Stan awoke feeling very thirsty.
My, this bed is much too hard,he thought.
He put out his hand and felt some wood not far away.It was his desk.Emile was lying on Stan’s stomach purring.
You fell out of bed,the little cat miaowed.Luckily I clung on with my claws and I am ok sleeping down here….I can see mice better.
Well,it’s not ok with me,Stan informed him gently.
How can I get up from here?
He picked up the Cambridge Companion to Sylvia Plath and banged on his desk softly.
Mary was awake and heard a strange sound.She found Stan lying on the floor with his head by his desk.
Emile wanted to sleep by the wall,you see.,he told her.
Then he rolled over and I fell out.
That is logically and scientifically mad,Mary told him.
Surely Emile is not so big that his weight was enough to knock you out of the bed?
It is against the law of gravityAnyway,why don’t you get up?
I like it down here,the old man lied to her optimistically.
Rubbish,Mary said,then she picked up the phone and rang 999.
Hello,she said.My cat is very upset as he feels guilty for pushing my aged husband out of bed.
How terrible for you,the man answered.I’ll send an ambulance right away.
Mary opened the front door and left it unlatched whilst she lit the electric lights with a match.
How do you feel now Stan,she enquired tying her red polyester fleece dressing gown a bit tighter before the paramedics arrival
I am thirsty,give me some brandy,he ordered her politely as he was full of kindness
They said not to let you or Emile drink or eat
Blooming ridiculous,he told her in a manly fashion.
Soon the ambulance arrived and the paramedics were running up the stairs to see the poor cat. Mary fainted so they laid her on the bed whilst they comforted Emile and cleaned his paws.Then they picked up Stan and laid him right next to Mary,his wife.
Why don’t you have a bigger bed,one asked Stan.
Bigger than what,he responded academically.
Well,if you were any fatter you’d not be able to lie next to your wife.
True,he replied but my wife is too large.I keep hoping she will lose weight.
I shall make you some tea the female paramedic told them forcefully
Well,you don’t seem to be hurt,the other one told Stan, but the cat may need therapy or counselling because of the guilt he will feel.
He’s not a Catholic ,I hope?
No, he’s Jewish,Stan shouted implausibly.
That’s alright then.How do cats get to be Jewish anyhow?
It’s their souls,Mary said…they are all waiting up there for a suitable place to be reborn and some choose to be cats.
But how can you tell? he asked wonderingly.They have no prayer shawls
They miaow in Hebrew,Mary said loftily.And they like to sing the psalms before bed.
But how do you know it’s Hebrew,he replied.Do you speak it?
No, it’s just he hates bacon and pepperoni and always wears a hat so it seems he must be one of Jesus’s friends,but not Judas of course.I suppose Jesus wore a hat but it’s never been found as yet.Not even being sold as a relic.
Well,that’s intriguing.Do you think Emile might be the Messiah?
Oh,dear.We never thought of that.Will he have to go to Galilee and catch fish and walk on water?
No, he can go to Rome and tell the Pope that the Church is not what God planned.
I hope they don’t kill him,Mary cried sadly.
God will not be very happy.
I didn’t know God had moods,Stan said.
He has post-creative depressive disorder….no wonder when we look round the world.
Still they did try,I’ll say that for him or her.
And so say all of us.
For he’s a very good yeller,he’s a very good yeller
A cat’s life is a fuss.Miaow.