But once they'd gone, poor old Olive, the cat in whose shrubs they were lazing and loafing about all this time, was allowed out again, and so was I. The cat flap was unlocked.
We are On Parole, apparently.
I didn't quite know what to do with myself at first. Leaving prison can be disorientating.
Then I remembered: the shed...
the wall...
the back lane...
But I kept coming home again, because Rachel mustn't start worrying about what I'm up to. I come indoors from time to time and show her: "Look! No mousies! No birds! Definitely no young thrushes!"
Rachel says I'm overdoing it, and that she doesn't trust me as far as she could throw me. What an unpleasant expression, I told her, for a self-professed cat lover. She said she doesn't think she's ever thrown a cat, but I wouldn't put it past her.
The boys felt it was safe to go out again too. Before my parole, they were scared to go out without me.
Although Hamish doesn't like to stay outside for too long. He quite liked being in prison. I think it was the dinners, the television, the toy mice that appealed to him... And he's hardly adventurous. Not like me at all.
sounds like most human prisons around here. Easy, fun, and a great way not to have to work for a living..... there's even one not far from here where the inmates demanded and got.... pastel colours on the walls.... they already get to golf and fish. Our wardens are even softer than Mrs. Danvers..... and I think she is pretty much a pushover.....
ReplyDeleteHameesh looghs como Preence Harry.
ReplyDeleteI want to come back as one of Rachel's cats!
ReplyDelete