Joe Murray: Stories

8. On the level

“What the f…” I yelled, “I just levelled that off!” The sharps sand on my patio I had recently levelled and on which I was going to lay paving slabs had a large hole dug in the centre and a lot of dug up and piled up bits around it.
Bibs was doing that wriggling thingy on her back like she was scratching her herself. she stopped suddenly. swiftly spun round and said: “you talking to me?”
“Yeh,” I said, “I’m taking to you. Look what you did to my patio.
She looked at the square of ground and then at me. “Wasn’t me,” she said and began preening herself.
“It was you, I saw you from the landing window.”
“Nope,” she said continuing her preening, “It was them ants.”
“Ant…. no, jeez, I saw you, besides ants can’t do THAT.” I said pointing.
“Yeh, I think they were trying to make an anthill, or something” she purred.
“I know how ants make anthills and they can’t do that in the ten minutes I was gone.”
She looked at me, “they were big ants, big black ones, as big as me, in fact, that's why you probably thought it was me,” she said.
I was almost spitting fire at the idea of being gaslighted by a cat, “lies! Big Bibs Fibs, that’s what they are… where did you learn to tell such huge porkies?” I asked.
“I watch BBC News,” she said flatly. As she stood up and was about to turn and walk away, she nodded towards my hand, “what’s that you’re drinking, big man?”
I looked at the can I was holding, “beer, it’s a Bitter and Twisted… och, phhht! Never mind what I’m drinking, look what you did to my patio!”
“Gary, my who-man, he drinks that stuff too, he calls it a Kuenssberg and Smith. Right, my work here is done, I’m off, see ye!”
I watched her tail disappear under the fence and the other neighbour’s decking. “FFS! Right, I sighed, "where’s my shovel.”


Articles/ Thoughts Poems COPYRIGHT © 2021 Dr Joe Murray		Bibs the Cat we’re all family, really a little feline philosophy excuse my french on the cludgie the baby a lesson in socialism sleeping with the enemy on the level a little black and white philosophy the magpie ultimatum Indy Cat? Who’s the Daddy? It's no about flags Video Stories Alasdair Gray & the Book of Prefaces Keekin Through Windaes The Two Heifers The Congo The Hotdog Other Stories Aye, right ennuf a natural balance a short tale of woe Maggie and the Little Pollok Carpet
	8. On the level “What the f…” I yelled, “I just levelled that off!” The sharps sand on my patio I had recently levelled and on which I was going to lay paving slabs had a large hole dug in the centre and a lot of dug up and piled up bits around it. Bibs was doing that wriggling thingy on her back like she was scratching her herself. she stopped suddenly. swiftly spun round and said: “you talking to me?” “Yeh,” I said, “I’m taking to you. Look what you did to my patio. She looked at the square of ground and then at me. “Wasn’t me,” she said and began preening herself. “It was you, I saw you from the landing window.” “Nope,” she said continuing her preening, “It was them ants.” “Ant…. no, jeez, I saw you, besides ants can’t do THAT.” I said pointing. “Yeh, I think they were trying to make an anthill, or something” she purred. “I know how ants make anthills and they can’t do that in the ten minutes I was gone.” She looked at me, “they were big ants, big black ones, as big as me, in fact, that's why you probably thought it was me,” she said. I was almost spitting fire at the idea of being gaslighted by a cat, “lies! Big Bibs Fibs, that’s what they are… where did you learn to tell such huge porkies?” I asked. “I watch BBC News,” she said flatly. As she stood up and was about to turn and walk away, she nodded towards my hand, “what’s that you’re drinking, big man?” I looked at the can I was holding, “beer, it’s a Bitter and Twisted… och, phhht! Never mind what I’m drinking, look what you did to my patio!” “Gary, my who-man, he drinks that stuff too, he calls it a Kuenssberg and Smith. Right, my work here is done, I’m off, see ye!” I watched her tail disappear under the fence and the other neighbour’s decking. “FFS! Right, I sighed, "where’s my shovel.”