What the?

Narrowing my eyes, I glower ominously at the intruders as they pause, just inside the gate, clinging to each other to remain upright, and attempt to work out how to close it.

I nearly fall off the fence in shock as I recognise the two interlopers.

Oh. Okay… Fine. Not a problem.

Chris wearing a Father Christmas hat I can just about handle. Sam, on the other paw, wearing what appears to be a pair of plastic, glow-in-the-dark, reindeer antlers perched precariously on his head is something else entirely. In fact, the sight makes the Fat Cow´s *entire* display of bad taste pale in comparison.

Now I´ve honestly seen everything.

From being bored and miserable, I suddenly find myself spoilt for entertainment. On one side of the fence I have the lower class amongst us frolicking in their natural festive surroundings, and on the other side I have the drunken stumblings of two who really should know better.

What´s a cat to do?

Chris and Sam, being hit by a spot of inspiration, work out how to shut the gate and are so pleased with their handy work that they make to slap each other on the shoulder. This might even have worked if not for the fact that they´d been relying on each other to remain in a standing position and, suddenly, in an uncoordinated heap, they fall to the ground. Interestingly enough, this causes the pair of them to laugh uproariously and I find myself wondering, not for the first time, why alcohol is legal.

Indeed. Sprawled inelegantly on the cold concrete *is* hysterical. Silly boys. They sound like deranged hyenas.

Still feeling torn as to what performance to watch, I meander tentatively along the fence until I´m situated near the crumpled heap of limbs that is my two humans but can still see the macabre goings on next door. The jig appears to be really revving up and the Bovines are a blur of red. Unfortunately the lycra of the Father Christmas costume *isn´t* industrial strength and parts of Mr Fat Cow seem to have a life of their own. The sight is compelling awful. Not even Mrs Fat Cow´s mini-tent riding up to expose an exceptionally ill advised g-string can detract from it.

Out of the corner of my eye, as Mr Fat Cow´s flabby flesh performs its own dance and threatens to hypnotise me for real, I *think* I see Jojo slink towards the Bovine´s open front door. I´m not entirely convinced though (perhaps I´m already at the point where I´m imagining things) and, using sheer will power, I make to drag my attention away from the… *scene* before me.

I´ve only just succeeded, and am about to look towards the door, when all the alcohol in Chris´ system tells him that it would be a real good idea for him to break out into a Christmas carol. Chris, obviously lacking my will power, readily agrees that this is indeed a wonderful idea and happily obliges.

"On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree," he intones discordantly while somehow convincing his limbs to behave themselves and slowly dragging himself upright.

It´s a truly pathetic sight.

Sam just lays there. And blinks.

Pausing, mid drone, Chris gets hit by an imperative question. "What´s a partridge?" he demands to know in the curiously serious way that only the completely pissed are capable of.

Sam continues to lie there. Blinking. For a moment I actually wonder whether he´s attempting to blink a response in morse code. But no. It speaks. "Partridge Family," declares Sam, eerily mirroring Chris´ serious tone.

Chris pouts and sways. "I don´t want David Cassidy or whatever his Goddamn name was," he complains querulously, "And, while I´m at it, I don´t want a pear tree either. What a stupid gift. If you´ve got me a pear tree, Sam, then I´m going to be very cross with you."

Rolling slowly over (Sam doing an impression of beached whale! This is *far* better than the Bovine´s. I mean, I have faith that their spectacle is never ending, but this, *this* I doubt I´ll get to see again in a hurry), Sam grunts until he is half kneeling and then he crawls (*crawls*! On Concrete! In Hugo Boss! Where oh where is a video camera when you need one…) over to Chris. "Nope, no pear tree," he giggles, hesitantly using Chris´ legs to pull himself off the ground. I watch, holding my breath and fully expecting them both to hit the concrete again. Thankfully, the Goddess intervenes and they manage to remain upright. Clinging to each other again, but upright. Then again, there´s obviously enough alcohol in their bloodstreams to ensure that they´re feeling no pain whatsoever and, really, it wouldn´t matter where they happened to be.

"No pear tree?"

"No pear tree."

"Good," grunts Chris with evident satisfaction.

"No partridges either," mutters Sam adamantly.

"Pleased to hear it," Chris murmurs slowly before pausing. His eyes widen in horror as he looks past me and into the Bovine´s yard. He groans as though he´s really suffering. "Oh God… I remember now why we weren´t coming back here…"

Sam reverts back to his blinking trick. Eventually he manages to comment doubtfully, "It´s… It´s pretty…"

"It´s… It´s…" Words escape Chris.

// Fucking deplorable? // I offer.

"Mishy!" Sam beams at me in a way that is positively disconcerting. All of a sudden it´s like I´m his long lost best friend. Letting go of Chris, he lurches towards me and, somehow deducing which one of me is real -- for he´s no doubt seeing quadruple of me -- grabs me off the fence. "I´m very, very pleased to see you," he slurs with obviously heartfelt emotion.

// Don´t breathe on me! // I wail indignantly. // You smell like a brewery that happens to share their space with a winery! //

Sam hugs me tightly. As it´s Christmas I tell myself that it wouldn´t do to shred him and simply content myself with the fact that it will soon be over.

"It´s… It´s…" Chris is still trying to find the right words to describe what it is that he´s having the misfortune of witnessing. "It´s… It´s… *dark*!" he declares with conviction as, suddenly, everything is plunged into darkness.

