The Cat's Tale ('tale'-'tail'... get it?)

I've just relayed this story to someone and I thought I could cheat by using it as todays literery gem:

Rochester's tale of woe.

My mum works in a school for disabled and learning difficulties kids. One day, one of the helpers was taking the lunchboxes out of the kids bags when she was a little surprised to find a tiny, tiny kitten at the bottom of the bag.

When questioned, the child who owned the bag said that he had decided to bring the kitten in to the show the class, but had forgotten about it. The poor sod had been shut in this bag all morning. The kitten was clearly underfed (you could count his ribs just by looking), filthy and only about 4 weeks old.

So my mum tries to get hold of the kid's parents, who aren't answering the phone. next she decides to question the kid's big sister, who also attends the school for 'special' kids. This conversation established the following facts:

1. The kitten's mother had a litter of 7 kittens;
2. Only 4 of the kittens were still alive;
3. The kitten's mother was now dead;
4. At least one of the cats, possibly the aforementioned mother, had been thrown down the stairs in a fit of pique by the child's father and was killed outright.

(You may be forming a mental image of the family here - it's probably quite accurate).

The decision was taken at this point that under no circumstances was the kitten going to be returned to it's owners. Not a chance. Not on your Nellie. Nada.

So I got a call at work from Mum, who knew that we had just taken delivery of another kitten, Elliot. She was wondering if I wanted a mate for Ellie. I ummmed and ahhhhed. She told me the story. It was either me or the RSPCA. I couldn't say no. I mean... how could you?

As it happened, we were taking Ellie for a check-up at the vets that evening as we had only had him for about 3 days, so I told Mum I'd pop round her house, pick up the kitten and whisk him off to the vet.

Upon arriving at Mum's I was confronted by the image of this tiny kitten, which I could have fit into the palm of my hand and pretty much closed my hand around it, nose to nose with mum's dog. I should clarify that the dog was in a corner. Whimpering. Useless mutt.

So off goes that kitten to the Vet in a cardboard box (you know the ones that photocopier paper comes in). A name was required a short notice. Having just watched Jane Eyre (the one with Ciaran Hinds), 'Rochester' seemed a no-brainer. The vet was furious. Not because of the name, but because he just couldn't believe that anyone could let a 4 week old, undernourished kitten get taken to school in a rucksack. He demanded names and addresses, which obviously could not be provided.

Anyway. We got Rochester home, and because of his age, had to feed him warmed baby food. But that's not the end of it.

Not only was he filthy, but he was absolutely crawling with fleas. So in our infinite wisdom, we decided to give him a bath and use some anti-flea shampoo on him. To our utter, utter horror, as soon as we got him wet, the wtarer coming off him was red. Like he was bleeding. A call to the vets later and we discovered (to our minor embarrassment) that the red was actually flea-poo. So that was fine.

A couple of days later though, Rochester became poorly. he was all waek and pathetic, so we took him back into the vets, where it was established that his flea infestation had been so bad that the poor cat was actually anaemic to the point of being nearly dead.

The vet kept him in for the best part of a week, during which time he almost died twice. Fortunately, our Roach is a fighter and survived the ordeal. More baby food for another week or so, then he was onto proper cat food. 7 years later, he is an extremely large black alley cat type.

Question is... was it worth it? Rochester's vet bills cost a (relative) fortune back then... Ellie was a pedigree and cost about £80 from the breeder, but the Roach cost us about £150 in vets bills in his first 2 weeks.

After that episode, though he was fine - he's never had a day of sickness since. Ellie on the other hand proved to be a pain in the arse. He was allergic to cat food. The only food he could eat without getting the squits was the dried IAMS stuff.

Which leads me on to a lovely poo related Elliot story...

Ellie Vs The Poo

My first house had a porch with an inner door which opened into the lounge (I use the word 'lounge' advisedly as it was only about the size of a postage stamp). Ellie had developed a habit early in his life of urinating and defecating on the floor right next to this door. he also had an obsessive post-toilet scraping habit, which he retained to the day he died. He scraped the litter tray, the wall next to the litter tray and anything in a 5 metre radius.

Anyway. One day he had a bit of an upset tummy. So he decided that, rather than force Rochester to share a litter tray with a foul, steaming, liquid pool of poo he would deposit it in front of this door. Then he would, very considerately, cover it up, by scraping at the carpet until it came up and folded back over the poo.

This had the convenient effect of acting as a door stop to the lounge door. On returning home form work, I could get into the porch... but not the lounge. The door would not open more than a couple of inches.

So there's me, in my lovely, smart suit on my hands and knees in the porch, forcing my arm though a 2 inch crack in the doorway to unfold this bit of carpet, totally unsuspecting of the sloppy brown horror that awaited me. I managed to straighten the carpet, getting toxic goo on my hand in the process.

