by Carmen Bernos de Gasztold
Lord,
I am the cat.
It is not, exactly, that I have something to ask of You!
No –
I ask nothing of anyone –
but,
if You have by some chance, in some celestial barn,
a little white mouse,
or a saucer of milk,
I know someone who would relish them.
Wouldn’t You like someday
to put a curse on the whole race of dogs?
If so I should say,
Amen
A short humorous drabble I wrote a while ago.
“Go on then, have a bite,” said the Serpent.
Eve looked down at the fruit. Contrary to the popular paintings, it was a tangerine.
“Come on, don’t you want to be kicked out? An eternity of raw food and this moron for company?” The Serpent pointed at Adam, who scratched himself as he struggled to name a horsey creature with a single horn in its forehead. His beard was caked with the remains of last night’s meal. He hadn’t said thank you for dinner, then or ever.
Eve glanced at Adam, sighed, and began to peel the tangerine.
In between pumping out his countless Discworld novels, Terry Pratchett (may he rest in peace) also found time to pen this delightful little oddity. It’s more or less a novelty book, perfect to read in short bursts if, like me, you can’t eat breakfast without leafing through a book or staring at your mobile phone. You probably need to like British humour and cats to get the most out of it, but if you enjoy both or, better still, own a cat, you’ll be cackling like crazy in recognition while reading this gem.
Far too many people these days have grown used to boring, mass-produced cats, which may bounce with health and nourishing vitamins but aren’t a patch on the good old cats you used to get. The Campaign for Real Cats wants to change all that by helping people recognise Real cats when they see them. Hence this book.
You never feed me.
Perhaps I’ll sleep on your face.
That will sure show you.
The rule for today:
Touch my tail, I shred your hand.
New rule tomorrow.
Terrible battle.
I fought for hours. Come and see!
What’s a ‘term paper?’
Wanna go outside.
Oh, poop! Help! I got outside!
Let me back inside!
Litter box not here.
You must have moved it again.
I’ll go in the sink.
Want to trim my claws?
Don’t even think about it!
My cries will wake dead.
The 2001 film adaptation with Renee Zellweger is one of my favorite romcoms, so when I spied the original novel on the book shelf at my Mum’s I decided to give it a go. With some reservations, as I’ve read a couple of other books my favourite chick flicks were based on, which turned out to be very disappointing. I ended up gulping down the book in a space of one evening, while waiting for the drying machine to finish its business, it was that readable. Like the movie, it chronicles a year in the life of Bridget, an adorably neurotic 30-something woman living in London, who obsesses over her weight and her rakish boss Daniel, and makes a New Year’s resolution to sort her life out. It’s written in the pronoun-skipping diary form and each entry begins with a daily tally of alcohol, cigarettes and calories (and occasionally coffee).
