Catalogue of disasters

 

Well it all started some years ago when a man from a pet charity came knocking at our door. Can't remember the name of the charity, but he asked me if I would like to sponsor a cat.

I asked him, "What will it do?"

He did not understand, so I explained, "you want me to sponsor a cat, will it run the marathon? Go on a diet and lose weight? Climb a mountain range? Eat broccoli for a year? What will it do?"

He said that it doesn't work like that. This sponsoring method is that I pay a given sum every month and the charity looks after the cat.

"What's in it for me?" I asked, "I seem to be out of pocket in this transaction!"

He said it's a charitable gift, tax deductible, I would get photos of the cat every now and then and a progress report how he is doing. I thought it was a waste of money. I might as well buy a cat. So they sold me a black cat called Snowy.

Unfortunately he was difficult to handle so we exchanged him for a white cat called Rover. Sadly, on a snowy winter he got run over by a snow plough. Perhaps we should have kept the black cat called Snowy instead.

So the charity gave us another cat. A ginger one called Albatross. He was very clever for a feline.

I lived in London at the time. In a tiny apartment.One day my boss said I had to go and work in Glasgow for three months. It was an urgent project and I had to fly there that very evening. There was no one to take care of my Albatross for that length of time so I decided to take it with me. 

There was no time to make any arrangements so I looked on the internet and there's an organisation that can transport animals from one place to another for a fee. They took my cat and said they'll deliver him to me in two days' time.

Two days later, in Glasgow, they delivered a Golden Labrador dog called Pussycat.  

"What the **** is that?" I asked the delivery man who could not put such a big dog through my letter box.

He looked at his delivery note and read, "A ginger cat called Albatross!"

"So?" I asked, "do you see a mistake here perhaps?"

He looked at the dog and said, "he's a bit big for a cat!"

"Of course he's big, he is not a cat," I said holding back my temper, "he is a Golden Labrador, not a damn cat!"

"Do you not want him?" he replied, "he is bigger than a cat, and very friendly. Saves me having to return him to the depot. Besides, this delivery note was in the cage he was in. It says ginger cat named Albatross. So he's definitely yours, look the address is correct as well!"

To cut a long story short, as you have guessed, someone at the depot had mistakenly put the wrong delivery notes on the cages. We got down to his delivery van. It was full of cages with rabbits, hamsters, guinea pigs, parrots, snakes, tortoises and other creatures due for delivery. And, you've guessed it again, all the delivery notes were on the wrong cages. The snake was labelled a parrot, the parrot was labelled a hamster and so on.

We found my ginger cat called Albatross. His delivery note said tortoise called Speedy to be delivered to a totally different address to mine.

I convinced the delivery man to give me my cat in exchange for the Labrador called Pussycat.

The delivery

 

Something very strange happened recently. I can hardly believe it. But I remember it as if it was yesterday. That's because it was yesterday when it happened.

I was about to sit in front of the TV and record a football game over and old recording of Downton Abbey. Why do people bother to record Downton Abbey I do not know. There's no car chases in it and people wear funny costumes. But it was the only DVD disc we had left and I thought I'd record over it. No one would notice, and anyway they repeat Downton Abbey so often that we can record it again in a few days time.

As I was saying, as I prepared to record the football game, there was a knock at the door. I opened the door and there was this delivery man there from one of the Internet shopping websites trying to deliver a horse. He tried pushing it through the letter box but the horse was too large to fit through the small aperture normally designed to accept letters and small packets.

So I asked him, "First of all, why has this horse got black and white stripes all over it? Is it the bar code that someone forgot to remove? And secondly, why did you not ring the bell as any normal person would have done?"

He was totally nonplussed. So much so that I did not understand what the word meant and had to look it up in the dictionary afterwards. Something you might care to do as well.

He replied, "It is not a horse Sir. It is a zebra. Secondly, I did ring the bell but it does not seem to be working. That's why I knocked at the door!"

"Of course the bell works," I replied totally unfazed by his impertinence, "here let me show you."

I let him in the house and shut the door. Then I pressed the bell button once or twice. 

No response.

I pressed the button again and kept my finger pressed for a long time.

Still no response.

I pressed once more and kicked the door hard.

Totally no response.

I then realised two things.

I had been locked out of my own house. And I had not ordered a horse, or a zebra, on the Internet.

In total panic I muttered to myself, "what do I do now?"

The horse did not care. It just snorted "Pfffftttt ..." like horses often do. 

I left the horse, or zebra, there and ran through to the back garden where fortunately the back kitchen door was unlocked.

I entered the house. The delivery man was sitting in my armchair, watching the football on TV and, to add insult to the non-delivery of a horse, he had eaten all my doughnuts I had ready on a plate.

"What do you think you are doing?" I asked rather disappointed by his behaviour.

"Oh sorry," he said, "the football was on and I did not hear you ring the doorbell. Thanks for the doughnuts by the way. I just got a text message on my cell-phone. The zebra is not meant for you anyway. Must go now."

He did not even bother to record the game. 

Downton Abbey wins again!