Stan awoke feeling very thirsty.My, this bed is too hard, he thought.He put out his hand and felt some wood not far away.It was his desk Emile was lying on his 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 any mice better.Well ,it’s not ok with me,Stan informed him gently .How can I get up? He picked up the Cambridge Companion to Sylvia’s Wrath and banged on his desk softly. Mary was awake and heard a strange sound.She got up and found Stan lying on the floor with his head by his wooden 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 insensible,Mary told him. Surely Emile is not so big that his weight was enough to knock you out of the bed? Anyway, why don’t you get up? I like it down here, the old man lied to her. OK, Mary said,t hen she picked up the phone and rang 999. Hello, she said.My cat is very upset as he feels guilty for pushing my 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 Stan, she enquired. I am thirsty, give me so brandy, he ordered her in that way men do. They said not to let you or Emile drink or eat. Bloody ridiculous, he told her gently. Soon the ambulance arrived and the paramedics were running up the stairs. Mary fainted so they laid her on the bed whilst they comforted Emile. Then they picked up Stan and laid him right next to Mary. 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 get in with your wife. True,he replied but I am 96 you know.I have erectile mal-conjunction already and soon I’ll be bowled out. I shall make you some tea, the female paramedic told them. 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 hopefully. That’s alright then.He can have concubines.How do cats get to be Jewish? 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 miaow in Hebrew, Mary said. 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 relics. Well, that’s intriguing.Do you think Emile might be the New Messiah? Oh , dear.We never thought of that.Will he have to go to Galilee and catch fish? 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… 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 around 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.:)
How my heart sings 