Church of England Diocese of Manchester St. Ann, Belfield

Winston's blog.

4 Jul 2020, 9 a.m.
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               Winston

Let me state plainly, forcefully, categorically, and any other word that ends with ly and fits the narrative, that it was not my idea to parade all over the interweb the other Sunday morning, wearing that ridiculous pointy hat.

Can you believe these people? I let them into my house. Award them privileges like stroking me, feeding me, and caring for me. I work 24/7 to keep vermin down –have you ever seen a rat within fifty yards of this bungalow? A mouse? – no you have not! Then there I am having a quiet nap, after the Rev Gill’s online spot, and what do they do? They wake me up, stick that stupid hat on my head, and display me in front of the camera like some poncey poodle. Honestly, I have never been so embarrassed in my life! If they ever do that again they are history! The pair of them!

I have reported them to the authorities, of course. Strongly worded letters have gone out to the RSPCA, and the Cats Protection Society. I have also sent a written letter of complaint to the Albino Squirrel Preservation Society – just to give them something to open. I mean, how much correspondence are they likely to get on any given day? And it must be so boring just sitting there, waiting for someone to abuse a white albino squirrel.

Talking squirrels, we get them here, of course, in the garden. Not the white albino type. More your ratty grey variety. When I was young, I used to chase them. It was great fun. They are so quick and so agile, and they give you a great run for your money. I actually caught one once. He sank his teeth into my neck (have you seen those teeth? Who the hell needs teeth that size?) What a mess he made. I didn’t know I had so much blood in me? When I came out of hospital, I decided that the pain of catching squirrels tended to outweigh the pleasure of chasing them. So I gave it up. Switched to birds. Little ones, of course – some of those big ones are so scary they must be on steroids.

They’ve been talking the D-word again. Caught them watching a compilation of Crufts memorable moments, the other night. Personally, I’d rather sit and watch paint dry, but that’s just me. We used to have a dog (pardon my French). Jack, he was called. He was alright as dogs go, but then I had him well trained. I expect they’ll bring another one home before too long. I just hope they don’t expect me to be happy about it. I have my image to think about.

Speak soon, kittens.

I notice he’s got the water feature up and running again, in the garden. We must be having visitors. Not seen any of those around for a while.