of it. At this point, the thrush looked at me with a sort of strangulated expression, as feline jaws clamped ever firmer on its feathers. I grasped Waffles firmly by the scruff of her neck and said, "Waffles, give the nice birdie to Mummy NOW!" Once again, Waffles questioned my parentage and suggested something about me taking a personal visit to a taxidermist without the use of anaesthetics. At this point, I grasped the side of her jaws and managed to get a hold of the thrush - by now looking very strangulated indeed, with its wings flapping wildly. This managed to cause Waffles to release her grip and the thrush dropped to my hand. Being a feeble human, my reactions weren't as quick as the birds. I managed to get a hold of it, but not firmly enough. The bird squawked, flapped its wings with all its might and flew out of my hand. As it did so, it flew around the hallway and dive-bombed the offending feline and yours truly with biological warfare - it crapped on us. It didn't settle for this, oh no, it also crapped on the walls as it flapped around the hallway. I managed to open the front doorway and Mother Nature's own B-52 flew out into the garden and off into the distance, squawking loudly as it did so.

I stopped and gathered my breath, feeling a trickle of something avian and unmentionable running down my forehead. The same unmentionable stuff was running down the walls and was taking the paint of the walls as it did so! Good grief! What was it doing to my skin? What was it doing to Waffles's fur? I grabbed Waffles and ran to the upstairs bathroom, turned on the cold tap of the bath and held a less than happy one-eyed black cat in the flow. Not my best move of the day. Waffles turned into a ball of fur with razor blades attached, wriggled free, and made sure I will not have to shave my legs or exfoliate for several weeks. I then washed off the avian deposit from my forehead. I limped downstairs, followed by a wet black cat who was seriously questioning my parentage once more to find Vernon washing down the walls in the hallway. The thrush's "offerings" really had brought the paint off the walls and there were lines where the paint had been removed at various splash points around the walls. Oh dear. Guess what I'll be having to do over the Christmas? I looked at the walls, looked at Vernon and said, "Sh*t!" "How very observant you are my darling, for indeed, that is what it is." said Vernon. I looked at a bedraggled wet black feline huntress sitting on the floor next to me. "It's all her fault! If only she'd have just given me the d**ned bird, none of this would have happened!" I wailed. "Never mind, dear," said Vernon, "She was only trying to help with the Christmas shopping. After all, you did say you hadn't had time to go out and buy a turkey for Christmas lunch."

Copyright © Helen Simmons
December 23, 2001