The Sherlock Saga- Episode 2

 

Sherlock and Planet Earth

Luckily for me she’d been watching David Attenborough’s Plant Earth, the one about the turtles crawling out of the sea, up the beach,through the shingle, propelling themselves towards car headlights, thinking they have found the moon. And there was also the fact that she has twenty-twenty vision. Anyway, she thought she had just spotted one of those turtles, crawling up North Avenue and got her Dad to do a U turn and rescue me from certain squash. Another car pulled up at the same time and I felt like a getaway criminal about to be handcuffed and manhandled into the back of a cop car. My crime –running away from my Not Forever Home…

So when she opened the car door I just leapt in. Blind faith.... I don’t know what..., but it got to be a habit of mine- this hopping into cars and it would take me on many adventures and misadventures.

“I think it's lost an eye!” wailed a red haired teenage girl. That eye again. People couldn't seem to get past it. My one missing feature always the centre of attention.

“What are we supposed to do with this cat?” came another male gruff voice. The world must be full of grumpy males.

“We can’t leave it here.”

“That other woman driver would have taken it if you hadn’t been so quick to open that door and we’re gonna be late for the Forty Foot if we….”

“It’s Christmas. Everybody will be late. Bring it home to Mum. She’ll know what to do. Please Dad!”

“I’m not taking responsibility for this. It’s Christmas. Precisely. The last thing your mother needs is a stray cat with a damaged….”

“What about the Christmas spirit? No room in the inn and all that.”

“This isn’t the baby Jesus.”

“We should call it that. Jesus.”

“We’re not calling it anything. We’ll bring it home to Mum and she can decide what to do with it.”

Now I wasn’t too impressed with all this talk about it, me being a fine male specimen, and responsibility for it and Jesus and the fact that Gruff 2 was treating me like a pariah. But there was the definite whiff of turkey about them and I’d been eyeing up, with my one good eye, a turkey hanging on the back of a larder door for at least two weeks, so I knew what it smelt like, and was salivating at the prospect of a bite. So I put up with their, or rather his, disrespectful remarks and snuggled deeper into the red head’s shoulder, giving her the one eye, and crossed my paws that Mum, whoever she was, would find room in the inn for a hungry stray.

(To be continued...)

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