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The Pet Cat.


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She said, 'Oh lets have that one. The little one. We'll call it Daisy Belle. It'll be something I can love instead of having to look at your fat face'. I said, 'I ain't so sure. It's got a mean menacing look about it. I mean look at its claws and its teeth. We could be picking a killing machine here'.

'No', she said, ' I want Daisy bloody Belle.'

And we did. Of the litter of nine, we picked Daisy bloody Belle who, in the fullness of time turned out to be the most spiteful and mean spirited cat I could have ever encountered.

To the wife and every single person that crosses our bloody threshold, its, 'ain't she sweet' and 'oh she's so beautiful and gentle'. To me however, I've other conclusions about this beast from hell that's now camped up in my humble dwelling.

The bloody cat, who I refuse to call Daisy bloody Belle, hates me. She, you see, sees me as her prey. She's entirely instinctive and when she decides to hunt and she hunts moreoften than I'd like her to hunt, its bloody me that gets it.

And when this horror of a feline menace pounces, drags her claws down my fat legs and I howl, 'bloody hell!', she the wife says, 'don't scream in pain. You'll scare Daisy Belle'. And this is now the way of things in this once peaceful home. Im sat there minding me own bloody business whilst the cat decides on how to attack me, what weapons to use from her considerable armery and from which position she'll pounce and inflict her wounds.

And when, as I often do, I stagger home, pop the bloody key in the door, the game begins for this cat that now has become the centre of my wife's world. No matter that when I get in through the door and I've got a scratching, clawing and biting member of the animal kingdom dug into my neck, its always the same, 'Dont you scare Daisy Belle'.

Well I'll tell you now, not that anyone has asked, the clock is ticking on little Daisy Belle and I'll be damned if I sit back and put up with this unprovoked onslaught any longer. Course, its how to do the job isn't it. How to commit the crime and escape any blame.

I've thought about staging a Road Traffic Accident. I get into the car, Daisy Belle is nibbling on some salmon that I've covertly placed at the back of the car, I then reverse over her and rush in shouting, 'Honey. It's a tragedy, I've flattened Daisy Belle. Our lives will never be complete again'. Course, me problem is I've got the Neighbourhood Watch Coordinator living opposite and she's a curtain twitcher. Nosey bloody woman! And worse, she's got her own Camera Security system which makes the whole accident scenario near on impossible to carry out.

Mind, I could creep out late at night and smash the lens of the camera. That'd sort it. But, what of the film footage that's captured of me creeping across the road carrying a hammer to do the smashing. That'd have to be destroyed, which means, if I want to get away with the crime Im going to have to break in to the Cordinators house and steal the film footage.

Mind, then its, what happens if the Cordinator wakes up and challenges me as Im about to make off with the stolen property. I'd have no choice would I. I'd have to strangle her and then dispose of the body. But where to get rid of the evidence. Say someone sees me racing across the Lugg flats carrying the body of the local Neighbourhood Watch Coordinator.

There's no end to is there! In the space of just a few minutes, I've flattened the cat, burgled a house, murdered a woman and been caught dumping a body on the Lugg flats. And for what? A bloody cat!

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Being a member of the feline fraternity I say touch a whisker on Daisy Belle’s face and I will have the Cat Police at your door before you can say Bill Norman.


Cats are sensitive creatures and clearly DB is picking up on your hostility for all things council and interpreting it as your desire to do her or possibly also your wife some harm.  Therefore, she has gone into full defensive and protective mode.


Tempt her with treats such as saucers of cream, some lightly poached salmon, Cray fish tails and minced chicken.  Encourage her onto your knee with the aid of a fluffy blanket.  Stroke her head whilst telling the background to gravy trains and why they make you feel cross. 


In no time you will find that both of you benefit from each other’s proximity.  You will no longer need your anger management classes and will become a calm, relaxed person.  In turn she will refrain from attempting to attack you.  You may even forget all the evils that drive you to tap and who knows you and Bill may become best mates meeting for regular p*** ups at The Commercial Hotel.

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