One second it´s business as usual in the slum, and the next everything simply dies. All the lights go off and the blissful sounds of silence descend. Well, when I say silence I really mean that the Christmas carols go off and the only noise that we´re treated to is that of Mr and Mrs Fat Cow huffing and puffing indignantly.

"The pretty lights have gone," Sam states plaintively.

"It´s dark," repeats Chris forlornly.

"What the fuck happened? Where have all my fucking lights gone?" howl the Fat Cows in unison as smoke seems to spiral out of Rudulph´s once flashing red nose.

Sam blinks at me. "We don´t like them, do we Mishy?"

// No. We don´t. In fact, hatred really wouldn´t be too strong a word to describe how we feel about them. // I´m looking forward to the real Sam returning. I don´t like this smelly, slurring, cheery version much. While I´m at it, I want *my* Chris back as well.

"Time to go inside," Chris declares, turning around and wobbling unsteadily towards the front door. Sam stumbles after him just as I hear a thud on the fence. I know this is Jojo arriving without even having to turn around.

// Merry Christmas Princess! // he calls out. // Like your Christmas present? //

// Huh? What are you talking about? // I reply over Sam´s shoulder as Jojo runs along the fence and gets alongside us.

// The death of the light show from hell… I killed it just for you. //

He *did*? Sheesh. I almost get overcome with a warm fuzzy feeling. Not that I show it. // How´d you manage that? //

// Er… Trade secret. //

// Tell me! //

// Er… Well, you know that thing we male cats can do that you female cats can´t… Well, um… Let´s just say it can come in handy when there´s electricity involved. //

// Oh… // What else is a cat of my breeding and status going to say? // Well, I thank you… // I´m about to indulge in yet another example of festive cheer, invite Jojo in with us, when Sam staggers straight into Chris´ back. I think I´m going to suffocate as Chris attempts to work out the intricate double act of getting the key in the lock and then unlocking the door. When he finally manages it he almost falls through the door in celebration. I grit my teeth in preparation for the alarm going off but obviously, somewhat deeply hidden, there´s still working parts of Chris in the alcohol encrusted shell and he quickly enters the code.

"Home sweet home," declares Chris proudly as he turns the light on and, without pausing to think of the perils it presents, throws himself headfirst into the task of lurching up the stairs.

I close my eyes. I really don´t want to see it if Chris doesn´t make it. // Why don´t you join us // I call out to Jojo, just as Sam makes to shut the door.

// Don´t mind if I do! Thanks Princess. //

"Aw, look, it´s your little friend!" beams Sam, swooping down and picking Jojo up in his other hand.

// Gotta just love booze, don´t you… // Jojo comments happily.

// Yeah… // I reply drily, offering a prayer to Goddess that we make it to the top of the stairs in one piece. // It´s simply fucking wonderful. // Although I´m anxious, what with Sam´s balance being enough out of whack even before he decided to weight himself down with two cats, we reach the living room with relative ease.

In the light, Chris appears to see me for the first time and, smiling broadly, he bounds over and wrenches me from Sam´s arms. "Merry Christmas Mishy!" he states, cuddling me with all the enthusiasm of a small child.

// Mmm… Merry… Christmas… to… you… too… // I manage to squeak as all of the air is slowly squeezed out of my lungs. I´m feeling seriously light headed when Chris´ notorious short attention span strikes and his gaze falls on Sam. "Mmm… Come ‘ere you," he pouts, dropping me unceremoniously on the ground.

Sam obeys -- of *course* -- and Jojo immediately finds himself joining me on the floor. We watch, nonplussed, as, bumping into just about every piece of furniture in the room, they lurch their way towards the bedroom.

// It won´t work // Jojo comments knowledgeably.

// What won´t? // I wheeze, as my breath returns.

// Whatever it is they think they´re capable of in there. The alcohol will put paid to it. //

// Serves them right. // Surely one night without it won´t kill them.

// They´ll be asleep and snoring like tractors in a minute. //

// Wonderful. I can´t wait. // Not that I´m going to admit, I´m still rather pleased to have them back.

// Mmm… What´s to eat? // Jojo queries, wandering off towards the kitchen.

// No idea, but help yourself. // My appetite not yet returned from after all that I´ve seen, I rearrange myself on the carpet and proceed to have a good wash. Once I´m clean, and snoring has replaced the curiously lacklustre grunting emanating from the bedroom, I´ll go and join my two humans. They need all the looking after they can get.

Jojo, with a sated expression on his oddly feral looking face, meanders back into the living room just as I finish carefully grooming the tip of my tail. // Good stuff that // he states with evident pleasure.

// Yeah, yeah. Whatever // I reply dismissively. It´s cat food. It´s hardly worthy of superlatives. Standing up, I stretch languidly and cock my ear towards the bedroom door. All appears to be quiet. Goodo. Time for a spot of togetherness. // I´m going to bed. //

// Want me to join you? We could cuddle together… // Jojo attempts to leer at me in a positively ill advised way.

// Absolutely! And in the morning the Fat Cows will have been replaced by Posh Spice and David Beckham… // I mutter sarcastically, only just managing to control the urge to shiver in disgust.

// Admit it Princess. You love me! //

Without deigning to respond, I wonder idly who or what I wronged in a former life to be stuck with the Han Solo of the feral cat world.

// But anyway, another time my love // Jojo continues, wisely inching out of reach of flying paws. // Gotta love you and leave you. People to see, places to go. //

Thank the Goddess! // Ciao. // Now, go…

// I´ll be back in the morning though… //

// I can hardly wait. //

// One of these days, Princess… You and me… //