Ode To Idleness!

Fellow readers please forgive
That late I have not written,
It's because I'm such a lazy lump
No more a lively kitten.

But old two legs pouch face threatens
If I don't write some more,
He'll only give me crunchy bits
And shut the bedroom door.

But I haven't just been snoozing;
No, not sitting under my laurel(s)
I've had two mice, n'chewed a frog
Not to mention other horrors!

So it's back to the world of Herkspeare
I'll tell of all my deeds
The garden's where things happen
Amongst the wildpatch weeds.

Herky

A New Simon's Cat! - *Fly Guy (Click here)*

Spot our little behaviour patterns!

Lord Mole-de-Morte

Scene: Hercules, having just regurgitated his fresh meal upon the back of the settee, now sits down the garden chewing the long grass. Lord Millhouse washes thoughtfully nearby..
Lord Millhouse: Oh, Sir Hercules, why 'tis dost thou chew upon the grasses so? Is it wizardry, I'd like to know! For as I sit and wash'n lick, I think this be what makes thee sick?
Sir Hercules (with wisdom in his eye): I seek the grasses with good reason; For they are best in summer season. A goodly blade stirs up the bile; and pretty soon out shoots a pile. Alack! That it was o'er the settee; For now old Two-Legs will blame me.
Lord Millhouse: But why, o'wise one, wouldst thou sick thy dinner; only to be blamed and labelled sinner?
Sir Hercules: A secret 'tis why it is done; and is not privy to the human ones. You see, my friend, no sooner one is rid of dinner, one can plead for more; And yet stay thinner!
Lord Millhouse: Pooh! To that idea my friend. Methinks you must be round the bend. In the land of Bulimia they once did that; they called it the land of the skinny cat! See how I have a nice round tummy; 'Tis 'cause my food's so scrummy yummy!
Suddenly, Lord Millhouse suppresses a yawn as he spies some movement in the lawn.
Lord Millhouse: But wait! Here's my underworld chum, Lord Mole-de-Morte; He does often come. Tho' he maketh soil rise and fall, yet's never seen by me at all! How, I wonder dost he that; avoiding paw of pussy cat!
Sir Hercules: Ay, 'tis a wonder old Mole-de-Morte; He digs below our very thoughts. He moves in such mysterious ways, and in the dark lives out the days. They say he must come up for air; but know not I of when or where. Perhaps from Burnham Wood he wriggles, and seeks Dunsinane..ha ha!(Herk giggles!)
Lord Millhouse: Oh now, Cruel Sir! Enough of that! For I'm no fool of a pussy cat!
Mole-de-Morte tunnels off to their dismay, no doubt, we'll not see him today.


Herky

Lawn Walkin'!

Old Two-legs-pouch-face had been staring down the garden for some time with considerable curiosity, so I sat myself before the flatcap to see what could possibly be more important than attending to my gastronomic demands. Beyond the patio steps, the short stretch of lawn and the (pathetic human-built excuse for a) rocky outcrop, there is a small thicket of bamboo. Behind the latter I could see a static greyish mound. Was it a new rock? My eyes blackened. No, to me it looked more rear endish? Indeed, yes, I decided, t'was a rump for sure. A cat rump at that! "Aye there's the rump!" came to mind and I grinned to myself. My tail flicked in delight at my own humourous wit. "A Millhouse rump, methinks" and there he was, crouched, elbows next shoulder blades, with his queen Anne legs either side, staring intently at the grass before him. Well, "grass is grass, just as a fridge door is a fridge door," I thought. Can it be that Millhouse is deep in thought? Or observing the differences between Creeping Fescue and Rye? Unlikely! He's not one for intelligent botanical analyses. But he was so intent. Not an ear twitched, nor a whisker tweaked. I began to think he may have trapped a mouse or bird amongst the mass of bamboo stalks; was waiting to pounce when it emerged. But nothing was evident. No little brown thing wriggling amongst the stalks.
After a while, Millhouse began doing a little dance. Yes, he was nodding his head as if to a catchy Michael Jackson number! But I knew he hadn't taken his Ipod out with him; it was still on the kitchen worktop. Had he heard the news? Was this his kittenish response? Anyway, Millhouse can't moonwalk. He can't even walk normally. He slinks. But, getting more into his stride, he managed a 180 turn in one neat swirl followed by some more serious rhythmic head banging and fancy footwork. "Hey, Man! Get it on!" I muttered with spontaneous enthusiasm. "I do believe Rocky Robin's out there! Yeah!"
Eventually in a tremendous finale, Millhouse cantered a schizophrenic zig-zag round the lawn and raced up the cherry tree. Now that's what I call choreography!
"So you heard about Michael Jackson then?" I said when I finally met up with him for early afternoon tea. (As opposed to late afternoon tea which comes not long before early evening supper followed by bedtime supper and the 'go on give us some more' final chance moment.)
"Michael who?" He looked puzzled.
"You know, Jackson." I said. "All that dancing this afternoon. Getting it on man!"
"Goodness, I don't know what you're on about." He replied, "but it's the first time I've met a mole. Wild, man! Wild!"

