Monday, March 21

Cats and drugs and motorbikes

I don’t like cats – and not many people I know like them either. In these politically correct times, it isn’t allowed that you can dislike anything but I don’t subscribe to the theory that the only things that are bad and you can freely revile are those things that 95% of the population agree with. So my definition of a cat is “A simple device to convert catfood into cat shit without doing anything particularly useful in between times”.

One of the women I know has 4 cats – and if a public toilet smelled as bad as her house, you wouldn’t use it. Her husband states that cats exude a pheromone that directly acts on the human brain making the person like cats. So it acts like a drug I suppose. I can well believe it. Nothing else can explain the irrationality that causes women in particular to dote on their four legged fleabags and their blindness to their behaviour. Watching a cat shred a £1500 settee and the owner sitting there watching and allowing it to happen is a form of insanity IMHO. “It’s their nature” they claim. It’s a dogs nature to chase cats but dogs should be exterminated because of their cruelty and viciousness towards moggies. Contrast that with the way a cat catches and deliberately tortures birds and mice. It’s their nature - which must be tolerated again. Logical? The pheromone theory certainly gains credence when the double standards applied to their pets are examined dispassionately.

Saturday was a nice day, so I had a tootle around on my motorbike. Newcastle has “The Hill” which if you are a motorcyclist, it’s why God made Saturdays. A full street lined with motorbike shops, motorbike accessory shops and on a sunny Saturday, motorbikes. It has a website and is a Mecca for bikes and riders and the wannabees wandering around admiring the kit. I like to go up and see what I can’t afford. So I parked Bruno (the bike) up and had a wander up and down, watching the posers, the flash boys and the impressionable. Wait there long enough and the world will pass by – often at high speed on a motorbike but let it pass, just enjoy the sights and sounds.

The bike was a bit dusty so decided to wash it (and if you see the state of my car, you’d understand what a sacrifice of my time and effort this was). I’d sooner ride the thing than wash it.

Anyway, I had washed it and was rinsing it down with a hosepipe/pistol gun thingy. It converts a hosepipe into a giant water pistol with the full pressure of Keilder Water (the largest man made lake in Europe) behind it. Next doors cat strolled along the wall and across my garage door. I hissed at it and gave it my best “hard Paddington Bear stare”. It didn’t work as it uses my back garden for a toilet (which of course is their nature and I shouldn’t object) and I usually try the constipated gargoyle expression through my dining room window to scare it off. It is well used to it so it didn’t react. So I squirted it with water. It ran along the fence and crossed over so it was facing its own back yard. There it paused and stood looking back over its shoulder with it’s tail up. MISTAKE!! I shot from the hip and caught it right up the Jake.

Try THAT for your pheromones you crap filled fleabag.

Most satisfying!

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