Stretching contentedly out on the tombstone, I bask in the sun and let the priest's lilting Irish accent guide me away from the misery of my morning. I neither know nor care who Father O'Loughlin is burying and remain a respectful distance away from the small crowd of mourners. Opposite the tombstone I'm sprawled on, and on the other side of the funeral party, sit Charlie and Jojo. I waved a paw in greeting when I arrived, but am yet to decide whether I'm in the health and temper to go over and have a chat with them.

Maybe later. Maybe after I've had a pleasant nap here in the sun I might feel a little better.

I've had a somewhat bad morning. No, actually, make that a bad morning *and* night. Sam's at some course or another so subsequently Chris isn't sleeping well. He wriggled, squirmed, sighed and threw himself around in bed last night to such an extent that I was forced to retreat over to the pile of his clothing on the floor in order to finally get some sleep. Not having his human alarm clock around to get him out of bed, Chris then overslept. I contemplated waking him, but decided that it would be better for everyone if he got some rest.

Bad mistake.

When he woke, and after the digital read-out on the bedside clock had penetrated through the fog in his head, it was on for one and all. Chris, swearing violently, staggered out of bed and immediately onto me. I was barely awake and, after being woken by his colourful swearing, wasn't exactly thinking at what passes for my best.

So I... ah... scratched him...

If he wasn't fully awake when he stumbled onto me, then the fresh, stinging, pain in his ankle made reality come crashing immediately down around him. One look at his face told me that giving him an apologetic smooch was *not* the way to go (he actually looked like he'd rather like to... kick... me) so, after undulating a little out of his way, I decided to have a scratch. You know, pretend as though nothing happened. That sort of thing.

Bad mistake.

I still don't know how this happened. One minute I'm scratching my neck quite vigorously and happily, and the next I've got my foot stuck through my collar. Chris, by this stage had lurched off in the direction of the kitchen and I was alone with my dilemma. I wailed, *loudly*, to no avail and couldn't even go off in search of him because my balance was shot to hell. It was only through a bit of creative wriggling that I was able to push my leg entirely through the collar and I ended up wearing the thing like a sash.

Not at all impressed with myself, I then had to wait from Chris to stop running around like a man possessed (honestly! What's being an hour late for some meeting worth in the grand scheme of things?) to notice my plight and help me. Quite frankly, I think that if I hadn't seated myself -- now, there's a cheap thrill if ever there was one -- over his keys, he never would have noticed me.

I won't repeat what he said to me. It wasn't nice. I was sorry that he thought I did it on purpose, but there was still no need for what came out of his mouth as he roughly undid my collar and threw it on the table.

I've learnt my lesson though. That's the last time I allow him a sleep in out of the goodness of my heart. I don't care whether Sam is back tonight or not. Tomorrow, Chris is going to be woken up at four thirty in the morning by a medley of the Vengaboys greatest hits. What's more, I think I'll stand on his pillow and sing directly into his ear. *That'll* teach him for daring to question my IQ.

Needless to say, Chris disappeared out of the door without feeding me and I had to force myself to eat what I refused to eat last night. The night air had not been kind to it (lobster and prawns my pink little butt... it tasted more like decomposing road kill - not that I talk from experience, but I can hazard a guess about these things...) and it almost made me view the concept of rustling up -- and *eating* -- a rat favourably.

Common sense quickly won out though and I decided that I probably wasn't really hungry at all.

After lovingly cleaning all the fur around my neck that had been flattened by the collar, I meandered into the cemetery in order to regain a semblance of peace and quiet in my life. I don't particularly like not having my collar on. Without it, I'm really a nobody and, besides, I *like* the little pewter fish with my and Chris' details engraved on it.

He'd better put it back on me tonight or I just might have to lose the remote control to the TV for him...

Yawning, I concentrate on Father O'Loughin's soothing voice and doze off. I wake after an undisclosed amount of time and immediately feel as though a cold change has settled over the cemetery. Whereas I'd gone to sleep in the sun, I now feel like I'm totally bathed in shadow. Cracking an eye open, I look up and am immediately reminded of the Mother Ships in ID4. A huge shadow covers me and, opening my other eye, I can just make out blue sky around the edge of it.

The stench hits (should there not be some sort of law covering how long undergarments can be worn for?) me at the same time as the realisation of what it is that is causing the shadow hits me.

Mrs Fat Cow!

Feeling increasingly panicky, I will my legs to answer my command to move, but it's too late. Cackling evilly, she crows triumphantly, "I've got you this time you furry little bitch," and, before I even really know it, bundles me into a pillowcase.

Naturally, I hiss and howl and lash out, but nothing works. I'm trapped, and there's nothing I can do about it. I continue to wriggle frantically as she lumbers towards -- well, I *assume* this is where she's going -- her slum, but know that it's futile.

Farewell cruel world!

My overactive imagination tells me that I'm probably going to be served up to Mr Fat Cow for dinner. This awful fate, however, dims as I hear a car door open and I suddenly find myself being shoved onto someone's lap.

