Cataclysmic Catastrophies

Some friends of ours arranged that we’d all go as two families to a beautiful stately home out in the country. The intention was to visit the mansion and also have a picnic in the park. Apparently there was also a Garden Fair in the surrounding grounds which would add to the fun and excitement of the day.

“Not as good as watching football on TV” I thought, but I was outnumbered a million to one. They all seem to have more votes than me somehow!

On the day in question our friends turned up to our house in a mini-van type vehicle, like a small bus. Everyone got into their car with picnic baskets and what have you.

Everyone except me that is. There was no room for me. I tried to use this as an excuse to watch the football … but I was outnumbered.

Apparently, there was a cat beauty competition at the Garden Fair and it was decided, (outnumbered as ever), that as my car was at the garage for service, I’d follow our friend’s mini-van in a taxi; with our cat in one of those special cages to carry pets in.

I waited on the sidewalk for the taxi. When it arrived I put the cat on the back seat and said to the driver “We’re following that car!”

How often had I seen this particular scene in movies, and how much I longed to jump in a taxi and say: “Follow that car!” – Well, now it was my turn to say it. And I said it with authority. Just like a movie hero would.

I then realized that I did not have my hat. You know the one. A cowboy hat made of green felt with a large feather on the side. I never go anywhere without it.

I got back in the house to get the hat and when I returned the taxi had gone. So had my friends!

I stood there in a daze. What’s happened? I looked at the empty space where the taxi was, perhaps hoping for its sudden re-appearance. 

I looked up the street … down the street … don’t know why … they’d hardly reverse all the way to the stately home … nothing. No friends, no taxi … nothing. Not even anyone to ask if they’d seen what happened.

Now the intelligent thing to do is to go in the house and watch football on TV.

Not me … after a few examinations of conscience on what I should do, I phoned the taxi firm. They confirmed the booking. They said they’d contact the taxi by radio and ring me back.

Twenty minutes later the taxi firm rang back. The taxi arrived at 49 Acacia Avenue and the owners there did not want the cat.

The cat … I’d forgotten about the cat. It was on the back seat of the taxi in its box. 

Apparently, the taxi driver followed another car instead of my friends’ mini-van type vehicle. No wonder the people in Acacia Avenue were confused when they were gifted a cat.

I asked the taxi firm to return my cat to me.

Whilst I waited I tried in vain to remember the name of the stupid stately home we’re supposed to be at. Our friends had mentioned it but I didn’t make a mental note, seeing I was not interested in the whole adventure anyway.

I tried phoning them on the cell-phones. There’s at least three cell-phones in that van whose numbers I have recorded here on my phone … no replies. Phones switched off.

What is the point of having a cell-phone if it is kept switched off? You might as well have a fridge which you never bother to plug into the mains electricity, or a cat entering a cat competition without being there!

I left messages on the cell-phones. I waited for the cat to get home which, I hasten to say, cost me a fortune in taxi fares going all the way to Acacia Avenue and back again.

There was no point taking the taxi to a stately home whose name I did not know.

So I finally did the intelligent thing. I settled down to watch the football on TV with a glass of cool Guinness.

The family never forgave me for my absence … or should I say the cat’s absence. Apparently a mangy old black cat won instead of our beautiful ginger tom.

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