Once the carpet had been straightened the terrible realisation dawned upon me that in order to open the door, I would need to scrape the bottom of the door through the poo, thereby spreading it evenly in a neat arc all over the lounge carpet...

Sandhurst Military Academy

I've just spent the last 3 days at Sandhurst Military Academy.

For those people that don't know, Sandhurst is the place where the Army trains up it's officers. Every year they turn out a whole bunch of Second Lieutentants.



Why, I hear you ask, was Dazza at a military academy? Had he joined the Army? Has he gone utterly stark raving mad?

I'm afraid not - although the image of me in uniform is quite an entertaining one! No, I've volunteered for a management development programme, which is loosely based on the training that the Army gives its new officers. I say loosely because there's no (compulsory) running, jumping, climbing of trees spending the night in holes in the woods, shooting stuff and being shouted at. there is, however a lot of stuff about leadership.

I had a superb time. Questionable sheets, communal showers and horses in the corridors aside (it is the army after all) it was absolutely fantastic and, quite frankly, if anyone gets the opportunity to go on the courses run by IDG then jump to it!

I was surprised at the accomodation - not sure what I was expecting - dormintories or at least shared rooms, but we each had a decent sized room to ourselves. They weren't amazingly clean and they were far from luxurious, but then it was never gonna be the Ritz. Amazingly, some people actually complained.

There were several of those activites where you have to raise flag poles, transfer ping-pong balls from A to B, cross an imaginary river and the like, but it was very different to those naff team building days that you get sent on. Each meember of the team gets to take on the leadership role and the team and the leader are properly reviewed at the end of it. I learned loads about myself in just 3 days.

It didn't really concern me - but I did wonder exactly how I would function, not only working, but opening up to and being frank with a team of people that I've never ever met before, but it was fine. in fact it was better than fine. One of the comments that I made at the end of the course was that although I've worked with the guys in my team in the office for around 3 years now and work together and get on well, the bond that 9 stangers formed in 3 days at Sandhurst made for a much more highly performing and closer knit team. Amazing!

Some of the guys that run the course have a military background - two of them gave us pre-dinner lectures - one about his military career and the other about how he left the military and went into a commercial environment. Now, I know a couple of coppers who did this when they retired - they found the change in culture difficult to deal with - imagine how much more of a change a soldier would experience!

I was also kinda chuffed at the end when we did a sort of one to one review session with one of our team mates - in my case a guy called Colin. Colin is several grades above me and has been a senior manager for a few years - and from what I hear a pretty good one. Anyway - during the end review he said to me that when he first met me, despite the vast difference in experience between us, he was actually quite threatened by me - apparently I'm going places. Cool.

They took a group photo of us outside the Old College - I'll post it at some point. In the meantime, there are some great pictures of Sandhurst on their website right here.

R.I.P. Ellie :(

Sadly, Ellie died in the night. He's had an ongoing bladder and kidney problem and it finally got the better of him. Fortunately, it was relatively quick and he died in his sleep.



I'm gonna miss him...

Avoid them like the plague

So I ordered a book from an Amazon seller - nothing expensive, just a couple of quid.
A month later I hadn't received it - I have to admit that I kinda forgot about it. So I took a look at their feedback on Amazon. It seems that they're pretty inconsistent with the quality of their service.

So I sent them a nice polite e-mail asking for the status of my order:

Hi, I have not yet received the book detailed in this order, placed over a month ago. Please can you advise me of it's status.
Many thanks, Darren.

See. Nothing adversarial. Just a simple chaser. Here's what I got in response:

Dear Customer
Thank you for your Amazon order Delivery times - as stated in our product description your order will be processed and the item delivered to you
from America in 10-14 working daysDelivery charges - are as stated on
Amazon.Multiple Orders - Amazon do not allow reduced postal charges for multiple orders from Marketplace sellers. Amazon dictate that you pay the same charge for each item.
Item Description - Please note that all the items we have in stock are
as listed currently on Amazon.
Items we have in stock - Please note that all the items we have in
stock are as listed currently on Amazon.Returns - if your item is damaged,
incorrect or unwanted please return the item to
Paperbackshop,
Cockrup Farm,
Coln St
Aldwyns,
Cirencester
Gloucestershire.
GL7 5AZ,
UK
Please include the despatch note and state if you would prefer a replacement or a refund for the damage or incorrect item.This is an information only email there is no need to respond to it. If this email does not cover your query please resend your origianal email quoting "Zebra" in the subject bar.

