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If you want to sit back and relax, you can have the whole of pageram read to you by the author.

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Pageram by Rob Mumford
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returned to the fence to stare at the print. Within moments the air was soiled by the unmistakable and revolting stink of cat. It told me that I had become yet another victim of nature’s very-own anti-personnel mines.  My nose was invaded and my ears were filled with the voices of a million misinformed people.

“Oh, cats are so clean, they bury their poo.”  

No, they’re not, and no, they don’t. They cover it up so that I can’t see it.

This was the latest in a series of these disgusting discoveries, and the second by this foul method. Was it a coincidence that my garden had become an over-sized litter tray just days after my new neighbour had moved-in? I knew that she was a woman and she lived alone. I hadn’t met her, but I’d seen her washing-line.

A single person - albeit with nice underwear - and an upturn in cat-shit suggested one thing: I was living next-door to an “I prefer cats to people” person. Even my company is better than a cat’s.

The final dinner party that Danielle and I had attended together between Christmas and New Year was at the house of one of these people. Several times during that evening, Mitch (the host) had said, “cats are better than men”. Needless to say, she didn’t have a bloke. After the meal - which was fish and tasted like it came from a tin - we retired to the sitting room where she introduced us to Muffin. She told us how funny he was - no evidence apart from when he licked his bum. She told us how clever he was - once again, no evidence except the bum trick. And then, she told us how clean he was.

This Ode to Muffin went on for two more glasses of Merlot until something bad happened. Danielle noticed that I’d drifted off to a pleasant place that I save for such occasions so she pushed her elbow in to my side. She was right, Mitch needed to be stopped and I had a duty to the other guests. I focused on the fur-loving-junk-jewellery-wearing-lump and waited for a pause in the unbroken stream of hippy-rubbish that was spilling from her flapping jaw. My moment arrived and, like an energetic Muffin, I pounced.

 

“Rob used to have a real soft-spot for lingerie. I’m sure he still has. He was quite good at choosing it, which was great.”

Sarah
Ex- from University (Will’s sister)