The talking cat

Mr G often wakes very early and, being unable to get back to sleep again, gets up, goes down, feeds the cat, makes himself a mug of tea and, according to whether it's 5 am or 6 am, either sits in the kitchen listening to LBC, or lies on the sofa and pulls a blanket over himself.

The other day was one of the 5 am's. There was Mr G, reclining under his Slanket, when all of a sudden he hears a muffled, distant voice going, "Hello, hello." Thinking he must have dropped off and been dreaming, he ignores it at first, but the voice is still going, "Hello?"

Mr G raises himself and takes a look around. On the pouffe at his side is fat, furry, recently fed Flad. The disembodied voice seems to be coming from Flad's backside. A prickly chill runs through Mr G's body. 'Oh my God, the cat's talking,' he thinks. His next thought was even worse. 'Oh no, it's his bottom that's talking. The cat's bottom has learned to speak!'

At that point, Flad shifts slightly and Mr G glimpses his mobile phone. Then he recognises the voice. It's his friend Terry. Mr G has him on speed dial and Flad's bum has pressed the button. Terry still doesn't believe that the cat dialled him. I wish I'd been there, though!