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A Bit of Roughhouse

by Beverley, Napier, New Zealand


As our friend Bob became older he became deafer and consequently noiser. He also seemed more boisterous than usual. When he came to stay to attend his niece's wedding in our area he was in fine fettle.

When Bob saw Ollie peacefully asleep on the sofa he made a beeline for him. The pair hadn't met before. "So this is the new cat," yelled Bob. He unceremoniously grabbed Ollie, dumped him on the floor, and rolled him hard along the carpet. "Cats love a bit of roughhouse," bellowed Bob. He put a giant hand over Ollie's face and waggled it to and fro, "good isn't it puss, good boy, ha ha ha".

Ollie staggered to his feet and shook his head. He had the look of someone coming out of a nightmare. He gave Bob a filthy look. "Like some more, boy," screamed Bob, reaching for the cat, "come to Uncle Bob"

Ollie had had enough. He eluded Bob's clutching paws and took off outside like a jet.

"I wouldn't do that, Bob," I observed, "Ollie doesn't like it." But Bob wasn't listening. He was busy telling me all about how he was looking forward to giving his niece away.

Later Bob came out dressed in sartorial splendour. I had to admit he looked great in his snowy shirt and suit of pale blue. "You'd better toast the bride with me," yelled Bob, producing a bottle of red plonk. We filled our glasses and solemnly raised them "To the bride," we intoned.

Then it happened. We hadn't noticed Ollie watching the operation. He jumped lithely onto Bob's lap and tipped the full glass of red wine so that it splattered from one end of Bob's front to the other.

Bob's hysterical screaming shook the room. We were horrified. I stared at the cat - he was smirking. Then I understood it all. It was Ollie's bit of roughhouse. "Bad cat," I said to Ollie but it was hard to stop my own smirk twitching my lips.

We cleaned Bob up, of course - but he was tarnished. It's not easy to remove red wine and he didn't have a change of good clothes. And Ollie. Bob never went near him again. After that the cat slept on the sofa in splendid solitude secure in the knowledge that he'd won that 'bit of roughhouse'.


Editor's note:

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