Friday, September 16, 2011

La serenata nocturna de Catsido Domingo (Catsido Domingo's night serenade)






SPRINGTIME HAS ARRIVED AT LAST AND ...





Here comes trouble ...


his name is Silvio


Purr-Lusconi


and he is courting Sandy


















I am not sure how to explain this story without losing face or credibility.  Life is so full of dramas and melodramas that one should be used to it but I am embarrased in thinking that I allowed myself to be involved in a 'Cats Soap Opera'.

This episode started the night Gonçalo, back from his holidays, took Freddy home. He and Sandy had been rather aloof with each other during Freddy's stay with us so it was time to go home. A period of separation might soothe troubled waters, or make the heart grow fonder, as they say.

That night, around midnight, I was awoken by a strange noise coming from the front of the house. I went to have a look and I was surprised that Sandy was on the windowsill very quiet, listening.  I had to rub my eyes twice: was Silvio Purr-lusconi in purrson, serenading Sandy?

Yes, he was. He ran away as soon as he saw me. Sandy looked at me she was so pissed off at my disruption but I ignored her, I went back to bed and fell asleep at once.

I was awoken again a little later alas, by the same noise! He had a nerve that cat! I would show him this time!

I rushed to the kitchen looking for something to throw at him; a sharp knife was tempting but I disregarded the idea, too tricky; I then grabbed the flour pot, took the lid off and ran to the front door.  I was faster than him, I threw the flour on Purr-Lusconi who took off at once leaving behind a dusty white trail (like a disgruntled Hansel running away from Gretel).

I wished a Harley Davidson or a Hummer would flatten him to the ground when crossing the road (he lives just opposite us) but, fat chance, no traffic in the small hours of the night.

I so dislike the cat: he has terrible a reputation among the cat owners in the neighbourhood. He is a bully with the boy cats and a pathetic Don Juan with girl cats. I will not bore you with his story, just take my word. Besides being too old for this kind of behaviour, he is not in good health: he is seriously overweight, breathes heavily when he walks or rather when he swings, like a crocodile. There is also something creepy in his looks, he's tried to make eye contact more than once and this is definitely too daring for a cat. I believe he is a bad sort and I will not allow him to go near Sandy, it is that simple.

Unfortunately, my 'icing of the cat' didn't go unnoticed.

The next morning I found broken eggs at my doorstep, a dozen, if not more. There was also sugar spilled over last night's flour. This mess was attracting all the ants and insects from the vicinity. I saw an envelope under the mat, it had this message written in red ink: THE UGLY, THE FAT AND THE OLD ALSO EXIST, BITCH. NOW BAKE A CAKE WITH THIS IF YOU CAN.

I was flabbergasted. I put the envelope quickly in my pocket and went inside. When I was closing the door I saw Purr-Lusconi looking at me from top of the driveway giving me an evil look. I didn't go out the whole day.


Matilda




Hola amigos y amigas:

Lio, lio, lio ,lio lio grande ...

Es de sobras conocido que los asuntos del coraz♥n son complicados y a menudo pueden provocar situaciones imprevisibles e implicar a personas totalmente ajenas al caso. Hay una expresion en español que describe a la perfección la situación en la que ahora me encuentro: jugar con fuego.

Se dice: "quien juega con fuego al final se quema" o como advertencia: "no juegues con fuego que te quemarás"

Pues yo he jugado con fuego y ... Matilda se ha quemado. En el microcosmos que es nuestro vecindario tengo la sensación de haber provocado una pequeña guerra civil.

¿Me gusta Purr-Lusconi? ¡Claro que no! ¿A quién le gusta Silvio Purr-lusconi? A nadie. Y sin embargo fui a verle la misma tarde en que Freddy se marchó a casa; Silvio no perdió el tiempo, al anochecer vino a cantarme una serenata con la intención de conquistarme, creo yo.

Yo todavía amo a Freddy G. Desde hace algunas semanas, está serio, inerte, impasible, descolorido, desganado, ni me mira y apenas me habla. Así que para hacerlo reaccionar puse en marcha una estrategia milenaria: 'darle celos'.

¿En qué estaría yo pensando?

La cosa me ha salido fatal.  Fatal, fatal, fatal. ¿Cómo prever la inesperada reacción de Matilda de espolvorear a Purr-Lusconi con harina?¿Y que los vecinos le escribirían una nota anónima sumamente insultante? No lo preveí, ésa es la realidad.  No se me ocurrió que una innocente serenata pudiera terminar tan mal. 

Matilda se asustó, no tanto por la porquería que se encontró delante de casa sino por el insulto.  La llamaron: 'perra' y esto en todos los idiomas es un agravio. Si en lugar de 'perra' la hubieran llamado 'gata' todo habría sido distinto. El lenguaje puede hacer tanto daño como un puñetazo en la cara.

No es lo mismo que a una mujer la llamen 'perra' a que la llamen 'gata'.  No se puede comparar. No voy a explicar ahora las diferencias porque si no no terminaremos nunca este post.

Sigo con la historia: cuando Matilda leyó la nota cerró la puerta, se sentó en el sillón y se pasó la tarde llorando.

¿Por qué no para de llorar? Yo no sabía qué hacer. Me sentía culpable, la verdad. Los gatos, al ser animales poco sensibles, (no como los perros que reaccionan ante las emociones de sus dueños), no sabemos qué hacer ante situaciones así.

Sin embargo, he de reconocer que a las 4 de la tarde estaba preocupada y pensé que debía hacer algo: le mandé un SMS a Gonçalo desde el móvil de Matilda. Una sola palabra fue suficiente para que Gonçalo, seguido por el lánguido Freddy, se plantara en casa menos de un minuto: "Ven".

Se la llevó a cenar. Mientras tanto Freddy y yo nos quedamos en casa, aburridos, mirando el Master Chef (Quel ennui!).


Hasta la próxima,
Sandy





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