Apparently, you are either a cat person or a dog person. Just the other day I went to visit my good friend L. L is the proud and doting owner of a feline and she (not the feline) has the most ludicrous habit of talking incessantly in that annoying coo that I’m sure even babies object strongly too. Things like
Oozed irritatingly out of her mouth to an unmoved cat that she was holding in her arms with reverence.
Fifteen minutes of whistling to myself, noticing that the chandelier needed urgent dusting, noticing that the picture on the wall was skewed, noticing that someone had been polishing shoes with the sofa cushions were quite enough before I had to interrupt her flow by clearing my throat in a manner likely to suggest I had an erupting volcano in my throat.
Cat and owner looked at me with some concern. “Are you ill?”
I reassured both that I was neither and looked closely at the cat. As far as I could tell, its fur was not coated with gold, or chocolate for that matter. The cat, like millions of its fellows, had whiskers in the right places. It had four legs. Its eyes were in front of its head. It looked like a plain old cat, and I unwisely voiced this.
Ten minutes later I was wishing for a sudden attack of the measles that would allow me to excuse myself from the flow out outraged eloquence. How dare I call Princess “just another mangy cat?” Am I blind? Have I taken leave of my little senses? Do realize that she has feelings?
All the while, Princess looked on sardonically, in smug amusement.
“What feelings?” I demanded finally. “It’s just a mang – er – just a cat! Can it moonwalk? Can it ride a bike? Can it play the piano? Can it read Andy Capp? Shoot pool?”
Relations between myself and L, I regret to say are strained.
People’s views of their animals are thoroughly biased.
One night about 6 months ago we were dropping off Pete at his place. Our transport was a two door hatchback, and from left to right were self and driver. At the back was Pete. All was well until the car came to a stop within Pete’s compound I looked nonchalantly out the window and were it not for John Michuki and his rules I would have ended up in the driver’s lap.
There’s something very disconcerting about looking out the window in the dark and finding two enormous German Shepherds looking calmly right back at you, eyes gleaming in the dark. The Hounds of the Baskervilles could do well to take notes from these two. I’ve never seen such enormous dogs in my life. If it was a bit darker I could have sworn they were horses. They were actually looking at me at eye level.
“So gentlemen, can I be on my way?” Pete asked preparing to leave.
I took a second look at the Baskerville Hounds. They were not barking or baring their teeth. They were just looking calmly back at me.
Let me remind you again that this was a hatchback and therefore for Pete to leave I had to open my door, get out, angle the seat and let him get out. I could have sworn one of the dogs licked its lips.
“You must be freaking kidding? You want me to open the door to these half wolves-half horses?”
“They’re harmless!” Pete protested.
I looked out at the dogs again. Lucifer was the slightly taller one. Damien was the other. Both shared the same knowing look a Finance Minister will share with a Cooperatives minister when they see a tax waiver.
“My son, the only way you will get this door opened is if you shoot me dead and climb over my dead body.”
Finally after some convincing I eased the door opened and slid out of the car to let Pete out. Lucifer looked at me from head to toe, and I wondered if my cologne smelt like roast beef.
Spotting the facilities five hours after drinking a litre of coke is not relief. Slipping into a car with Lucifer and Damien watching coolly is.
When it comes to animals my views are simple – the further they are away from me the better. Cats have got to be the smuggest animals ever created. The audacity of an animal behaving as if it is doing you favour by being your pet is hard to top. They howl and wail at obscene hours of the night.
Dogs are all wet tongue. I fail to see why anyone would like to be licked by a slobbering hound that just five minutes ago was licking the hindquarters of the neighbour’s mongrel. The potential of mix-ups increases exponentially if you and your significant other allow the licking animal access to your bedroom at night.
Birds would be OK but they just sit there and their chirruping only attracts all the neighbouring cats and dogs.
Snakes and other reptiles – any self confessed cold blooded creature I can do without.
The only exception I can make is fish. They don’t lick. They don’t bark. They don’t purr. They don’t eye you smugly. They just swim happily around chasing plastic toys. They mind their business and they leave me alone to mind mine.
MORAL: If you talk to animals you probably need more friends
ECONOMICS OF THE DAY
The NARC Government has adopted a new methodology of calculating economic growth rates. It is called Rounding Up
PIC OF THE DAY
Finance Minister David Mwiraria has the sneaking suspicion that he left the budget speech on the cistern and what is in the brief case is a Mills & Boon
AO AOB
Looks like I may be back in Kampala next week for a week or so
BAD GUY OF THE DAY
Genral Grievous is clearly one bad ass mother [Shut yo' mouth!], joining an elite list of ultimate bad guys that already includes in its Membership Agent Smith and Cyrus The Virus. He hunted Jedi for sport?? LOL! Still, its ludicrous that Obi Wan killed a guy with like 6 light sabres!
Mahatma, Nonini & Jua Cali – Mtu Saba