Wednesday, 25 July 2012

A Mayor's Tail

'So what is a Manx cat?' says Tybalt, who has been obsessively researching the tale, or should I say, 'tail' of Stubbs, the Mayor Cat of Talkeeta, Alaska.

'It's a breed of cat which has no tail,' I say.
'What's the point in that?' says Tybalt. 'I mean, how can he tell humans he is angry if he can't do a bit of warning tail twitching?'
'Presumably by doing some warning claw twitching?' I hazard a guess.
'Seems abit unfair on the human,' says Tybalt.
'P'raps that's why he is Mayor,' I say. 'Position of power, you see. You have to be a bit cut-throat when you are in a position of power.'
'Like a pirate?' says Tyablt.
'If you like,' I say. 'For example, the pirate in 'Nearly King Jimbo' who was called Nancy Jim. I believe she was very cut-throat.'
'Are you plugging your book?' says Tybalt. 'At the expense of my mayorial campaign?'
'Sales are slow,' I say.
'Sales are non-existent,' pipes in Andy from his study next door.
'So no hope of you sponsoring my campaign then?' says Tybalt.
'Oh, I can sponsor it,' I say, 'provided you don't expect more than a six foot stretch of bunting and a couple of 'Tybalt for MMM Mayor' T-shirts. And then we might be pushing it for the T-shirts.'

Tybalt sighs. 'How else am I going to raise funds and ultimately my profile?'
'You could try standing on a chair,' I say. 'Ahahahahahahahaha!'
The look on Tybalt's face tells me he is unappreciative of my pathetic joke.

'Okay,' I say. 'How about writing your life story. People like to know a bit about who they are voting for.'
'Or I could start a blog,' says Tybalt.
'Oh no,' I say. 'Because you know what will happen there, don't you? It'll be guinea pig syndrome all over again.'
'What's guinea pig syndrome?' says Tybalt.

'Parents all over the world will know of this,' I say. 'It's when a small child of say six or seven years old begs and begs their parent for a pet, making wild promises that they will look after it forever and forever; clean it out, feed it, play with it, make sure it's got plenty of water, and then, despite the well-documented evidence of guinea pig syndrome, the parent (fool that they are) will capitulate, purchase a guinea pig, hamster, rabbit, lizatd...okay, p'raps not a lizard, and the child will look after the newly acquired pet religiously for two and a half weeks, then at the first sign of rain/ snow/ a new series of Waterloo Road, they will abandon the pet and the parent will end up looking after it.'

'So are you saying that if I start a blog to advertise my mayorial campaign, I will keep up the writing of it for less than three weeks and you will end up writing it for me?' says Tybalt, somewhat sniffily.
'That's exactly what I am saying,' I say.
'Well,' says Tybalt, 'I think you are being a bit optimistic that I'll keep going for more than five days to be honest.'
'In that case, definitely no blog,' I say. 'Just go away and write a mini-biography, and we'll take it from there.'
'Okay,' says Tybalt.
'Remember to keep it mostly true, but embellish it a little, just to keep it exciting,' I say.
'You mean, lie?' says Tybalt.
'I didn't say that,' I say. 'Just go and write what you can and I'll look over it and see where we can jazz it up.'

'I may be gone some time,' says Tybalt, comandeering my i-pad.

On another note, yesterday I went and stood under the willow arch in the garden. It has grown HUGE with all the rain. It's more like a willow stadium. About 15 feet high. And I noticed a lot of ladybirds in there.
'Willow attracts aphids,' said Andy. 'I expect the ladybirds are after them.'
'I see no aphids,' I said.
'You're not looking close enough,' said Andy, and so I did look closer and then wished I hadn't because I've been itching ever since. Gazzillions of aphids, all over the place. And the ladybirds were chopping away on them like it was the best feast ever.

Whether the ladybirds will overcome the aphids remains to be seen. All I now is is that it was quite, quite revolting and not romantic as I think willow ought to be.
'It's the marvel of nature,' said Andy, as I pulled faces to show my revolt. 'The circle of life.'
'Well, it can go and circle of life somewhere else,' I said.

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