... eggs and a cream tea... )Pudey etc - part 16)
… eggs and a cream tea… (Purdy, Symes and Wright - part 16)
Peter Hunter
I am sick of being blamed for every thing that goes wrong in this house… 'Purdey, you bad cat…' is all I seem to hear these days. What now? What is it I am supposed to have done?
Mum was now calling to Dad; 'I don't know what you were hoping to eat for your breakfast…' she yelled, 'but you're getting scrambled eggs…'
I like scrambled eggs too… I thought - but somehow I sensed I would not be getting any of them. In fact I might be not getting anything this morning…
'Purdey, you bad cat…' is all I seem to hear these days. Why am I being blamed for the six-egg pack Mum found upside down on the kitchen floor? After all only one egg was smashed - the rest were only cracked.
'What's wrong…' called Dad from the top of the stairs. 'It's Purdey again…' replied Mum, '…she's obviously knocked a box of eggs off the worktop - and they're all cracked or broken. Hence, you're having scrambled eggs for breakfast whether you like it or not. She's your cat…'
Why was I being blamed?
… there was no proof. Nothing to indicate I was the culprit. It could have been Symes or Wright - why me? I always get blamed. Those pampered boys get away with murder… To add insult to injury I was shut in the kitchen and given only the smashed egg to eat for my breakfast…
… raw…
whilst Dad ate four of the cracked eggs scrambled, on a tray in the living room - garnished with melted cheddar cheese - a favourite of mine…
… and he didn't leave me any…
For the rest of the morning I skulked around trying to keep a low profile, having to put up with the occasional comment of 'Bad Cat…' or 'Naughty Purdey…'
… why me?
In the afternoon things began to look up…
Tara visited us and Mum served Victoria Sponge enhanced with a generous helping of fresh whipped cream and some delicious ice cream. Already I was lying on Tara's lap purring away whilst she stoked me and had to listen to a pack of fibs about knocking a box of eggs off the worktop.
Although Tara listened patiently to the slanderous tale, she carried on stroking me and I carried on purring…
… and soon Mum relented and gave me a lovely big saucer of whipped cream and ice cream…
End
© Peter Hunter 2012
