...Er, um, Hello!

My name is Augustus. I have parents. Sometimes life can be difficult. I possess the great skill of being able to charm the socks off of anyone who chances to spot me, a rare occurrence indeed. [The spotting, that is; not the charming!]
However, for you, Dear Reader, I am prepared to divulge my deepest thoughts and perspective of the world, mostly because if I don't tell somebody what is going on around here, I am going to pop!
But be warned, proceed with caution: Living with Mummy and Dad can be rather harrowing at times...

Saturday, February 9, 2013

The Tunnel and The Broken Glass

It is the midnight hour, when one awakens from a refreshing sleep to find the rest of the world still snoozing. All is quiet. Stretching, therefore, and rising from my cozy niche in the bed, I bounce to the floor and prepare to saunter about the dimly lit surroundings, checking the place out for burglars or the occasional dust bunny out of place.

After inspecting a pink mouse then grazing for a few minutes in the crunchy bowl, my thoughts turn to adventure. Wouldn’t it be swell, say I, to discover something fun to do while no one else is around to interrupt? And finding myself in the dining room, I spy The Tunnel.

This tunnel is a longish, open-ended job with a nifty center window just right for espying the enemy on the trail. The premise is to start at one end, wiggle your way through, then come out the other fully prepared for whatever you might encounter, be it a ball, mouse, or even another cat. The downside, as one will later note, is that this tunnel makes the most horrific crackling sound; in short, you cannot sneak up on anyone in The Tunnel.

At this moment, however, I am prepared to endure the noisy bit for the sake of sheer entertainment so in I dive, squiggling and turning, discovering a leftover bouncy ball and an errant feather along the path. Scrabbling at the feather, I roll the tunnel over on its side, causing my head to loll out the center opening and find itself confronted by an obstacle. Strange, I say to myself, that wall was not there when I started. Self ignores me so I pop back into the tunnel to continue the journey. 

Rolling and twisting, attacking the ball with claws and teeth, I see that somehow I have managed to turn around in the tunnel so must right the circumstance. Backing up rapidly in a vain attempt to exit head first, the tunnel slides and skips over the stone tiles, all the while making the most deafening crackling row so that I immediately grow conscious the Mumster (whom I left sleeping soundly only a few minutes before) might hear. 

And within the space of about a millisecond there occurred 3 unmistakable sounds: to wit, the thud of my rear end against a solid surface, the tinkling crash of glass, and a sleepy but assertive question (something about, “What the blazes is going on in there?”). 

That is all I need to hear. 

I am off like a streak upstairs where I am content to confine myself to a dank corner until Mummy leaves for work, the new sound of agitated sweeping a firm reminder that it might have been better to stay in the toasty bed.

Yet a cat has to have an adventure once in while, say I. 

So off I drift into fitful slumber, drowning out the mutterings and rantings with pleasant thoughts of my latest adventure. 

What, I wonder, will I get into next? 

Just you wait and see!

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