They're out to get me....................
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They feign affection with all the guile of a fraudster attempting to steal a pension book; obtaining treats via the kind of insincerity inherent in a politician conspiring to swindle a vote.
Cats..................I hate them!
Despite their failings, however, I must grudgingly concede that they are somebody's pet. Somewhere they are loved, no matter how unrequited that affection may be. So in deference to the love that makes the "world go round"* I could never intentionally harm them.
I would never dream of poisoning their food, for instance. Nor of introducing crushed glass into their litter trays. I would certainly not want to secure carpet grippers to the top of my garden fence in hopes that they might tear out their insides on the hideously augmented spikes.
And it is with hand on heart when I say that the thought of throwing a cat into a pit occupied by hungry dogs and looking on as said K9's tear the feline fur-ball to pieces in a stomach-churning battle for meat..................has never crossed my mind.
*In the increasingly self-serving climes in which we exist, I remain a believer in the one thing (apart from toilet roll and taxes) that seperates us from the animals. Love, as someone once said, really does make the world go round.
Though our numbers are dwindling, there are many who share my belief, many who rise each morning and graft-off their unmentionables in the cause of family unity, of selflessness, of love.
But even within this utopian group, the exclusively human pastime of argument still exists.Since the tragic passing of Freddy Mercury and "Queen's" subsequent disbandment, there is a growing debate among us with regard to who, or what, actually animates the sphere on which we live.
Queen's legion of fans profess that the rotation of the Earth is the task of "fat bottomed girls".
This is bollocks!
The chubby-arsed ladies are charged solely with twirling the rocking world. No other planes of existence are moved by their gyrations.
If the legend that is Mercury were here he would tell you........then rock you!
For what its worth, my loathing of all things feline stems, not from their negative personalities, but, ironically, from their generosity and the little gifts they seem compelled to award me.
Overturned plant pots, gouges in fence posts, the drunken howling of the randy little bastards throughout the night and -the kicker- their delightful muesli bars.