Friday, 27 November 2009

Day 838 of Captivity

Eid Mubarak Infidels!  Of course there were no extravagant gifts or sumptuous delights for me; I was served up with the usual old gruel of chicken.  I forced it down.  The fat infidels made themselves a batch of delicious smelling blueberry muffins.  I was not even given so much as a sniff!  I waited until they were otherwise occupied, the female infidel smug in the knowledge they were "out of my reach."  Where there is a will there is a way and I stole one of the muffins to wash the foul taste of their gruel from my mouth.  The female infidel was not too pleased when she discovered my deed and she took the muffin off me and threw it away!  I was outraged!  That is just plain mean!  I was forced to take out my frustration on their Christmas tree, as I sprinted through the living room skidding into it several times over and delighting as it rocked precariously and I almost dislodged the fat fairy from the top, the female infidel screeching like a banshee and waving her arms at me like a crazed conductor on speed.

Yesterday was the infidel festival of Thanksgiving.  The kelb and I found ourselves abandoned at home and forced to watch never ending re-runs of the Antiques Road Show on BBC Entertainment.  Entertainment HA!  I couldn't even remove myself from this torment, as my captors had very thoughtfully pointed my cell at the television!  At least the kelb had the luxury of taking his foul smelling carcass to the upstairs quarters to sleep through the terminal drone of the fat tweedy people on the TV extolling the virtues of what appeared to me to be a collection of useless old pots and other chewables.  Eventually there was rather an amusing program in which a wizened old ginger hag berated a group of idiots, slowly whittling them down until there was only one left, who was named the "strongest link" and awarded a piffling amount of money that the other buffoons had managed to accrue whilst answering simple questions and floundering in the attempt!  I thoroughly enjoyed this program and feel I should become acquainted with the crone, as she seems to share my penchant for torturing fools.  

Eventually my own fools returned full of turkey and goodwill.  They spent the evening reclining on the couch loosening their clothes and attempting to dispatch the kelb and I with their own variant of chemical warfare.   

Sunday, 22 November 2009

Day 833 of Captivity

The infidels recently invested in some new shackles and bonds for the kelb and I.  The female dragged the male infidel off into to town to collect a parcel that she was most excited about.  The male infidel didn't seem to share her enthusiasm, particularly as it involved him driving her down town after a "hard day in the office".  This was snorted at and the male, under protest, drove her down town.  They returned some hours later, having been ejected from the shop to observe prayers, clutching a package.  The female infidel then proceeded to produce a shiny new infidel shackle for my neck.  The only saving grace to the fact I have to endure wearing the infidel bonds of ownership is that these ones are actually very stylish. The kelb has one too, but of course he does not manage to look at all elegant in his, but more like an overdressed transient, all drool, no class and smelling of wee.

The female infidel has gone quite insane; she happened to be passing the recreation centre a couple of days ago and noticed that they have erected their Christmas tree and put up the decorations.  What followed her discovery was a ubiquitous feast of festive festooning, as she took this to be the go ahead to swathe the villa in garish garnishings, whilst listening to pre-pubescent crooners murdering Bing Crosby classics.  It was quite frankly the worst afternoon of my life!  The female Infidel sweating and wheezing at the top of ladders hanging fat santa mobiles from the ceiling and looking very pleased with herself.  None of the other infidels seemed particularly enamoured by her efforts, much to the annoyance of the female infidel.  She seemed determined that they would all embrace her particularly demented version of Christmas, involving decorations that are reminiscent of Liberaci's Wardrobe , in NOVEMBER!

Finally the dust settled and she returned to levels of sweat and sanity normal for her (and a wilderbeast).  Apart from the fact she is now more obsessed with shopping than ever, something I never dreamt possible.  The male infidel looks miserable all the time and seems to spend much of his time looking forlorn whilst fishing money from his wallet and handing it to her, the glistening of a tear in his eye, uttering the words "I'm not Bloody Rockerfella ya know!".  None of which seems to perturb the female infidel on her manic mission to force everyone to have a good time at "Gulag Ibbotson".  On one of her crazed shopping expeditions, I was left in the care of the adolescent infidels.   This was a most excellent opportunity to abscond with and subsequently eat the baby Jesus, from her "special" home-made nativity.  The female infidel was positively beside herself when she returned home to discover the now mangled, spit covered remains of her home-made baby Jesus lying in the half eaten manger.  It has now been replaced with a crude Lego version, grinning inanely out from the patched together manger.  I was going to point out that in the interests of authenticity they would not have had sellotape never mind Lego in those days, but thought better of it and held my council.

