Cat Scratch Fever

Once upon a tyme in a far-offe suburb of Kelowna, there livved a Large Man who was very poore after his marriage was smited, but who lived in a nice basemente for cheape, verily.

And lo did he share the cheape basemente with a tattoo parlor in his living roome, and a younge Family upstairs who have TWO cattes, whose visits didde fill the Large Man with Joy and comfort and Great Waddes of cat haire in his foode and beverages. He did not minde the haires, since he didde NOT have to scoope up catte doots from litter, forsooth, nor did he have to tidy up the hacked Furballs, nor their barf, nor feede them nor tayke them to the vettes ha ha ‘twas great, he thought.

One of the cattes is striped and is Parte TIGER from a far away lande, people say, and the TIGER cat does tende to yammer loudly like a smalle human Childe, forsooth, whiche can be disconcerting in the middle of the Nighte, lette me telle you.

So on this day, the Large Man of the Basement did wish to graspe the SOFT Blankie from his Bedde, so as to Warme his Footies or the footies of his Childe. But lo, there was a small TIGER resting upon said Blankie, verily, so the Large Man didde what any Large Man would do, and proceeded to pick up said TIGER in his gentle hands, thinking it woulde be nice to gently place said feline upon one of his restinge children for their warmth and comforte.

Forsooth did the Large Man learn that the TIGER from a far away lande did NOT wishe to be handled in the slightest, or anywhere else, and the TIGER did TELLE the Large Man thus by the swift and effective slashing at his face and arms and handes and necke and eyes and His Genitals, verily, with his VERY SHARPE claws whiche were at leaste a FOOT long I tell you truthfully.

And a loud SHRIEKING was heard upon the land by the Children of the Large Man, tho it is not known whether it was the TIGER or the Large Man who didst yell the loudest, tho verily it was the blood of the Very Large Man that did Haemorrhage out from his person in Great Gouts from the cuttes upon his cheeke and lip and necke and cheste and belly and Scrotum, verily. For tho the Large Man had pretty muche decided on Nay further children, lo did the TIGER permanently make up his minde for him by vasectomizing his person with his clawes and possibly teeth in the blinke of an eye as the catte didde Plummet, verily.

Forsoothe is the Large Man walkinge in a funny fashion nowe, and the Large Man contemplates his bandages, and the suffering he will endure from the taype which holdes them in playce upon his hangdownes and tackle, for verily he shoulde have shaved the forlorne area before placing the sticky taypes there, but forsooth did he fret more about the shayving than the Catte, didde he, so he didde notte.

This May be more information than ye wished to knowe aboute Catte scratches, verily.

The Ende.

I've been meaning to tell you how, apropos of my ongoing lunatic behaviour(s), I recently climbed up Knox mountain twice. It was a nice day, and it just seemed to be the right thing to do. I'm sure Hitler and other despots were guided by this same lack of foresight, but I was considering athletic achievement and not Poland, so lighten up.

I had trudged up the first time in my usual delicate manner, scattering birds, people and other wildlife with my delicate, size 16 clod-stomping footwear.

Upon reaching the summit, once the other climbers had stopped screaming at the sight of me spraying sweat like a garden sprinkler, I realized I felt pretty good. No major arteries had burst in my chest cavity for once, spraying around like an unattended fire hose, so the idea of doing it again just seemed to take hold. (Those with a good memory may recall how I once climbed up Grouse Grind 5 times in one day, having employed a similar lack of rationality).

Got to the bottom just fine, unloaded some of the Wilderness Necessities from my backpack (42-inch television, case of highway flares, outboard motor), quaffed some water with my usual flair and elan, and set off again up the hill.

Along the way I must have turned my usual shade of Hideous Purple (now available at Benjamin Moore outlets), since I got some strange looks from people.

“That is the largest red grape I’ve ever seen…Oh! Excuse me!” said one chap.

One family thought I looked like a beloved television character.

“Look Mom! It’s Barney! He's blotchy!” said a kid.

Like parents everywhere with a deep and abiding hatred for the annoying purple dinosaur, Mom and Dad began arming themselves as I gallomped daintily away. “You get the club, Doris. I’ll kill it with fire…”

So up the hill I aorted, my wheezing gasps mimicking the sound of an air raid siren (briefly causing a platoon of soldiers to man their ack-ack guns), but beyond that I felt fine.

The warm sunshine was the perfect accompaniment to the sound of my tendons snapping on the descent, and the radiant heat from my thighs did start a few brush fires, skilfully extinguished by the lactic acid spurting from my well-developed musculature.

Poland (excuse me!) HIKE, anyone?