It only takes me one breath to ascertain that I am now being gripped by Mr Fat Cow. He smells quite unlike anything else I have ever smelt -- not a lot of fermenting vegetable matter passes through Chris' kitchen -- but I know for sure that it's him. He grunts as I squirm and virtually suffocates me as he pushes me hard down on his lap.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he wheezes as I sense the car dip to the left and deduce that Mrs Fat Cow has just inflicted her weight on the poor defenceless vehicle.

"Shit yeah. She's had it coming to her for ages," the nasty old troll replies.

"But... What if Keel finds out? I don't like the look of him or his poncy boyfriend. I reckon he's unstable."

Unstable? How *dare* he call Chris unstable.

Wailing loudly, I stick a claw through the pillowcase and am immediately gratified when it comes in contact with flabby flesh.

// Take that, *creep*. //

"I'm not afraid of them," Mrs Fat Cow huffs as she starts the car. "Now, keep her quiet and it will soon be all over."

Mr Fat Cow doesn't reply. He's too busy trying to detach my claw from his thigh and whimpering softly in pain.

I keep up a constant, loud and grating, lament as the car lurches off down the road. Before long though I have no choice but to fall silent. Not only does my throat begin to hurt, but it takes most of my concentration to remain attached to Mr Fat Cow as the car hits every pot hole on the bitumen. Even in my terror I have enough piece of mind to miss the Nissan. At least it has suspension and, whilst both Chris and Sam drive like raving lunatics, I always know that I'll get to wherever it is I'm going in one piece.

The drive seems to take forever and I convince myself that I am going to die from suffocation before they put the second part of their nefarious plan into action. The air in the pillow case is positively rank. And the less said about the odour emanating from Mr Fat Cow's lap the better... Truly. I wouldn't even know where to begin to describe the atrocious aroma.

Eventually the car comes to a shuddering stop and I find myself being wrenched off his lap. I start to wail again and lash out, but Mrs Fat Cow is stronger and more determined than her pitiful husband and keeps me under control.

"Have a nice life... What's left of it," she cackles as, suddenly, I find myself flying through the air. The pillowcase is still around me and, not knowing where I'm heading, I don't manage to twist around in order to land on my feet. Instead, I land heavily on the ground, half upside down. By the time my equilibrium is somewhat restored and I manage to find the opening to the pillowcase, my abductors have departed. Poking my nose out of my dark cave, I'm just in time to see them disappear in a cloud of exhaust smoke.

Oh.

Tentatively wriggling fully out of the pillowcase, I look around me and nearly faint in horror. Not only am I next to a huge dumpster, but both the wall and concrete around me smell distinctly of urine.

Just where the hell am I?

Telling myself to calm down and *think*, I glance down at the pillowcase and, noting that it has the Union Jack on it (and as such is instantly recognisable as part of the Obese Bovine's less than attractive bedding), decide to hide it for future reference. If I keep it with me, when Chris rescues me he'll be able to work out who was rude enough to inflict this torture on his beloved feline and pay them back.

*When* Chris rescues me...

Right about *now* would be nice.

Needless to say I've forgiven him for being rude to me this morning and, really, I'd like nothing more than to see him. Or, heck, even Sam would do.

Ten or so minutes later, there's no sign of either of my knights in shining Armani and, reluctantly, I decide that I may as well go and investigate. After carefully hiding the pillowcase behind the dumpster, I head off in the direction of the sunlight I can see at the end of the carpark type of thing that I happen to be in.

When I make it out into the sun, I very nearly have a heart attack. Looking up, and up, and up... I discover that I'm the middle of a *huge* housing estate. High rise flats reach into the sky and they seriously seem to go forever. I've seen these things on The Bill, but had always told myself that they were computer generated; that people honestly couldn't live like sardines.

Hmmm... There goes that particular myth, buried once and for all in a pile of dirty concrete.

My mind is still coming to terms with this horror when, out of nowhere, a football goes flying past my ears. Said ball is quickly followed by a horde of feral children and instinct alone makes me bolt. Don't ask me where I'm going, because I would not have a clue. I just run. Anywhere would have to be better than being in kicking range of nasty little children.

Or maybe not...

To my distinct disgust, my situation goes from bad to worse. I'm still running, far too much like a headless chicken for my liking, when a dreadlocked teenager on a skateboard goes whizzing past me. Slamming on the brakes, I change direction and narrowly avoid being run over by another teenager on a BMX. My heart is beating like never before and I seriously begin to imagine that it is going to pound right out of my chest.

People seem to swarm around me everywhere. I've never encountered so many children before and can hardly think straight in my terror. Reaching a park bench, that thankfully no-one is sitting on, I come to a stop and try desperately to think of a plan of action. Or, at the very least, a plan of survival.

Calming down, I indulge in a quick groom, all the time carefully peering around me. I've seen this sort of hell happen to animals on the television. They lose their home and have all sorts of adventures finding it again... I also happen to know that these awful examples of puerile entertainment go through countless animals during filming...

I... I don't want to die...

I want Chris and I want to be home.

For the want of anything better to do, I decide to take my life into my paws and make a bolt back to the pillowcase. Once there I'll take a quick nap and, if I'm really lucky, when I wake up I'll discover that this is all nothing but a nightmare.