I am inside the cats' home with my expertly pre-stressed agitated cat in a box. The ginger beard man seems much friendlier now that he thinks I am a fellow cat lover. I, of course, am ambivalent about cats in boxes. I can take up or leave them. Sometimes both at the same time.
The ginger beard man started to tell me all about...
By the way, that was a bit of a joke I did back there. The cat-in-the-box/both-at-the-same-time thing. It didn't really work, did it, but you can see what I was reaching for.
Anyroad, the ginger beard man started to tell me all about his love for cats, and how cats were his only real friends and how cats were different to people. Well, I knew that cats were different to people. Blimey, I'd be silly if I didn't know that. They smell different and they have a leg at each corner and, by and large, they are several degrees furrier than most people I know.
The ginger beard man told me that his name was Felix Scratcher and that he had been a very lonely orphan when he was growing up, and had been locked in a basement by his evil guardians, along with their many many cats. The cats had raised him and cared for him and taught them all their weird cat ways, and he vowed that when he grew up he would work to protect and promote the cat way of life.
I didn't ask him to tell me any of this, you understand. He just volunteered the information, and I stood there mutely, occasionally nodding, as this mad plonky nutter rambled on. Every instinct told me to get out of there right away, but I knew I had to stay if I wanted to find out what had happened to my sandwich, so I just smiled politely and let him talk rubbish.