Herky

Another Job For Two-Legs.

Scene: The garden patio. A blackbird is feeding his two young fledglings on their first outing from the nest. Lord Millhouse the badun' watches hungrily through the catflap ready to dash out and commit an evil deed.
Fx: The threatening sound of "Jaws" music is heard inside Lord Millhouse's head.
Mr Two-legs: You can forget that little plan right away, young Millhouse! You'll be having a civilised breakfast like the rest of us.
He locks the catflap just as Lord Millhouse presses his head against the clear plastic. Lord Millhouse scrabbles and meows in protest.
Lord Millhouse: But I only want to play with them. You know, pat them on the back. Chivvy them along a bit. Play chase around the garden.
Mr Two-legs: Oh really? How silly of me. Oh yes, I'll let you out if you play nice and gently Millhouse .....the badun'! And to think I thought you just might want one itty bitty blackbird for breakfast. How unfair of me not to trust you!
Lord Millhouse: Yeth, it is unfair, Mr Nasty man! You always think the worst of me, pouch face. Why only two weeks ago, didn't I bring old Yorick home alive and well to live in our kitchen? Now he lives happily in luxury in the summer house. Rejoice, merry Yorick. I raised his standard of living, didn't I Hercules?
I stare blankly at the fridge door and flick the tip of my tail as if to say, "don't include me in this discussion!"
Lord Millhouse: See, I don't always murder my playmates. Now let me out!
Mr Two-legs: Nope! I'm sorry but you're not going out there to cause mayhem with the baby birds on their first day out; after all the hard work their mummy and daddy have done and all. Now, go and have a wash somewhere and forget about the birdies.
He flapped his hands at Lord Millhouse impatiently.
Lord Millhouse: Meanie! I am going to play with the new birdies so there! Let me out, rotter!
He scratches and scrabbles at the catflap then trots through the house to the front door and pulls at the carpet. There's no way out.
Mr Two-legs: I said forget it! Go and flop down somewhere for half an hour, for goodness sake!
Lord Millhouse continues to walk around the house for some time, noticeably agitated. Then all goes quiet.
A while later Mr Two-legs enters into the kitchen where Lord Millhouse and I are in our 'Lions at rest' poses discussing the MP's expense claims scandal.
Mr Two-legs: OK. Paws up, who left the pile of poo on the bathroom carpet?
I put my ears back, in surprise. Millhouse grins smugly and turns his head the other way.
Mr Two-legs: Well thankyou very much, boys!
There's a clatter as the carpet shampoo machine is prepared.
It's just another day. Gosh! I'm starving!


Herky

Yorick, Wherefore Art Thou?

It seems that Yorick the field mouse has taken up residence in the summer house. The Two-legs-es were taking advantage of the warm Spring weather to groom the garden and Lady Two-legs was rummaging for the garden rake amongst the tangled clump of long handled implements when there was a dual leaping in the air as Yorick and Lady Two-legs surprised one another simultaneously.
Lord Millhouse-the-bad'un was promptly set down inside the summer house to investigate. With the usual puzzled expression on his face, he sniffed a few things, and gazed around nonchalantly. Sadly, unlike Poirot, he hasn't many little grey cells to call upon in such circumstances, and he quickly uttered a, "Pah!" and walked out again in a matter of seconds.
"Definitely nothing doing in there!" He concluded in a French, nay Belgian accent and strolled off onto the lawn to flop on his back. "That cloud looks just like a bowl of cream," he mused with a lick. And that was that.
Yorick must have breathed a sigh of relief and got back to organizing his food hoard into 'best before' dates.
Me? Well I'm a bit disgruntled - having been quite happily gruntled yesterday I might add. You see the sunny, luxury upstairs boudoirs have been closed off to the feline fraternity on account of a visitor who is due to arrive this week and will be availing themselves of said rooms for a few days. The Two-legs-es feel we leave too many gritty, furry deposits on surfaces when we set up camp in nice clean rooms. All attempts to gain forced access have so far failed. I even tried the 'police raid' type rush as I've seen on TV to shoulder the door open accompanied by an angry yell, but it merely rattled. No sympathy was extracted from the Two-legs-es who stood at the bottom of the stairs, with arms firmly akimbo and brows tightly furrowed. I could see they were determined and so I huffily slunk off to the dining room chair where so far I've spent half the day feeling grumpy. The sort of grumpiness which only three extra meals could possibly placate.
It's half-term; the Two-legs-es are around all day, so additional sustenance can be purloined if one is persistent enough. A situation with which I am well acquainted and of which I always take full advantage!
"Get out of the way!" Says Mr Two-legs as I wind myself around his legs in the kitchen. (Care must be taken that extremities aren't trodden on.)
"What's the matter now?"
"But I fed you only half an hour ago!"
"Oh, for goodness sake!"
"You don't stop eating 'til it comes out the other end, do you?"
"Tutt! Oh, go on then!"
Then a nice fat pouch comes out of the cupboard. As it's ripped open with such impatient vigour, the gravy splats across the cupboard doors in a splendid orangey brown rainbow.
"Doh! Now look what you've made me do!"
"Bloomin' greedy lumpus pussus!"
I eat daintily and with composed dignity. (Just the one ear backwards)
Two-legs faffs about with the kitchen cloth. He babbles too much!

