Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Wednesday, August 13, 2003

Dealing With Crap

Two initially disparate things: my sick cat Gilbert, and my best friend Declan.

Declan is a wheeze, and possibly the Most Evil Man In The Universe. He likes to poo-poo this (nice link to the latter half of this diatribe) with a wave of his manicured hand, but has in the past divinely weaselled out of a burgeoning relationship by lying about his father having a heart attack, and answers the phone with “Hello, single mother” where appropriate. He has a folder on his computer at work called ‘Souls I Own’ just to freak them all out. It’s working.

Although it is work that is posing him trouble at the moment. His boss is an absolute fool, and Declan was meant to be meeting with the MD to complain about the oaf yesterday, but it appears that the boss may have deliberately gotten the dates wrong to make the poor lamb look foolish. Lets just say the Souls folder had another increment yesterday afternoon.

The delightful Gilbert, whereas, has contracted feline bronchitis, and is currently wheezing and groaning around our Peckham palace like the cast of the questionable porn film ‘Granny Fanny’ (it does exist. I’ve seen it. ‘No Clit Under 60!’ is the proud banner atop the video cover). Each morning he has to be force-fed a pill - a task that has become even more life-threatening with each passing morn as he lacerates the hand that feeds. But it is forced down his throat, by hooks and crooks if need be and off he skulks with a look of evil doing on his face.

He takes such umbrage at this and,whether his little feline brain is calculating at all, we have discovered he’s decided to show his displeasure by leaving a tightly-curled crap where most inconvenient. Exciting lesbisexual housemate Kim fell foul of his defiling the other night to find a monster crap coiled on her duvet; it was of such size that she initially tried to pin the blame on other housemate Ian - yet he hasn’t done that since we got him his own Girl Scout to play with. I found another in the shower last night. And this wasn’t the usual fair - no, this was huge and positively sculpted. Gilbert had taken time over this one, and laid the most glittering cable near the plughole. I was alarmed at its size and beauty before getting an aptly-named dumper truck in to remove the sizable turd.

While I find the whole thing rather repulsive, I can see the merits. Tying the two problems together, perhaps we should take a leaf out of our feline friend’s book as it would improve office politics no end. Surely we would feel a lot better if we could show our displeasure at bureaucratic limitations by simply squatting over you bosses in-tray.

I’m sure it would get me the life-sized cut-out of David Boreanaz and a G4 Macintosh for my corner of the office with a little more expediency.

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