My 3 day dream bizarre (Part 2)

Dream 2:

This is an odd one. I'm in Wales (my usual short break destination on the bike) in an unknown pub/hotel. I get the feeling that I'm there to judge a competition, I cant elaborate on the subject cos I've no idea, there's no paraphernalia around me to suggest any kind of competition, I just have this "feeling".... anyhow.

I'm in this Welsh pub, various people sitting around drinking, mostly old fellas wearing cloth caps and plaid suits (?). I then get this overwhelming sensation of responsibility, the kind you get when worrying about ya kids and their future.

I then discover that my cat is with me. In the dream I don't question this, not only would I never take Addie to any public place but she passed away over 6 months ago.

In the dream I worry about getting her back home, even tho she seems perfectly happy in the pub. I then have fractured recollections of her playing with me, jumping on me and snuggling into me like she used to..... But the overall memory was being able to actually feel her in my hands, and that big bushy tail brushing against my face including that tell tail twitch in my nose that reminds me I'm allergic to cat hair.

Conclusion:

Did she come and visit me in my dream? Was she telling me that where ever she is now, she's OK?

Or was it my need to feel useful or wanted invading my subconscious?

Burglar......

Ok Pete..... I rise again to your blog request....

This... unfortunately is a true story, and it happened to me...

It was not long after my divorce and I still had my house, car, three cats and a sense of responsibility.

I should point out here that my cats where mostly house bound cats.... Not because I'm overly protective, more to do with my neighbours being scary fuckwits who weren't particularly bothered what kind of meat went into their pies. The cats did go out into the garden but only for short periods, and while they were out I'd periodically check on the people walking past the house just to make sure their head-gear didn't resemble Davey Crocketts.


At some point during the evening I checked the house (we had been burgled previously) to make sure everything was secure and the catflap locked. I'd gone to bed and fallen asleep.

During the early hours of the morning I was awoken by a loud thud, in my drowsy state a shrugged it off as the cats playing on the stairs (usually a game of Tom & Jerry up and down the stairs was not unusual), so a short but sweet half grumbled, half mumbled "gerroffffeckintwatingstairsyanoisylittlegets" filled the night air.... and I returned to my lonely but peaceful rest.

Some time passed, not sure how long, but enough time to get me back to deep REM sleep. This time I HEARD the smash, it was loud enough to have me bolt upright in bed..... I was awake.... "Just what are those little bastards (the cats) upto down there?" I mumbled to myself. While I waited for my other personalities to wake and answer me I began to make out shapes at the end of my bed as my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness....

"Oh, there you are!" I said to the three cats sitting at the end of the bed.... I waited for the logic of what I was seeing and what I could still hear to sink in.... The cats were upstairs.... on my bed....shivering and cowering with eyes and ears zoned into the slightly ajar bedroom door while the crashing and smashing was still going on downstairs.

"Feck feck feck shite, fat knackers, there's some c*nt in my house" I probably said as I launched out of bed in the direction of the door... Luckily for me my incredible sense of self preservation kicked in and I stopped in my tracks.... If there is someone downstairs ransacking the place I didn't want to be the one on the wrong end of a crowbar or worse....

I dialed the cops....

"Police: what's the problem sir?"
"There's someone in my house..... I'm being burgled"
"Can I take you number and address?"
"555-12345, Number 6 Amersham Crescent..... It's probably the one with the door kicked in and a bloke with a stripy jumper and a bag with swag written on it in the garden"
"ok, we'll send someone round immediately.... Don't go downstairs and stay on the line"
CRASH....BANG.....WALLOP"
"Feck, there's must be two of them, I can hear things being thrown around in the living room and noises from the kitchen too....."
"Ok, officers are on their way...keep calm"
"......hmmmm......errrmmmm.....ok"

At this point I thought it might be a good idea to retrieve a piece of my broken bed and potentially use it as a weapon if the 6 ft gorilla who was smashing my living room up decided to venture upstairs... So there I was, bollock naked at the top of my stairs with a bit of 2x4 in one hand and phone in the other.....and three cats egging me on.

SMASH...CRASH.....

"Where the hell are those coppers?"... it's been like.... minutes...

I plucked up courage to just peek over the banister, see if I could see anyone on the stairs....

and I did.....


It was a cat..... not my cat either..... some bloody neighbours cat... then another appeared.... two cats....

Two cats that had broken in through the cat flap, and couldn't get back out again!
Two cats that had panicked and rampaged throughout the downstairs looking for a way out!
Two cats that were not 6ft burglars.
Two cats that had a bunch of coppers racing towards my house, night stick poised and pepper spray ready....
Two cats that were going to make me look very very silly.

I did attempt to tell the dispatcher about the two cats, but just as I did two cop cars rolled up outside and six of the biggest coppers I've ever seen marched up the drive.... I opened the bedroom window and let them know I was ok and it was a false alarm, but as they didn't know me from a burglar they kindly instructed me to open the door or they'd smash it down....

There's no point in explaining further, my embarrassment was sealed. After proving my identity and seeing several cats destroy what items I had left the coppers saw the funny side and left....


...and yes, I've heard all the "cat burglar" jokes.

Angelina escapes for the last time.....

