“I wish we had a garden.” I said.
The cat gave me one of those looks.
“Okay. I wish I had a garden.”
The cat yawned a Bored, bored, I’m very bored. Please someone, shoot that guy yawn.
“No, really. Then, when I’d like to go senile for a bit, I could potter about – potter, potter, potter – and talk to the flowers, admonish the leek, feed the birds…”
Swish, goes the cat’s tail; flubblub, goes the cat’s tongue.
“Okay, it would probably save both us some time if I fed you those birds directly. But then, when the girlfriend arrives…”
“What?!” said the cat.
“The girlfriend – when she arrives…”
“Yesss…?”
“Then you could stay out there, in the garden, till she went back to Tokyo again.”
“Over your dead body!”
“Ah, but I’m so much bigger than you. Over your dead body: now, that would be real easy, if we had a garden. And then I could plant some flowers on top of you. Or a bird feeder – yes, that would be nice: all those pretty birds visiting your grave each morning. Quite touching, really.”
(Insert some unspeakable cat noises here.)
“So, no garden then?” I asked the cat, when it had run out of expletives and out of the room, through the huff side of the cat flap.
Silence.
One Mississippopotamus – two Mississippopotamus – three Mississippo… and yes: one very annoyed and very paranoid cat’s head peeped through cat flap space.
“So, when will she get here?” it asked.
“Who?”
“That bloody woman, of course. You don’t want a stupid garden.”
“I don’t?”
“Not on your life. You’re much too lazy to want a garden.”
“True.”
“So, when is she coming?”
“Next week.”
“Right, I’m off. But I’ll be back!”
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