Zebra?
I suppose the clue is in the name of the farm...
So what they're actually saying to me is: We haven't read your e-mail. In fact we have no intention of reading any e-mails unless you put nonsense in the subject line.
My response to their pointlessness was as follows:

Dear Sir,
Thank you for your prompt reply to my enquiry.
It is clear to me that neither you, nor your trained zebra had any intention of reading my polite e-mail of last week. Instead you chose to send me a response (if you can call it that) that is, in effect nonsense.
Replying to an e-mail is a simple task more suited to trained monkeys than creatures of an equine nature. You have obviously, however failed to grap this with what passes as an opposable thumb, choosing instead to hoof off with my money and treat me, the customer as mere livestock.
Based on your recent feedback, it would appear that you have treated many of your other customers the same.
I have no intention of continuing to correspond with a business that is more akin
to a zoo than a bookseller. As such I require an immediate refund.
There is no need to send me the book.
I have copied Amazon in on this mail as I feel that an association with a business that demonstrates such unprofessionalism reflects badly upon them - fodder they could do well without.
No Regards,
Darren Morrissey.

Too harsh? Too sarcastic? Ho hum. I had a bad day at work.

Elevator Interior Positional Dynamic Relationships

The laws of physics cover many things, from the speed of light and nuclear fusion to the effects of gravity on a cat's body when it is 'accidentally' knocked off the arm of the sofa.

It's about time that science was applied to something really important. Something that will make a real difference to the world. Something that will benefit mankind for years and years to come.

For this reason, I intend to apply to the governemnt for a grant to study the dynamics of the interior positional dynamics of elevators.

Think about it for a minute: In any given lift occupied by say, 6 people, the person who has to get out first is always, always at the back. And what a pain in the backside that is. There must be a formula by which the probability of this is calculated - and once we fully understand the phenomenon, we can devise ways to limit it's effects on our day-to-day lift-catching activities.
The variables would include (but not be limited to):

The location of the lift,
The capacity of the lift,
The number of passengers in the lift,
The floor that each passenger requires,
The order in which the buttons are pressed.

Obviously the methodology would have to include the study of lifts in different parts of the world. For example, do the lifts in the Bahamas follow the same rules as those in California or New Zealand? Does altitude and/or air pressure have an effect? We'll have to
test this in lifts in ski resorts against those operating in the clubhouses of sea-level golf courses. What about wildlife? Do the inhabitants of the African Safari or Australian outback influence the dynamics of the list?

Alcohol may also have a contriubtary effect - after all, a very very drunk person may press the wrong button, fall out of the lift on the wrong floor or even fall asleep in the lift, thereby missing the required floor. Another important factor is odour. Will the smell of frying bacon promt the spontaneous depression of the Canteen level? Does a lingering fart cause people to exit the lift
earlier than intended?

All these vital questions will be answered if the government can be persuaded of the importance of my study. Write to your MP today. Even better - send me money. You know you want to!

Oh, Bollards!

Whilst wandering around town at lunchtime, not paying any attention to my surroundings, I walked stright into a bollard.
Fortunately, it was slightly too high to damage anything important, but my pelvis is very, very sore right now

Mini Jammie Dodgers

I have a bag of mini jammie dodgers on my desk. It clearly states on the front of the bag in tasteless blue letters that my mini jammie dodgers are "Fun To Share!"

Having experimented with this concept, I have concluded that it is not fun to share my mini jammie dodgers at all and that it is, in fact more fun to eat them all myself.

I shall be writing to the makers of mini jammie dodgers accusing them of mis-describing their goods and suggesting that unless they want to be reported to the trades description chaps, they should remove the offending phrase from the front of their product.

An Uninteresting Day

I tried very hard yesterday to do something interesting enough to write about. Very hard indeed. Unfortunately, however I was unable to deliver on my objective and, instead, proceeded to do many, many uninteresting things. These things were uninteresting to the point of being dull. Verging on boring… but not quite.

Of the many uninteresting activities in which I engaged yesterday, perhaps the least uninteresting (and therefore by default, presumably the most interesting) was my lunch. I say this because, on one level at least, a life and death situation occurred prior to the purchase
and subsequent consumption of said lunch. The fact is, I almost died of hunger. Yes, my discomfort was such that I was convinced of my impending demise and had to proceed very, very quickly (but not interestingly) down to the canteen (or Bistro as it likes to advertise
itself as) as soon as it opened. My death was successfully averted and I am now here to tell the (albeit uninteresting) tale.

Other uninteresting things I did yesterday included putting my shoes on, catching two busses and pressing the '14' button in the lift.

Incidentally, as an uninteresting aside to my uninteresting post about my uninteresting day, I am posting this uninteresting post by e-mail at 9.30 in the morning on the 2nd March. The last time I did this, it took over 12 hours for the post to appear on the blog. I wonder when
it'll appear today.

On the other hand... I'm not that interested...