When Banjo and Rusty – the most spoiled cats in the whole of Bristol – jump on the couple’s bed every morning at 5 a.m., they expect attention, and the man usually does what’s expected of him, albeit groaning and complaining.
He hauls himself out of bed, pads barefoot into the cold conservatory and across it’s freezing stone floor, unlocks both the cat flap and the door to the garden and sits groggily by the open door on one of the garden chairs waiting for the boys to make up their minds on whether they’re going out or not, as an icy breeze sweeps around him.
He hauls himself out of bed, pads barefoot into the cold conservatory and across it’s freezing stone floor, unlocks both the cat flap and the door to the garden and sits groggily by the open door on one of the garden chairs waiting for the boys to make up their minds on whether they’re going out or not, as an icy breeze sweeps around him.
They nibble at biscuits, lap a bit of water and wander about undecidedly. Rusty opts for going back into the house without having ventured into the fresh air, and Banjo jumps on the other garden chair. The man leaves the conservatory door wide open and goes back to bed.
The woman (58): (bad tempered first thing) I bet you left that door open for the burglars, and for the rolled blind on the door to rot...
The Man (84): (defiantly) I want Banjo and Rusty to be able to get out if they want to.
The Woman: So what’s the cat flap for then.
The Man: Oh shut up and go back to sleep. Hang on, is that Banjo mewing?
Banjo, from the garden chair in the conservatory: Come and close the door, there’s a good chap, there’s a perishing draft coming from the garden...
-oOo-
