Sunday, 31 March 2013

Yorick Goes Underground

In keeping with the explorer theme Yorick has developed a burrowing instinct, although on reflection this is more a prospecting theme. Our sofas are covered with loose cloth – throws I think they are called. Yorick has taken to burrowing under these and their attendant cushions. If you dare to uncover him his look of rebuke is one of a gold prospector who has just struck a mother-lode of mint quality and of sufficient quantity to ensure untold wealth for his descendants for hundreds of years to come. The trouble is that having tunnelled his way to whatever valuable seam (sorry!) he was seeking he then promptly curls up and goes to sleep, and the only sign of his presence is a barely discernible undulation among the cushions. And my fear is that the fat lady is going to sit on him.

" . . tunnelled his way to whatever valuable seam . . . " An
exhausted prospector.

This is you understand the generic fat lady. Not the American one that sings, but the jolly one who is homely and ample. The one who with hands on bended knees, crouching slightly, adopts the sitting position and rolls unstoppably back into the chair with a ballooning explosive sigh of satisfaction. The one who is heavy enough to irrevocably smother a cat in the seconds between hitting the chair, and lumbering back to her feet as we all mouth “there’s a cat under your bum”. How I dread Book Club.

We are plagued with moles. Thank god we are not green keepers because what is laughably called our lawn would be a Putter’s nightmare. Tyke the Staffie cross, being nearer to the ground than most of us has a special interest in moles.

I swear she can hear them burrowing away. But equally I think they can hear her hearing them.
“’E’re; ‘ow you doin’ Eric?” 
“I 'aint Eric, I‘m Ernest. 
“Oh sorry, bit dark down ‘ere – thought you was Eric” 
“Well I 'aint – Eric’s doin' the next mole hill. Who‘re you?” 
“Errol.” 
“Cool” 
“Is that bl**dy dog still up there?” 
“’Corse – never gives up” 
“How’dyou know?” 
“Got a dreadful wheeze” 
“Oh, sorry ‘bout that” 
“’Bout what?” 
“Yer wheeze” 
“Not me stupid. The dog. The dog wheezes; wheezes something terrible, obviously asthma” 
“Oh” 
“My God!” 
“What is it?” 
“Back up – back up - back up!” 
“Okay, okay . . . What is it, what is it?” 
“Oh, ‘tis ‘orrible!” 
“What? What?” 
“. . . . . . . long white leg with claws on the end” 
“No, can’t be the dog, ‘s got very short legs” 
“Of course not, it’s the – its the – the – the – cat!”  
“O . . . M . . . .G . . .!”  
“Save yer’self young’un. Run!, Run for the hills!” 
”Which ones?”
“Eric’s of course! Run like the wind! Run fur yur life!”
And this is of course all true. There he is in the middle of the lawn. Yorick with his arm stuck down a mole hole.

Mole hunter extraordinaire.

So much for subterranean behaviour, but Yorick has also exhibited another underground trait – identity subversion.

It is difficult to chart when a curious phenomenon started exhibiting itself. Was it the first left hook round Seth’s ear, or the first undercover raid on Hamlets food while he was eating? Ever the gentleman Hamlet actually stepped back in unfeigned surprise before re-engaging with his bowl. Ever the idiot Seth actually turned tail and fled.

It might even have been as a consequence of some rather irregular sleeping habits during his formative years with the Tyke the fat Staffie cross.
" . . some rather irregular sleeping habits . . "

I suspect however it has got more to do with the utter contempt that the two elderly and irascible cats have shown to Yorick.

But whatever the reason Yorick has, at an early age (and well beyond his years I might venture) concluded that his identity is not as you would expect. And lets face it on examination of the evidence there is little to dissuade him from this belief.

Exhibit 1 - The goldfish clearly live in a different medium, have very restricted conversational skills and extremely limited life experiences.

Exhibit 2 - The humans also appear to be floating round in a different medium. They have their heads in the clouds and have to use sticks rather than eating properly. They tend to insist on picking one up at the most inopportune moments, slobbering all over one and then getting irritated when you object, AND they never seem to feed one on time, ever.

Exhibit 3 - The cats are either always asleep or snarling at each other or the world in general.

". . . snarling at the world in general . . " Two witches
familiars taking a breather.

Exhibits 4 & 5 - The moles are clearly subversive characters and the Eagle Owl (small kittenuseatus) has a very annoyingly lofty attitude towards the world in general.

Exhibit 6 - At least the dogs run around aimlessly make lots of noise and crap on the kitchen floor.

It’s a no brainer really.

The fact of the matter is that Yorick thinks that he is a dog . . . . . . in fact further Tails of Yorick learning how to be a dog is a whole other story . . . .

You got a problem?
Yea. You got a problem?
But before that can be told there is the curious mystery as to where Yorick actually comes from.



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