you're not wise

"So the cat can't get in"

Was my response to larger-than-life, landlord-stroke-friend's "Whatsis?" as he pointed to the heavy media tome resting atop my fish-tank.

This reference book, the size of two Rogets, an LOTR compendium and the entire back catalogue of Freemans catalogue pressed together, is an unnecessarily chunky, inevitably out-of-date...brick built by people clearly too Amish to Wiki. I don't know why I have it but right now, its full weight is helpfully bearing down on the lid of my tank. A talisman against marauding recently-adopted rescue cats. Ungainly, yes, but helpful I thought. Nicky (larger-than-life/landlord/friend) doesn't miss a thing - including the leftover blueberry scone I'd squirreled away in the fridge for later, which he is now eating. He's prodding the book disapprovingly.

“The cat? What Tigger/Tiger/The Bear? Watsisface?” he says, referring to my recently acquired feline. Nicky does't quite get domestic pets. To be fair, he is a farmer who rears cows destined for dinner plates. Animals are for outside “For fucks sake, Ness, wise yer head!” He shares the last bit of scone and contemplates Stan and Ollie, the two oddly inquisitive fish in question, as they mouth unspoken ooohs at the glass, not knowing that a weight of information separates them from having food and, possibly, being it.

‘I’ll tellya what” he says in his best ‘I’m just a country boy from County Down accent’ - which sounds A LOT like a Cornish pirate - “If that there wee fella" pointing a crumb-laden finger to the cat, "...manages to JUMP up here, then OPEN the lid on that tank, then PULL OUT that there feeding tray with his tiny, wee claws AND THEN catch those wee fish? You know what? You’ll be wanting to put him on the telly.”

He thinks more on the unlikely scenario. (Nicky's secretly fond of the fish.)

“Hell, if he manages to get those fish, after THAT? I’d cook him some chips myself to go with it but"