Timothy and the worst thing EVER

It was quiet in Felapton towers. Camestros was starring blankly into space muttering “heteroscedastic, heteroscedastic” in a monotone – a non-monotonic monotone but still a monotone.

The staff

Your blogging team, hard at blogging.

Timothy sat in silence, but his silence was one of deep and unremitting anger. His gaze was fixed on a freshly delivered copy of the Bortsworth Gazette & Advertiser. He starred at it as if eyes emitted light – a fierce burning light that surely would ignite the paper if only he stared hard enough at the vile monstrosity that it was.

Eventually disturbed by the smell of ozone wafting from Timothy’s fur ,Camestros broke from the reverie and addressed the cat directly:
“Timothy I can feel the tension in your spine from over here in the adjacent room in which I’m sitting and which I should have mentioned earlier as I was establishing the setting of this story. What on earth is the matter?”

Camestros considered his words and realized that Timothy couldn’t possibly hear him as he was in a different room. He stood, opened the door and said:
“Timothy I can feel the tension in your spine from over there. What on earth is the matter?”

“This” said Timothy, his gaze unbroken towards the newspaper.
“This” he repeated, now weakly waving his front paw “this slanderous, malodorous insulting rag. This crime against the noble art of journalism. This inherently objectionable crime against veracity, truth, and exactitude. This…”
“Enough Timothy! I think I have understood that you are upset with the local papr again. What did they do this time? Fail to print your article on the metaphysics of Nigella Lawson?” Continue reading

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Building bridges: a short fable

[Inspired by a comment I saw on File770 about a reasonable person blogging on a site aligned with Rabid Puppies]

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Your blogging team, hard at blogging.

Scene: The grounds of Felapton towers.

Camestros is sitting in the shade of a near by tree reading Aristotle for Dummies.

Enter Timothy the talking cat with a bundle of string, a nail gun and some blanks in a special cat adapted wheel-barrow. The Wheel-barrow is painted in camouflage colors.

[Camestros] Ah Timothy, off on some project I see. I do hope you are not attempting to build a barricade in front of the WI hall again?

[Timothy] Not at all. I have put that whole terrible incident behind me. No, today I am building a bridge.

[Camestros] Capital idea young Timothy. A bridge over the platypus pond would be a welcome addition to the house.

[Timothy] I’m actually going to put it over the other pond.

[Camestros] Which other pond?

[Timothy] The long thinny sort of pond that goes round and round.

[Camestros] You are making even less sense than usual. Wait…do you mean the moat?

[Timothy] Yes, yes. The long thinny, round and round moat pond. I’m going to build a bridge to fields on the south.

[Camestros] the south field?

[Timothy] Yes indeed.

[Camestros] The south field that is currently home to a horde of hungry hydrophobic zombies.

[Timothy] That’s the one.

[Camestros] The south field full of hungry hyrdophobic zombies which led us to build a giant moat around Felapton Towers precisely so we wouldn’t get gnawed alive?

[Timothy] Are you trying to make some sort of obscure point?

[Camestros] Well only the point that building bridges between communities maybe a laudable aim in most circumstances, doing so to a field of very angry undead monsters may be taking an ethical imperative to a less than apt conclusion.

[Timothy] Oh, you’re just so insular and cliquey.

[Disclaimer: the views expressed are purely those of Timothy the talking cat. No pejorative conclusions should be drawn about hydrophobic zombies, many of whom are quite lovely people I’m sure]

Timothy the talking cat and the libelous comment

It was a quiet day at Felapton Towers. Timothy the talking cat was inspecting his arsenal of chemical weapons whilst composing blank verse in his head. He paused momentarily, troubled that no matter how he phrased it the fourth line would necessarily rhyme with the “orange” in the second line, when the door bell rang insistently.

Shaken from his poetic endeavor, Timothy paced towards the front door, visually checking that the Heckler & Koch HK CAWS shotgun was still in place behind the coat stand.

“You can never be too careful these days.” he thought with visions of future headlines swimming in his head. “Verbose feline foils heinous home invasion with shocking shotgun” would look magnificent on the front-page of the Bortsworth Gazette & Advertiser in Timothy’s opinion and he would almost be ready to forgive the paper for not publishing his 12 page homage to Margaret Thatcher.

With the presence of the prototype military shotgun providing him with much needed reassurance, Timothy opened the door announcing as he did so “Please be warned that I am armed and can become extremely anxious in the presence of unannounced strangers!”

Before him stood a stranger – unannounced. Timothy choked back his instinctive reaction to begin suppressing fire along the drive way while activating the laser defense grid and instead greeted the stranger with a cheery “Good morning”.

“Mr Talkingcat? I am Eugene Sellwart of Sellwart, Sellwart and Munch, solicitors, conveyances and picture framers. I reprsent my client Adolf Smith-Goering who intends to sue you for libel.”

“Libel?” replied Timothy incredulously “how dare you threaten my first amendment rights!”

Eugene Sellwart looked at Timothy puzzled. Perhaps it was only now that he had apprehended that he was talking to a cat or perhaps his fine legal mind was puzzled by references to the constitution of a nation which was geographical and jurisdictionally distant.

“Libel is not a laughing matter Mr Talkingcat” admonished Sellwart “you sir, called my client a neo-nazi!”

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