Well, the start of this week was quite summery with nice long warm evenings, so both Millhouse and I have whiled away many hours outside. I usually select interesting spots in the garden, dependant upon sun and shade, where I settle down. Some serious wildlife observation or deep, deep thinking follows for many hours. I find the speed of thought is interdependent upon the fullness of tummy and outside temperature. The formula being b = (2f + 1t)3w whereby b = brain activity, f = fullness of tummy, t = temperature and w = amount of tail wagging required.
Mister, rather unkindly I reckon, says I can't be thinking very much because all that's inside my head are two bits of frayed wire connected to a dimly glowing light bulb. He is forgetting the micro-circuits of NAND, AND and OR gates required to activate my purring motor, ear swivels, night vision and walking sticks! So that's how much he knows!
Indeed, Charlie from next door became quite the million dollar cat after several road accidents. His numerous metal parts gained him the nick-name Mecha-cat. He used to cross our garden amidst a whirring sound of servo-motors. Involuntarily, he followed the earth's magnetic lay-lines, we think.
Millhouse, the young whipper snapper, still has his youthful wanderlust and body parts intact. So, during these hazy evenings and, unbeknown to Mister and Mrs, he goes off over the (killing) fields to play with mice, rabbits and probably Mister Fox too. On Tuesday he was apparently having such a great time out that he couldn't be bothered to come home for breakfast. (Good! Double helpings for me that morning.)
But later, things got a bit fraught in the house when he even failed to come home for tea the next day. Mister walked down the lane and round the fields making,"psss, psss psss!" noises. Local dog walkers crossed the road to avoid the strange man who obviously sought to relieve himself pretty soon!
Well, it was all to no avail. Seemingly, Millhouse had evaporated. I have to admit that part of me thought, "Good, no more competition for attention or vying for the most grub!" But then again, I was saddened to think how much I'd miss showing him who's the boss around these parts. I often wrestle his shoulders to the ground. He would be missed on that basis.
Then the creeping thought that he may have met with some awful fate occurred. Would we find a body? Oh,no! Not another garden burial; along with my forbears old Simpkins the cat, Herbert and Gwendoline the hamsters, and Godfrey the goldfish under the apple trees!
The tension was relieved when our famous neighbour Elizabeth Taylor (famous in name only, I might add) knocked on the door very late on Wednesday evening. Millhouse had turned up on her doorstep as though nothing untoward had happened. He calmly sauntered into our house and was pilloried by surprised, excited voices from the humans. Despite being questioned at length and in depth about what he'd been up to, true to the law of all puss cats, he remained schtum. Pushing his ears back in the "whaaaaaaat?" manner that we do so well, he proceeded towards his bowl, sat down purposefully and demanded, "My supper please, if you don't mind." Defiantly he outstared Mister until a pouch of (foreign) vilt was belched out before him. I don't think I heard a whirring noise when his tail went up in gratitude. Let's hope not.
Such a fuss humans make, don't they! We do as we please and are answerable to no-one. Wouldn't mind a stroke and tickle behind the ear right now though. Ooops! That OR gate has kicked in and I've started purring. The light is on! The thoughts come flooding through.
Herky
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