Dearest reader, you find me today, languishing in front of the toasty wood burner. It is supposed to be Spring, but it is outrageously cold outside and I am not going to venture out unless I am fully clad in a sleeping bag and an Arctic rated muff. I do rather like the romantic aspect that the warm light from the wood burning flame gives to my whiskers, I feel all ‘Wuthering Heights’, and pause briefly to reenact Kate Bush at her finest, a time when spindlesome limbs are ideal for twirling and flailing.
I have recently spent many hours comforting my pal Nelson, who has just acquired himself a lady friend. He is somewhat bewildered by this, and although he is putting a great deal of effort into his new dalliance with Lady H, he is still flummoxed by the etiquette of romancing, and these new and unexpected sensations that he has been experiencing. Naturally he came to me for some advice. We have to date, spent many hours sitting at his dining table, notebooks and diagrams spread out and yet, after all my efforts he still has a suitably confused expression on his downcast furry face.
Unsuccessful I may have been with him so far, but a combination of this foray into the world of advice and a ‘chance find’ has diversified my literary attention. I have taken my journalistic baby steps, tottering about, with pen in paw, in the advice column of ‘Tassels’. (Tagline ‘shake them, shake them’). This is a splendid publication, which I first discovered in the deep dark recesses of the Mistresses’ (yes, I am back to calling her that) bag as I was rummaging around for her catapult.
Writing the column has been quite a learning curve, but I find that it does appeal to my natural curiosity about human nature. Normally these letters are full of mundane grievances, abject pole rage and general relationship related trauma. However this one letter caught my beady eye. It was written on a pristine sheet of Conqueror High White Wove, with matching envelope. Classy. I had noticed that some letter writers had begun to go to some length to capture my attention. This one had surpassed any other as it was in poetry form and there was also a custard cream, wrapped in tissue paper, enclosed within.
You revolt me, you repulse me!
Get away from me you beast!
Of all the lasses in this land
I desire YOU the very least
Well, that had my attention, so I kicked off my sling backs, nabbed the custard cream and settled back to read the rest off the letter whilst warming my chilly paws in front of the fire.
Unhand me you wanton minx, you really must desist
I have no need or urgency to be so fiercely kissed
I must insist I am not the one for such a torrid night
For this passionate session of lascivious delight
She continued her approach, unheeding my heartfelt plea,
Oozing herself towards me, knocking over my cup of tea
She said “I love your shyness, and your endearing unease
and also how your bottom snugly fits into your jeans”
It was clearly time for me to go, to promptly flee this scene
Too late, alas I had been grasped by my trembling knee
She turned her face towards me, devilment shining through
and pulled the ripcord on her bodice, revealing quite a view
“Brace yourself” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat
I’m going to scramble up your leg like an excitable, amorous stoat
Then I formally request my love, that you make great haste to explore
the wondrous delights hidden within my skimpy nylon drawers”
The letter went on and on…and on. I am afraid that the general tone of it plummeted to depths that I found rather distasteful, so I won’t subject you to any more of it, suffice to say I was especially disappointed at:
hours and hours of careful plucking, tufts removed for tidy loving
It would seem that the distress the writer was feeling could only be voiced in this manner. It isn’t often that I feel appalled. I decided that I would not discuss this letter with Nelson, this was not going to calm him or convince him of the gentile nature of the ‘female of the species’. As I filed the letter away in my briefcase I gave silent thoughts to the poor soul that was being haunted by such an amorous trollop.