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Elderly Uncle Jim is single, wealthy and visits us occasionally when he passes through our city. I don't like him much because he loathes cats. He reckons cats dig up his garden and pee on his doorstep. He says the only good cat is a dead one. Uncle Jim is always telling me if I keep my nose clean I might get a little nest egg from him when he dies.
This visit he drove up in a brand new Mercedes. I have to admit it was gorgeous - all glittering blue paint and upholstery of shiny black leather. Uncle Jim came inside and told us about his stock market killings and where he was going on his latest cruise.
When Ollie wandered in Uncle Jim's lip curled. "Just as well I haven't got my shotgun," yelled Uncle Jim, "he'd get a blast in the 'you know where'".
Ollie stared searchingly at Uncle Jim. I swear that sometimes I think the cat understands human speak. I began to feel uneasy. Be very very afraid, Uncle Jim.
When Uncle Jim had finished talking about himself we went outside to see him off. He opened the door of the car and froze. Right in the middle of the front seat was a neat pool of water. Uncle Jim bent over and sniffed. "It's urine," he screeched. "That bloody cat has peed in my new car."
I leaned forward and opened my mouth to protest. Too late. The culprit was sitting by the car door, smirking. The tell tale drops of urine glittered on his tail. Ollie loves the smell of new leather and the temptation of that and an open car window had been too much for him.
Uncle Jim lunged at the cat but Ollie avoided him easily. He leapt neatly on the roof of the car, using Jim's shoulder as a bridge and began to wash his face.
Such defiance was too much for Uncle Jim. I'd left a broom leaning against the house and Uncle Jim seized it. He flailed it at Ollie on the roof of the car. Ollie skidded down the windscreen leaving a lovely wet, muddy streak. Uncle Jim hit the roof of the car with the end of the broom and knocked of a streak of paint. Ollie was having a wonderful time. Ever the performer he leapt off the car and did a couple of pirouettes to his audience.
For a moment I thought I would be getting my 'nest-egg' early. Uncle Jim had turned the colour of puce and was gasping and spluttering. Without another word he flung himself into the front seat of the car and roared the motor to life.
As the car shot backwards down the drive I said to John sadly. "Guess that's the end of the 'nest-egg'. We just didn't keep our noses clean."
John picked up Ollie and started whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Then he grinned. "I'd like to be a fly on the window when Uncle Jim realises he's sat in the pool of urine," he said. "It should be nicely soaking into his cream pants by now."
Editor's note:
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