The Fight and the Beef Thief
Well, what felt like an age later, but was not more than another hour, the form was completed. I popped it in the envelope, stuck a stamp on and was just about to leave for the postbox, when the Baron not so politely informed me that he hadn't fucking finished, and could I return the motherfucking form so he could fucking finish it.
At that point I lost my temper and ripped the envelope (containing his blood, sweat and tears, and of course the infernal application form). Now I will admit that that might not have been my brightest idea, but I never once said that I am bright.
So, with what seems like depressing regularity, all hell breaks loose. Words are spoken, and things are said that only ever come up in a fight, but should probably be left thought and not actually said.
The end result, much much later, is that we have now made up (a good roast dinner did help my cause, but that is another story in itself) and that the Baron will visit the warehouse on Monday morning to hand in his torn form (I did sellotape it back together really nicely) and to see if they will accept that or give him another to fill in on the spot. That way he looks serious about the job, and he can push for an interview in person whilst he is there.
Back to the roast dinner. We had aged roast beef, roast taters, Yorkshires, greens and proper proper gravy. It was lovely. The potatoes were fantastically crunchy (the Baron claimed he needed a chisel to open them, but he is a wuss), mainly because we were shouting while I was boiling the taters, and they boiled dry. So I had to forcibly remove them from my pot to put in the fat, and they got seriously bashed around in the process. Ok, I was imagining the Baron's head at the time. Good tip for the future.
We had finished, and were watching X Men 2 - my Christmas present from the Baron, but I think it was as much for him. I can hear Harvey in the kitchen licking the plates (I know it is disgusting, but you try and stop him). Suddently, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. A white tabby with a stripy tail streaks across the room holding what looks suspiciously like a joint of aged roast beef and rockets up the stairs.
The drips of blood across the floor and up the stairs confirm that it is indeed the remains of our aged, and I'd like to point out, expensive roast beef that has been filched. Tracking the blood across the bedroom leads me to the same white tabby with a stripy tail tucking in to the said beef with obvious gusto. It didn't go unnoticed that he wasn't sharing any of it.
I stand over him (there isn't really much point in trying to salvage the joint since is it already ragged and covered in fur) and call him. No response. Not even his ear moved to acknowledge me.
I bend down to get his attention. He looks at me with complete contempt for interrupting his meal. I know better than to expect guilt or remorse. I put my hand out to retrieve it (I might as well let the other cats get some of it too a bit later - I don't want them to think they can steal what they want and keep it). My hand is met with a small white, but unmistakeably bloodstained, paw with the claws extended in warning. I tap that paw and take what is left of my beautiful dinner.
His eyes narrow. Our gaze locks, and finally, he has the decency to look away in shame. Well, I am going to pretend it was shame, but cats don't do shame. I will just delude myself. He is sleeping off the remains of his dinner, as are the other two who benefited from his crime. He is probably plotting how to get the rest out of the fridge. He can nearly get into it now. I always thought I would need a lock for the fridge to keep the Baron out. I never dreamed it would be to stop the cat getting in.
I was really looking forward to a nice roast beef sandwich. I had even bought some poppy seed rolls for that purpose. I suppose this is the revenge he dreamt up after the eye drops. I have to admit, it was good.
Remind me why I still love my cats?!?!?!
posted by DMouse007 @ 1/03/2004 06:16:00 PM
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