The
man is mad!
There is no doubt about it, himself
is mad. He has been having one of his funny periods during which he dunks us
all and sticks needles in us. He said it was because there have been some kind
of bugs in our pen. Ok, then why doesn’t he dunk the bugs and stick needles in
them? He reckons he has for he has sprayed the pen out with a special spray
each time he has mucked us out. Even the nice lady vet, whom we thought was on
our side, has supplied the necessary medicine to inflict this terrible
treatment upon us.
If that wasn’t enough to put us
through, his friend in San Diego sent him some more tapes of jazz so we have
had both our ears and our eyes subjected to that. Our eyes?
Well, he has this very nasty habit of putting these tapes on when he has
a bath and unlike any normal human animal, he seldom dries himself and puts on
his bathrobe in the bathroom, he tends to come back into the living room and
dance and cavort about, and this is even before he has any of the amber
liquid. Fine, we could understand it if
he was out of his skull, but I ask you, sober and fresh from a bath!
Click for a bigger version!
It is not a very pleasant sight for
ladies of our refinement, particularly when it coincides with our carrot time,
which it often does. I mean just think of it from our point of view and our
line of sight. No, we won’t draw you a picture, you may all be eating while you
are reading this, and why should we inflict what we are going through in such
detail upon our readers.
Even Olga de Polka, who was staying
with us last week, remarked upon it and assured us that this kind of thing
never happens in the Bond household. So it looks that this kind of behaviour is
unique to our own human. I wonder if we could get him to have therapy for this
problem he has of thinking that displaying his bits and pieces to innocent
young ladies like us is at all enjoyable to us and what he has isn’t at all
impressive, of that we can firmly state.
We have all come to the conclusion
that living with humans can be a kind of an equivocal existence. It’s nice not
to have go out forage for our food but lousy to have to see them in the flesh,
so to speak. It’s great to not have to bother about the weather outside but a
bit of a bind to have to listen to the funny sounds they make and like to
listen to.