BILL MEETS THOMAS

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19523, 24 June 1933, Page 13

BILL MEETS THOMAS

Bill was a burglar. • Thomas, on the other hand, was a cat.

They were both inclined to be burly, and they were both, I regret to say, somewhat cowardly—which explains the subsequent proceedings. Bill wasn’t bad, as burglars go. He was kind.to his wife and children, and, up to the time he met Thomas, he liked animals—especially cats. Probably, because, like them, he walked alone at nights. If disturbed during the exercise of his profession, he preferred, where possible, to cut and run. So did Thomas. He was black and fat and cuddly—and an awful coward.

Almost anything could make him run—noises and shadows and imagina-

tion. Provided there was room for him to spread himself out into a blurred streak, everything was lovely; but when he was cornered, he panicked—blindly.

(By E. MARY GURNEY.)

So did Bill. Well. If there was one thing that Thomas liked better than another, it was the sole possession of the Mi's’ bed, and if there was one thing that Bill liked better than another, it was an empty house.

One bright, moonlight • night, the Boss and the Mrs. went out, leaving Thomas in charge. They locked all the doors and windows, bar Thomas's. His they left open, so that the spoilt creature could come and go as he pleased.

Thomas slept. Time passed, but Bill didn't. On the contrary, he prowled, very much after the manner of Thomas himself.

Having decided that the house was deserted, he decided to investigate more closely; found Thomas’s open window. Thomas was full and slept soundly as a fat man who has dined not wisely, but too well. Bill, breathing heavily for one of his exacting calling, climbed laboriously over the sill. Thomas woke with a start—leaped, with a horrid yell, from the bed, and bailed himself up by the door. Bill jumped, caught his foot on the sill, and fell fiat on his face. Thomas swore/ Bill swore back. Thomas held his breath. Bill floundered to his knees, switched on his flashlight—flashed it in Thomas’s face. Thomas yelled again. His hair was all on end, and his eyes popped like fruit balls. "Shut up, you poor wet smack!” snarled Bill, irritably. Thomas ’shut’ long enough to get a really good breath, and to let Bill hear a car draw up at the gate.

Then he yelled. Thomas, flat, out, was the first wonder of the world. Bill panicked. So did Thomas.

Bill tried to get up, missed his touting, and fell forward straight at Thomas.

Thomas closed—connected right and left to the face —jumped oh it, raked it fore and aft, cuffed it, chewed its ear —clawed its nose —spat on it, and yelled in it all he knew. Bill forgot the car and yelled back, but he was no match for Thomas. He rolled over on his face, but Thomas simply slid round to the back, and operated there. Bill thrashed all round the floor, upsetting things, but, no matter where he went, Thomas went, too, and though his mouth was full all the time, he continued to talk through it.

Things were very little better when .the Boss and the Mrs. arrived. You can call a dog off, but a cat in a blind panic doesn't seem to hear or care.

There is only one thing harder to do than hold a cat that doesn’t want to be held; and that is to let go of one that has a mind to stay. The Boss attempted to remove Thomas with sundry whacks and kicks, but poor Bill collected the lot. Finally the Mrs. drowned them both with the contents of the water jug, Thomas left, vociferously, by way of the window.

He climbed into a pine tree, and howled steadily all night. Bill left by the car. He went to hospital first, and was "jugged” afterwards. He hates cats—especially Thomas. Thomas hates everybody—especially Bill. Thomas, of course, is a hero. Bill is a villain. Whereas we know that they are <• pair of unmitigated cowards.