Intruder Alarm!

Millhouse, huddled in race car pose, was perched at the very top of next door's fir tree. He was swaying slightly in the breeze and studiously glaring at our patio windows. He had the expression of a husband whose wife has just run off with the milkman on his face! He's never been up there before but somehow knew that from this particular vantage point he would be able to observe all the activity in our living room, and the kitchen, as well as the garden. He had his reasons. It was actually both a territorial and a racial issue!
The territorial aspect being due to the unexpected intrusion of three visitors. The boy youngling, who has not long fled the nest, had brought his girlfriend back to collect some belongings. Well, as things go, that's OK. Humans are generally sympathetic to a cat's needs and therefore happily, (and purringly) welcomed; but with them (this being the racial matter) had come a woofer! Yes, a big black clumsy stumbling woofer whose wildly wagging tail thumped cupboards and whose spittle laden tongue flapped and flailed dribble about like an uncontrolled garden hose-pipe.
This noisy incumbent had lolloped into the kitchen, without so much as a please or thank you, and launched his big wide pink lapping paddle into our water bowl. Empty within about four laps; most of the water had fallen drenching the carpet. He then proceeded to slurp up any odd cat crunchy bits lying in our bowls and proceeded to howl until allowed for a trot around the garden. There was nowhere safe for Millhouse to go but out and, he instinctively knew, up!
So atop the tree he stood sentry for two hours through all the wind and rain!
"When God designed the woofer he must have been in a hurry!" he thought to himself. "He stuck the funnel in one ear and distractedly poured in two litres of enthusiasm. Then just one drip of common sense, when, 'Oops! Was that the doorbell?' and off he went to pay the milkman. (Shouldn't really mention him twice under the circumstances, should I?)
Anyway, eventually normality was resumed. The visitors left, and after making a mental note to associate the male youngling's arrival in future with a woofer alert, Millhouse came home; to a fresh bowl of pussy num-nums.
But wait! 'I can't eat this!' he turned to mister in dismay. 'This bowl is contaminated. Contaminated with...with...what is it? Yes, woofer slobberiness!
'He backed off in abject disgust; as though the bowl contained a dollop of doggy do. A very personal slight on his dignity from those un-empathising humans.
So, with a human hand on hip and a sigh, those bowls had to be washed, refilled and checked by the local food and hygiene police.
'Fussy?! What do you mean, fussy? Good heavens, folks! We're cats, damn it! We have standards and we won't let you forget it!'
'What was I doing throughout this little drama, you ask?'
Nicely curled up on the humans' bed out of harm's way.
I confess to having had just one ear on woofer alert, but this is where age and experience count as far as a puss cat is concerned. Me scared of woofers? Pah!!!



Herky