Last Sunday morning, in the early hours the hamster escaped for the last time. Why the last time you ask? well, she's packed her bags and vanished. Nothing has been heard from her, search parties have been despatched, helicopters scrambled and blood hounds released.

All to no avail.... vanished.

Logically, there are only a few possibilities as to where she has gone.... She's has either found a way out of the flat (possibly through the floor to the flat downstairs or an open door) or she is slowly decomposing behind some inaccessible kitchen unit.

My money is on the later, although there's no tell-tail smell as yet.... maybe she's being mummified, who knows.

Anyhow, as a loving, caring father of a wonderful five your old I did the decent thing and lied through my teeth and said Angelina preferred the outdoors and is now living in a council approved commune somewhere in Hartlepool where sawdust is free and safe bedding rains down every evening.

So, we now have another Hamster. This one is white, called "Snowy" and is fitted with a ball & chain.

Arrreeeeeaba....

I'm sweating cobs here!

I've just spent the last 90 mins running around the flat trying to capture an escaped hamster..... Feck knows how she got out, but I did find a hair clip, some chewing gum and a welcome pack from the official MacGyver Fan Club.

Anyhow, some things I learnt about catching an escaped hamster....

1. Hamsters dont come when you call them.
2. They dont react to threats and bad language
3. Wearing a Pith Helmet and desert boots dont help
4. Hamsters growl and rear up when cornered
5. No matter how hard you try, you cant get the Benny Hill Theme outta your head

I eventually ended up with a siege situation, Big Vern (the hamster was briefly renamed for the duration) was holed up behind the telly blocked in by a very large storage cabinet and several copies of Motorcycle news..... One way in and only one way out..... It would be a battle of wills.

No doubt Big Vern was tooled up and would be ready for a fight, there was no way he was gonna do bird again and I had to act quickly. First , I needed protection.... Motorcycle helmet and gloves, perfect. Now I needed some kinda weapon. Tear gas wasn’t an option and that vial of Rohypol was useless without a three litre bottle of White Lightning, the off-licence would be shut by now anyway. In the end I opted for half a can of pressurised Air-Duster I had left after a recent PC fix and Toms' towel from the airing cupboard...... I was now set.

As I could not see Big Vern directly I thought about having a phone passed over the magazines to allow us to communicate, as least this way I could talk Vern into coming out and he could ask for a Big Mac and fries and a fast get-away car.

Tem minutes into the siege I heard shots being fired, a woman screamed and Carter ducked behind the Cortina. With the reflexes of a cat Regan lunged toward the open door..... It was then my attention reverted back to my escaped hamster and I'd have to leave The Sweeney which was showing on UKGold for another time.... Shame really, I'd never seen that episode before.

Everything had gone quiet behind the TV, maybe Big Vern had fallen asleep? I decided to check. It was a tense moment, for all I knew Big Vern could be just around the leg of the telly, waiting… I took no chances, with my shaving mirror selotaped to a wooden spoon I slowly edged forward, my heart thumping in my throat.. I felt vulnerable…. I lowered the helmets visor.

I could see Big Vern, his back to my field of vision….. licking himself. Now was my chance, I could take him by surprise. Quickly I reached around and blasted him with the Air-Duster from point blank range. I scored a direct hit, Vern spun round, the shock of the Air-Duster lifting him in the air. It was like a scene from The Matrix. As the adrenalin took hold he lost control of his bowels and took off for the exit. The air was filled with the stench of Thai Chicken as I still hadn’t taken last nights curry down to the bins but it didn’t seem to bother Vern. Blinded by what must be sheer terror he fled into Toms’ perfectly positioned towel…… Vern would soon be back in the big-house, banged up in solitary with loss of privileges and little chance of parole.

Epilog….

As I sat at the table waiting for one of Sam’s exquisite culinary delights I began to explain to Lt Frank Monahan how Jefferies had made a schoolboy error and misjudged the amount of peroxide he injected in Ms Davies’s thorax. Just then some totty half my age walked in and inferred we should hurry if we were to spend the rest of the weekend shacked up in some cheap hotel where she takes it up the garry and squirts like a fire hydrant on a hot summers day.

Everyone laughed and we all agreed I was the best Medical Examiner working for the D.A…… After that we all faded to black.

Rodents...

Don't bother with hamsters, they're bloody stupid.

Four days into ownership and I've had enough. For the first 2 days the little twat was pissing in the enclosed exercise wheel then running as fast as she could. The result was a piss stained hamster covered in bits of food & sawdust. It's like being in Hartlepool all over again.

I had to remove the wheel.

Now, she's gone one better. She has moved her "nest" (a purpose designed area full of nice warm clean bedding) to the feeding dome. The dome has a food tray and water bottle... or at least it did when I went to bed last night. This morning the dome was full to the brim with bedding, the access tube was blocked with sawdust and the silly little bastard was drenched with water from the bottle (the bedding had sucked all the water from the water pipe which in turn soaked the stupid little get).

Oh and she's filled one of the food trays with shite.

Thoughts turn to despicable acts of immense cruelty...... it's tempting at the moment, but I'll hold off for now.







Sorry no piccys of the hamster, it gets on my tits too much