Q.E.D.


Herky

Fat Cat

Millhouse the cat
Is getting quite fat
He goes out and gets his own tea;
And when he comes in
He bolts down his dins
And even eats what's meant for me!

Herky

Ye Biting Of The Foot Of The Hand That Feeds One!

Scene 3: The scullery.

Lord Millhouse lying on his back, eyes playfully open and paws in the air. Sir Hercules sitting washing thoughtfully after another breakfast.

Hercules: Lord Millhouse, valiant hunter o'er all this ground, why in such idleness lounge ye around? Some seven days hath now gone by and Yorick has not passed one's eye. Think not you that with mouse-like cunning, he jumped the door and kept on running?

Millhouse: 'Tis true my Lord, I've heard no scratch of late: freedom may have been his fate. Your fault I fear, my old slothful friend; had you been quicker he'd have been caught: a sticky end he would have bought!

Enter Two-Legs Pouch Face who is tempted to tickle the furry belly of the reclining Millhouse with his foot.

Millhouse: (Grabbing foot and biting it): Ha! This indeed's a merry game. A well aimed nip'll make you lame! Many a Two-Leg's fallen for the belly lure; indeed 'tis fun and that's for sure.

Rises to his feet.

But I must away: the wild is calling. There's much to be done in the early morning.

Exit via cat-cullis.

Hercules climbs the stairs and sits outside the two sleeping chamber doors of the now departed younger Two-Legs-ses.

Hercules: Oh, heooooooow I wish to enter here. Oh, heoooooow long must I tarry. Come on Two-Legs, let me in; Ohh, to sleep; perchance to dream and in.....

Two-Legs Pouch Face lets him into the sleeping chamber. Lord Hercules brushes round the door frame and into the room.

Hercules (To himself): ......Aye there's the rub! (Round the door frame.What did happen to the rump? He thinks!)

Bed is sprung upon. A loud purring tumbles down the stairs.

Hercules: Who knows what dreams may come...........(Sigh.)

Herkspeare

Alas! Poor Yorick!

(Continued from - Live Entertainment)

Scene: A week later in the castle scullery. Hercules is sat thoughtfully before his un-dolloped bowls.

Hercules (To himself): Seven days have passed and I'm yet to see; yon mouse young Millhouse brought to me. We called him Yorick the brave field mouse, whom Millhouse brought into this house. Me thinks perhaps he got away. Ay worse; alack! may've met his day.

A rustle. Enter Millhouse from behind the arras. (A plant that which we do not really possess!)

Millhouse: Alas! poor Yorick, I knew him, Hercules; a mouse of infinte zest, of most excellent flavour; I have borne him home a thousand times; and now he may've gone to warmer climes.

Enter crawling across the carpet; two beetles, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Rosencrantz: This tale we hear, 'tis sad to say, is getting more bizarre by the day!

Guildenstern: 'Neath the washer, dwelt old Yorick. I knew right then he might be for it!

Rosencrantz: Well, 'tis true. He's not there now. I'll wager he got out somehow!

Guildenstern (Producing coin):You're on, my friend, I'll take that bet. I'd say old Yorick lives on yet!

The pair beetle on under the fridgery closet.

Hercules: 'Tis evident Yorick took his chance; for towards the washer we do not glance.

Millhouse: Damn and fie! For my hard work, now under the washer he does not lurk. 'Twas your delay, Hercules, did make this trouble; find him I must and at the double

Enter Two-Legs Pouch Face.

Two-Legs Pouch Face: Now my Lords, why all the fuss? More food? Oh well, if I must...

A pouch is dolloped and the only sounds are the slurping of chops at jelly mounds.

Herkspeare

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