Frankly, there are times when I feel used.
Muttie is supposed to be studying various Comms Strategies right now with a view to getting a job and, far more importantly, more Dreamies (a yummy treat, manufactured by Mars) for me. But instead she's sidled up to me and announced with a forced brightness: "I know Milt! Let's have some fun and do your blog." Well, I'm telling you right now, there's no-way she's regurgitating her paltry, putrid thoughts down on my on-line diary. This sacred space dear followers, is between you lot and moi. There'll be no product placement or mutterings of a mad Muttie on here, let me assure you!
So anyways, can I just say: "miooow, miooow, MIIIIIIIow." Right, just had to get that off my furry chest. Reason for that was Maw and Paw have been huddling together of late, supposedly out of my earshot, and discussing a forthcoming meeting with a 'pet therapist' (they don't realise that cats have ten times the strength of human hearing. Doh!) So, I've picked up a concern they have with my miooow. They say I don't do it right. That I just do the 'oooow' bit and can't pronounce the 'mi' and I'm coming out all plaintive and well, 'wailleeeeeey' was Muttie's word. She says I hurt her ears, especially around 6am when I demand to get out and do my first patrol of the gardens. One likes to get out and make an early start on these things, non?
Let me tell you right now, there is NO way I'm going to a pet therapist. He or she will be human for a start. And I won't be able to focus on them up close (we cats tend to be short-sighted, which is a blessing when encountering Muttie head-on first thing in the morning!)
So, to move onto more interesting things...(and make her forget about taking me to the aforementioned pet therapist) Muttie was sitting staring at me earlier today with yet another problem on her mind. It's to do with the mother of one of the main characters in her novel. She wants her to have a 'funny foible.' She considered dementia (loads of laughs with that but it's kinda a sensitive subject too and frankly I don't know if Muttie has the wherewithall to do 'sensitive') so she then went on to talk about Tourettes - but I soon put her off that, BLOODY HELL!! And eventually we settled on 'malapropism' - you know, when you say the wrong word.
Her friend Alee put her onto this idea today when he was telling her about his sister-in-law who'd gone into labour with her first child and was having a terrible time. She recounted it later to him and, on describing the unmentionable events, told him: "Yes, it got so bad, the doctor had to seduce me!"
Well, did it not remind Muttie of the time when as a 16-year-old studying for her 'O' Grades (not yesterday, let me tell you) she'd depart to her bedroom, determined to swot, only to hear the impressed tones of her Nanny Mitchell: "Is that you away upstairs for some squatting now, honey?" Muttie was always left with this vision of giving birth to an 'O' Grade Maths paper (and which, in retrospect, would have been far more impressive than what she eventually ended up with!)
Milt the Mis-proportionally Maligned xxx
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