Pepe, the talking cat

"As I see it, Pepe never could talk, let alone hear a word of what I would say. What a bloody liar  Blumsfeld is proving to be. He says’ Ooh Lady Shawley, Look what I have done. I have taught Pepe to recite the alphabet, backwards!!!!!’. Liar!!!! Fool...!!!!  Scoundrel..!!! How can a cat talk, I ask you??" This is the inner thought of Lady Shawley, as she sets about offering her guests drinks.

"Meowwwrr!! Meowwwwr!!" a slow growl cum meowl came from Pepe’s fat gut. The guests turned around to look at a fat cat, peeping in from the shadows of the terrace greens. Pepe looks proud, typical of the phrase, like a cat who swallowed the cream. Pepe strides in, with the confidence of one who can swing any deal. He rests at little bald Blumsfeld’s feet, pushing himself at Blumsfeld’s calf, nuzzling his soft mane against the black of Blumsfeld’s woolly trouser fabric. A gentle white fluff starts to settle on Mr. Blumsfeld’s trouser and tickles Pepe’s nose. Pepe lets out a cute mewl. Lady Shawley stares angrily at Mr. Blumsfeld

"Can anybody believe this lie?? My dear guests, please do not believe such hogwash, I say!!. Blumsfeld has had a drink too many. Maybe he needs to get home", says Lady Shawley with extreme displeasure, and turns around and storms out of the room & into the darkness of the stairwell. A slow murmur rises. The guests look at each other. Has she abandoned the party? Blumsfeld shifts uncomfortably from one leg to another, gulps his dying drink down. His face turns a funny purple.

Pepe pushes harder against Mr. Blumsfeld’s legs. Mr. Blumsfeld, gives him a kick and Pepe goes flying across the room and lands on poor Mrs. Harcourt’s lap. She jumps up with fright and nearly lands in the fireplace. The guests snigger. Pepe jumps up, licks himself and stands with dignity next to Harcourt’s dainty feet. Pepe now wants to extract revenge.

He goes back out on the terrace and eats his fish, now soggy and attracting the odd fly. He stares at the kind moon, waiting for an answer. The moon sends him messages many a times. The moon and he are friends. Pepe stares at the  moon, bereft. No message. The moon is blank tonight.

"Meeeooowwwww!!!!". The guests again turn to look at Pepe. He looks very very angry. He goes and jumps on Mrs. Harcourt’s lap, & then bouncing on her shoulder, he entangles his paws in her teased and tight hairdo. The guest roll over with mirth at this elaborate spectacle. Blumsfeld rushes across to help, Pepe claws him & Blumsfeld runs for cover.

A voice emanates from Pepe. "Listen up you fools, Lady Shawley knows nothing. All I know is she is fooling around with Blumsfeld and she did not want you drunks to know. Now that you do know, I suggest you all scram, while the going is good." The guests are stunned. They leave quickly before they hear any more revelations. Mr. Blumsfeld is Lady Shawley's cousin, twice removed. Their ears burn. What next. Meanwhile, Blumsfeld is nowhere to be seen.

A satisfied Pepe goes & plops off on his velvet cushion & snores into the night. The next morning, the cleaning lady comes in and lets out a blood curdling scream. The body of a dead Blumsfeld lies behind the sofa, his throat slit open, with what seems like a sharp meat knife. There is a single trail of blood that leads to a blue velvet cushion, covered with fluff.