Another day, another meander. It was a nice, sunny day, and so off we trotted for another jolly out in the fields, and in the woods. We were headed for the river again, as it is much cooler down there. I’m not convinced it is a good idea, as that big angry weir thing lives down there, and I still think it is in a terrible mood. It is still roaring since the last time we visited.
The Wally was tied up on the leash as the sheep from our last visit were about, and we did not know if they had caught wind of our plans to grab one of them and put it in our tummies. They are wily things, sheep, despite their ridiculous cloud-like camouflage.
Hooman likes it down by the weir. So does the Wally. He will quite happily run around in the water, chasing imaginary bones, and trying to catch sticks that hooman throws in the water upstream of him.
Today was different, however. There was an expectation in the air, and this came to light the moment The Wally started mocking us from the river as he paddled through looking for edible things and sticks.
“NO! Sod off!” we both shouted, remarking how we don’t like wet, and the river is decidedly wet. It makes our paws feel funny, and our hair to stand on end like badly gelled hair from the 1980’s.
Then, the game changed. Hooman put his hand in his pocket, stood on the far island, and shouted loudly “I have ham!”
We have known hooman for some time now, and knew that what hooman says, and what is reality, are often very separate things. Still, the chance of a nice bit of ham to munch on during this long walk was not something to be missed, regardless of the odds. We gritted our teef and began the arduous trek across the islands.
I went first, jumping onto the nearest little rock island. It was not wet. I was safe. It didn’t wobble either, which was nice. Jumping to the next, Batman followed behind, leaping to wherever I had been. This was a story as big and as epic as Homer, Sinbad, or The Bear.
One more hop and we were on the last of the little islands. Just to our right, the weir roared at us, and tried to put us off by shouting how slippy the rocks were, or that we were inches from instant wet peril!
I made it, but Batman had to leap a few stones and rocks before he made it. I went and sat by The Wally as he appeared to know what he was doing, which was strange in itself.
At long last, and much excitement we found ourselves on the biggest island, where The Wally waited for us. It was at this point I remembered I had no flag to plant into the ground and claim as a sub-kingdom of Numpington. Batman made it across, and there we were, conquering heroes on our new dominion.
I chose to patrol the border, to spot any strategic weak spots that invaders may use to usurp our new found land. Batman stood guard, staring diligently at the far banks in case of marauders. The Wally chose to sniff butts at this point because he is a dog, and they are quite silly.
At this point I looked at hooman, and meowed at him, clearly indicating that this was the time to dole out the ham. he stared back. The lying sod, he had none! He was stood in the river, so I couldn’t rush over, and punish him for this misdeed, so I decided to lie down, and take in the scenery, keeping an eye out for hamfish, or any passing catfish relatives.
At this point, there needed to be a discussion. Batman and I had a conference on one side of our island, and discussed the options. Hooman had no ham. This was a no surprise, but we played the odds.
We could remain here, and cry to catch some of these delicious sounding Hamfish, but there was no saying how long that would take, and Batman had to be back by sunset in order to fight crime in the city.
We could try to lure hooman close to us, so we could not only punish him, but maybe get a tickle as well, or we could leave, traversing the hazardous little islands back to shore and head home, where we knew there was food aplenty.
We chose the ‘food’ option, which looking back is no surprise at all. Again, I took point, and carefully chose my spots to leap to, all the while keeping an eye on what the weir was up to. I never did trust it.
Batman followed behind, and got particularly nervous when he occupied the same spot as the hooman. Hooman’s are renowned in the cat world for being uncoordinated, clumsy, slow, dim-witted, and mostly a nuisance. He quickly leapt to the next island in fear of being pushed off into the water by the big ungainly leg.
And so, like the ancient nomad cats of Patagonia, off we went on our long trek back to hooman’s gaff. We kept a distance between us in case the sheep had planned some sort of retaliatory attack due to our desire to use one of them as a treat.
The Wally was our roaming berserker, barreling up and down the path, in and out of bushes, doing his best, we figured, to flush out any animals that either meant us harm, or that we could possibly chew on. All the while he dangled his great tongue out of his mouth. We assume that is a war banner for his people. either that, or he is just very, very silly.
Until next time…