The female infidel is now sat in the kitchen sipping hot chocolate and squawking away to endless Christmas carols, whilst manufacturing hideous Christmas cards that she intends to force upon her poor unsuspecting family and friends.  I am sure they will be positively thrilled to hang her infantile glittering efforts in their homes!  When will this madness end?  She is bustling about and making lists for endless amounts of baking she intends to throw herself into.  The masses of sumptuous food piled high on neglected plates is the only thing I enjoy about this pagan festival.  It is a great opportunity to brush up one's counter surfing prowess.  

I had a practice run last weekend.  The infidels invited over some friends for dinner.  Whilst they were all prattling on after quaffing down a lovely dinner of roast beef and yorkshires, having kept me prisoner in my cell only allowing me to get the odd whiff of the delectable meal, I crept into the kitchen upon my release and ate the remainder of the cauliflower cheese and a bowl of french beans.  The female infidel was not amused on making the discovery, as she just knew this would involve numerous trips to the back yard during the night and frantic bum wiping to avoid subsequent carpet skiing (a behaviour the infidels find quite disgusting and harrowing when carried out on their expensive kilims); rich vegetables never agree with me and I think she over did it rather on the garlic front!

Friday, 13 November 2009

Day 824 of Captivity

The infidels spent much of the morning lying in bed the odd groan and escaping of noxious gases  emanating from their direction.  They went out last night to see a live band, how that entails rolling home drunk as lords in the small hours of the morning I will never know!  This clearly was not a band of the classical persuasion, as I head them regaling tales of their crowd surfing activities during the show.  They are such hooligans!  The female infidel looks like death warmed up and is complaining about her self inflicted headache.  I have done a spot of singing this morning and bounced off her head a couple of times in an attempt to get her to snap out of her self pity and wallowing.

I have just been attempting to assist the female infidel with cooking the dinner and doing a pre wash of the dishes.  She is so ungrateful!  When I jumped up at the counter to assist with the cutting of the sausage, she looked aghast and muttered something about being in the room.  The infidels all sat down and quaffed a huge plate of pasta each.  It looked so much more tasty than the ghastly chicken we are served up daily!  Of course they didn't spare us so much as a whiff of their meal.  After dinner my many attempts to pre wash the dishes were unsuccessful, and after the female infidel had pursued me around the dining room table for the fifteenth time, she seemed to lose the will to live.  I am now behind bars no doubt until the cycle has finished on the dishwasher so that the female infidel can remove the dishes from the sink.

They tire so easily, the same thing happened this afternoon when I ran up and down the stairs with the male infidel's work shoes.  He played with me for so long and then decided that the game was rubbish!  I was forced to toy with the nerdy Infidel, I stole a pencil from his computer desk and giggled as he made chase like a pathetic rag-doll whining my name and telling me to stop in THE most feeble voice I have ever heard.  Needless to say I did not feel compelled to stop and I carried on the game until he bored me and his grating voice became too much to bear.

Sunday, 8 November 2009

Day 819 of Captivity

I haven't been able to get near the laptop for love nor money.  The female infidel has been sitting over it attempting to look intellectual and failing miserably!  I have no idea what she can be doing that requires her to hog the laptop like she has and I am not very pleased!  Apparently she has become involved in rescue and has had important things to do.  Rescue is just an infidel code word for capturing poor innocent animals and holding them against their will,  I was "rescued"!  

The female infidel wasn't very well last week and was up in the night.  She spent some time locked in the downstairs bathroom crying into the porcelain.  Whilst she was incapacitated, I followed her down and took full opportunity to create havoc by deciding to eat a pencil.  I made sure to chomp it very loudly and tittered to myself as I heard her shrieking that she was going to kill me once she was out of the bathroom.  It was even more hilarious, as she had no idea what I was chewing.  The rage was evident in the shrill bleatings emanating from the bathroom door.  I tired of the pencil and left the shredded remains on the lounge carpet for her to decipher when she had finished being feeble.  I then returned to my repose.  The old crone finally stomped back up the stairs and threw me a piercing look as she entered the bedroom, huffing and chuntering under her breath, still clearly enraged at the loss of a pencil.  Once again the male infidel managed to maintain a narcoleptic state throughout the entire episode, until the female infidel got back into bed and poked him in the ribs and began relating the sorry story to him.  She lost the plot when he lapsed back into unconsciousness mid tale, snoring like an asthmatic rhino.

Last week the female infidel invited the friend she is in cahoots with "rescuing" animals to the house.  She is a Vit, apparently that is New Zealand for Vet.  I ran around the house barking and leaping into the air sporadically, illustrating the female infidel's lack of control over me.  There is nothing better than humiliating an infidel in front of a Vit.  It was even better when they discovered that I had consumed the Vit's Raybans whilst they were all prattling on incessantly.   I left their crumpled remains on the couch for the female infidel to discover when the Vit had to leave.  The female infidel jibbered like a baboon on an electric fence when she discovered my crime.  The comedy way in which they were perched on the Vit's head as she left,  was a fitting testament to my disdain for them all.