The Sandwich: #138

The Sandwich

#138

The cats' home was a smoking ruin. The people from the Cats' Protection league had arrived and were herding up the surviving cats. I was pleased to see that Hamilton Prong had survived - well, I was indifferent, to be honest, but one has to be polite. He explained that the evil nutjob Felix Scratcher had escaped, as per his contract (he mentioned something about a sequel) and that his phalanx of feline followers would be reconditioned and rehomed.

"We'll find you a new family to live with," he told me. "Somewhere you will be looked after and cared for."

"That's very nice of you," I said. "But I'm not a cat."

"You'll have a fresh scratching post," he continued. "And a proper basket. And a nice new collar with a little bell on it."

"Yes, sounds lovely," I said, with little enthusiasm. "But not really for me - although I do like the idea of the little bell. See, I am not a pussy cat. I am a free man."

At this point he tickled me under the chin and made silly noises at me. "Puss, puss, puss, puss," he went. "Who's a clever boy, then?"

"Please stop that," I said. "This is inappropriate. Actually, if you could just scratch behind my ears, that would be smashing. The point is, I am not a cat. Now, if you could find me a decent hotel and a new pair of trousers - you see, I've burnt the backside out of these - then that would be most appreciated. Also, I'm looking for my sandwich - "

"Ah, no sandwiches," he said, patting my head. "But there will be plenty of meaty chunky pussy grub for you. And a saucer of yummy milk. And some catnip if you're lucky. Now get in the cage."

I protested again, and this time he stood upright and became very cold. "Listen pal," he said. "We're the bloody Cats' Protection League. We do cats, we don't do people. So either lick up the honey, stranger, and ask no questions, or do one. What's it to be?"

I looked around, considered my options. Then I shrugged and got in the cage.

 

 

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