Two Legs Can Blog Too

Hey hope you don't mind but the male two legs was telling me this story the other morning and I thought I'd tell you, then I thought he can tell you so I have given him my space today. I know he isn't as good as me and he certainly isn't as funny but I thought I deserved a break and he's the best I can do.

Here he is

This is a tale of a few years ago before Casper arrived on the scene

Now would be a good time to invite insomniacs to join in the reading and they will find a quick cure to their complaint.

On the day in question, I returned home still rather miffed about the disaster that was the football match the previous evening. I strode into the garden to take the air - my wife had just had her hair coloured and cut and titivated in many ways. I was in the dog house for not noticing but nothing unusual there.

We were enjoying what is called a balmy Summer and as a result the doors were open and a limpid breeze ran through the house.

I stood in the garden admiring Mother Nature's handiwork - I mused at the tireless work of the honey bee as it moved effortlessly from flower to flower transporting pollen and adding to the miracle that is life in a country garden.

There was an almighty scratching at my neighbour's fence and a head appeared above it. It was Max and he had a captive member of Mother Nature's family in his mouth. I called to him not to enter the conservatory with his hostage - he went into the conservatory. I explained to him that under no account was he to go in the kitchen with the hostage - he leapt up the step and stood in the kitchen. I followed and implored of him that the lounge was out of bound with live-stock in tow - he moved into the lounge. Again I followed and was quite adamant that if he ventured upstairs with the gift he would not see the light of another dawn - he went upstairs. It was at this point, as I heaved my weary body up the stairs that I realised that his hostage was in fact a bird; the flapping of wings indicated both that Max was as tired as I after climbing the stairs and secondly that his hostage was still alive.

I reached the summit of the stairs and momentarily shared the same elation that Hilary must have felt as he set foot on the peak of Everest - not the double glazing people - the mountain! Sebastian was there - I implored of him to go and entice his brother to leave the house. He looked at me, looked at Max, yawned and went back to sleep. Suddenly the flapping of wings ceased and Max appeared with the bird back in Max's mouth. As luck would have it he passed my right foot which made contact with his bottom and directed him to the stairs. He made a fast descent. I followed and opened the front door. Reluctantly Max exited with his prize still locked between his jaws.

I shut the door and returned to the lounge window to view. Max lay on the lawn proud of his trophy but looking rather threateningly in my direction. I was glad there was a pane of glass between us (actually two panes since the double glazing!). Max's eyes sparkled with a cunning plan; my mind whirred as I tried to out think my feline foe. Got it! In the same moment Max rose from the lawn and I left the window. I headed for the back door, went through it, locking the cat flap as I did and shutting the door behind me. I picked up the garden hose and turned it on at the stop cock.

The fence echoed again to the scrabbing and Max's head appeared again with the feathered friend between his jaws. I flicked the trigger on the hose like those gunslingers in the ancient black and white films that grace many a Saturday afternoon. The jet of water shot out, hit the fence and rebounded on me. Max smugly leapt down the fence and headed again for the conservatory.

Remembering part of Gordon Ramsay's script from Hell's Kitchen, I pointed out that Max was not pulling his weight as a fully signed up member of the Cook household and had he not visited the vet's at an early age for a very unpleasant operation, I would now be delighting in taking them off for him without anaesthetic.

Max was now at the back door and made a charge for the cat flap. My strategy had paid off; his head bounced off the locked flap and he opened his mouth to protest. The bird - a blue tit I noticed - took that one second to save itself and flew from his mouth straight through the open conservatory door and into the bosom of Mother Nature and into the empty garden next door.

Max looked at me as if I were dirt. He checked the conservatory to make sure his feathered friend was not hiding and curled up and went to sleep. I dried off my soaked clothes and reflected how much easier life would be if I stayed at the office for the late shift.