Morder!

Total arnslaught. The Wooman said my fleas had to go. She said, como the Cheemp een Chief, thad they wor manufaghtureen' nu-cuclear warheads an' chemical weapons een their factories, an' thad I migh' essplode ad any time...So een order to proteght hor domesteec eenterests she carpet-barmbed my negh weeth deesgosteen' storf. The bonkers ob the fleas hab been bosted, she says. Eben she, weeth so few feeleen's, feld bad. Now my neck looghs lighe Alaska after a dronk sheeps captain has been there... eed ees hard to leeck bod I try then she say, NO Estorbo, you weel ged seeck.

Yoomans.




Thees was after she pood eed arn. Then she gabe me pelleds to maghe me forghed. Bod I remembered. She feel so bad she lairds me ged arn the table arn a kikhoi to sleep.

Between the queences an' the flowers frarm the larng Frenchie...

No!

Eed wasn't me. I deedn' do eed. I deed nard reep thees Netfleex wrapper!

Whad Netfleex wrapper? Thees ees a Netfleex wrapper? Whad mos nard be reeped?? Oh! Reeally? Who reeped eed? Who was een the house?

OMG we had a borglar! Whad ees meesseen'?? Do I steell hab pelleds?

Me? No. Nard me. Doan' loogh ad me.

(...are you loogheen' ad me???)

No, I deed nard waghe nobardy ad 4am. I deed nard waghe nobardy lader when they had fallen asleep again! Eed was a cad borglar.

Ha!

No, I deed nard deny thad I had been fed. Are you the Stasi?

Me? Me? Are you accuseen' me? Porque? Why? Do you hade me?

Keetteens

In here, somewhere, are: Trebor an' H-h-h-huwi; Sollie an' Lennie...and....me?

My shreenk says eed ees OK to be oncertain. He says how woul' I leeb my life deeferently eef I was certain?

I theenk I yam wasedeen' my money.

Confronteen' My Pas'

Here ees my confession: to Trebor an' H-h-h-huwi

Eben though I said nartheen', I am een receipt ob your cd. Weeth the peectures. Ob the lady cad. Weeth the keettens. The blag keeteens. Who are you, larng ago. An'...maybe, also... porhaps, me.

The Wooman showed me thees peectures when she came bag frarm South Afreeca three weeghs ago.

I coul' nard relade: thees smallsmallcads. So...small.

So I yam seein' a shreenk.

He (I cannard go to a Wooman) weel essplain to me why I cannard loogh ad the pas'. Because I cannard. The keetens are so...small.

Forgeeb my bad manners. I was born een a bodega. I deed nard know my morder.

I theenk.

Where weell I fine' anorder RAD?

Forgh thees, man! For the fors' forgheen' time een sebben years I catch a forgheen' rodent!

You theenk I lighe catcheen' carcka-roaches? No! Bod they are the only prey I can fine' arn my rooftarps! So two nighds ago I tragh down, yomp arn, and cadge a RAD...OK: a baby rad. A small rad. Bod a RAD....an' instead ob eadeen' ead weeth some wasabi thad I carry weeth me ad all times, I breeng eed home as a geeft por the Wooman, who ees SheetforBrains!

EEEEEEEEEEEEE she say, Estorbo! Hor standeen' there weeth the beeg boogh...

She peeck me orp, I make-a growl and she throw me ou'side an' slam the door! Then she leab me ou'side! alone! Weeth the rodent!

Yoomans! Eegnoran', ongradeful, sonsarfbeetches.

RAT!

This is Estorbo's Missus. Estorbo is in a decontamination chamber.

Is this a clue? is this where THE Flea came from?

I had just fallen asleep last night when I heard le chat making Mioawphghphghwahnnnnng noises, indicating a mouth full of something. I got up blearily, automatically reached for Herman Gilliomee's The Afrikaners (a nice fat book and makes a change from the Oxford English Reference Dictionary) and a piece of kitchen paper - my usual cockroach-squashing equipment for the times when the cat comes in from outside with urban prey - walked over to him to divest him of his plaything, only to see...eugh. A TAIL!

Even I cannot squash an animal with a tail. Though Vince has a very funny story which I may dig up, as it's relevant.

So I pick the cat up, praying he won't drop a rat on my foot, and hurl him outside, slamming the sliding door (yes, it's possible) shut. He growlsvsnuffily from outside. I go back to bed. I can hear gravel being thrown about on the terrace and I shut my bedroom door and block my ears. Later in the night I hear him beating on the glass door to be let back in.

This morning, no trace of the animal. The rat, I mean. Not even a tell-tail. So.

The Flea

Scratcha scratcha scratcha

Eetch eetch eetch

Sheet.

I hab a flea.

I nebber had flea before.

WHO gabe me the flea.

Eed ees a fas' flea.

Eed ron queeck.

Scratcha scratcha scratcha

There behine' my ears...

My Meesers say to me, Cad, WHY are you scratcheen' so moch? Por days now you hab been scratcheen'...


(Yoomans are useful por pointeen' out the bleedeen' obbious)

So thees morning ad 4.15 am, because she has northeen' bairder to do, she scratches por me my ears. Then she starps, then she looghs close lighe weeth microscope. Then she say loud. A FLEA!!!!!!!

Sheet.

I welcome myself to the world. I knew it was too good to last.

You should see the Wooman while I yam tybeen' thees:

Eetch eetch eetch