Ratbag Loves Fishpaste
Ratbag would do anything for fish-paste. He was probably the friendliest cat we’d ever rescued. He was certainly more cuddly than the psycho-killers that the wife normally takes in.
The small, exceedingly hairy creature took a great interest in everything going on around him (Sitting on the loo with the cat dancing a hey round my feet even taught me to close the bathroom door!) and he was very vocal, giving everyone the benefit of his opinion on any situation.
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I just got pissed off: Sonny, the local Hell’s Angel was riding his bike up and down the close and making a lot of noise outside our house. Alright, maybe I’m misrepresenting the situation; Sonny is about six years old and, at his mother’s insistence, always wears his cycle helmet. But he was making a lot of noise outside our house.
The wife had already had a word with his mother. They’d had a drink about things. A plot was forming.
Sonny knew that he was not allowed to ride his bike anywhere else except the close but his mum was sure that he was going elsewhere when she couldn’t keep an eye on him.
I enlisted his big sister and her friend, both of whom were all of eight years old, and we hatched a plan.
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One day Sonny made a break for freedom. He rode out of the close, along the pavement and into the garage area. The girls were ready. Sonny came to a halt, surprised to see his sister and her friend. Julia held his handlebars and looked him in the eyes while Annie prepared the scarves.
“You are an escaped convict and we are Federal Marshals.” announced Julia. “You must come with us.”
Sonny welcomed his involvement in their game. Let’s face it: as the only boy in the close, he was usually the “Lone Rider”.
Annie took a scarf and tied Sonny’s hands behind him. The two “marshals” then escorted their prisoner to the play area next to Julia’s and Sonny’s house. Annie took him by the arm and Julia brought his bike and put it in their back garden.
I can’t
THINK where they got the idea from but the “marshals” made their prisoner sit on the ground with one leg either side of the supports of the park bench and tied his ankles together.
OK. Have you got the picture? Sonny was completely unable to escape, he was sitting with his wrists bound behind him and his legs straight out in front of him. The back of the bench was not improving his view.
Annie removed Sonny’s shoes and socks while Julia knocked on my door. Having collected the jar of fish-paste, she opened it, dug her fingers in and made endearing noises. Before long a cute, brown, hairy creature was greedily licking her fingers. Julia did her Pied Piper imitation and led Ratbag towards where she had left her unfortunate brother.
“Prepare to meet the demon from Hell.” announced Annie while her friend coated the soles of Sonny’s feet with fish paste.
Ratbag thought all his birthdays (Being a cat he only gets seven a year!) had come at once as he set into the fish paste. The more he ate, the more vulnerable Sonny’s feet became to the tickling of the cat’s tongue and Ratbag wouldn’t dream of leaving even the merest trace of fish paste.
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Even now, as a big seven-year old, whenever Sonny sees Ratbag, a shiver passes down his spine.