Showing posts with label Harrowgate Yorkshire vintage clothing Sartis Hills. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Harrowgate Yorkshire vintage clothing Sartis Hills. Show all posts

Sunday, 28 February 2010

Fatboy V Muttie. Who won?


Does anyone have the phone number for the RSPCA?

Phew, wot a weekend that was.

I'm knackered and looking forward to a nine hour kip. Let me tell you, Human Watching is exhausting. I was babysitting Auntie Jennifer and Uncle Steven this weekend. They came all the way up from Harrowgate, Yorkshire just to see me.

After a spot of vintage clothes shopping (Muttie and Auntie Jennifer) and dinner at the pasta-tastic Sartis, the four of them returned to the flat. Maw wisely decanted to Paw's. My job was then to ensure Auntie Jennifer and Uncle Steven quietly sipped the bottle of red wine I'd kindly got Muttie to buy them and didn't stay up all night watching MTV(you know what these young 'uns are like).

So anyways, Rioja-wise - two bottles. MTV - 'til bleeding 3am!

However, all was not lost. It's not exactly, er, 'taxing' babysitting Auntie Jennifer. She's gorgeous! Long black, curly hair, curvey and VERY Catherine Zeta Jones. Uncle Steven could probably be described as Darcy-like - tall, dark and brooding (although he was a right big softy with me, hee, hee).

However, they did admit the neighbourhood cat, Fatboy, TWICE prior to my awakening. As usual, he'd scoffed a fair percentage of my grub while I lay in somnolance heaven. In my more introspective moments I sometimes wonder if Fatboy just befriends me so he can scoff my chicken-encrusted Hill's gourmet delicacies.

Muttie thought she'd fooled him the other day by hiding my food bowl everytime the window is open so he can't just come in and scoff my grub willy-nilly. Fatboy, however, appears to have the upperhand on cunning. Muttie was sprawled on the couch reading on Sunday when she heard this scratching noise coming from the kitchen. Dashing through she encountered Fatboy with his head stuck in the large bag under the kitchen table which contains my grub. He'd clawed, or bitten, a hole through the plastic and his head was wedged inside happily munching away and, fatally on his part, oblivious to an irate Muttie standing right behind him.

What happened next was, frankly, too painful for any cat to have to witness...