Welcome to my 4th story page

The staring contest

At a recent business gathering, a senior executive (SE) had been listening in to a discussion about Fredcat. He voiced aloud that most wretched of phrases, "Why is Fredcat so famous?". You could hear pins dropping all over the room. The space around the SE suddenly became free of other people. Wine bottles were swiftly removed to the apparently safe haven of the Chief Executive's secretary's room who couldn't believe his luck. This was not a subject for idle discussion and it was felt better that such subversive chatter be kept well away from our master moggie's ears.

Staring for Britain

But it was not long before Fredcat caught the whisper that not all was well. Apoplexy is not something that cats handle very well but Fredcat simmered with all the suppressed rage that he could muster. He even knocked over a cup of tea on the living room side table in his petulance, but that was a sneaky trick enabling said teacup to be removed from the table - as he actually can not abide teacups, especially full ones, anywhere near his favourite sleeping spots.

When Fred's level of aploplexy had diminished somewhat, he relented and related the tale of the Staring Contest to give the SE some idea of Fredcat's claim to fame. It transpired that MI-something-or-other, one of the many secret services serving Queen and country had discovered a plot to undermine the integrity of the royal household by capturing and then holding to ransom several of the Royal corgis, thereby both making a mockery of the Royal security services and also upsetting the Royal household. This could force wholesale changes to MI-something-or-other's services - which may well lead to a severe weakening of the security services for a lengthy period (during which time all manner of nasty things could occur).

Clearly, it was necessary to infiltrate this audacious attempt to undermine the credibility of the various MI-somethings-or-other, but how? The corgis were allowed free rein around large parts of the Palace (thereby leading to rumors that they were actually small horses). What was needed was someone one who could keep watch at close quarters. The solution came to Fredcat immediately and he suggested via e-mail that as the corgis tolerated cats, a cat should be assigned to keep a watch.

Easier said that done. Most cats, if left to their own devices for long periods of time, end up by doing what comes best to them. Viz zizzing. Bit such actions are not very useful when one is acting in the role of watchdog, if you see what I mean.

Then Fredcat had another idea - why not have a competition to find a cat that can sit for long periods without falling asleep? Good idea, adjudged the supreme heads of the MI-somethings-or-others. So fix it! went the call. Once the idea was accepted, it wasn't long before cats of all shapes and sizes were being touted as having the necessary skills to carry out this new task of protecting the residents of the Palace. But, how to select the right cat? (It was nice to know that even MI-somethings-or-others have to go through the planning process several times before they arrive at anything like a useful solution.)

So a simple contest was arranged. Cats were lined up five at a time, around a warm fireplace, with bowls of food a-plenty, and were asked to sit still and stare straight ahead - just like the guards around the Palace. A hopeless task. The failure rate was startling even by MI-somethings-or-other's standards. Within minutes, whole roomsful of cats had polished off the bowls of food, thank you very much, and were snoring peacefully. They were unceremoniously ejected with recommendations to sharpen up in future if they had any thoughts of Royal service. Those felines normally in residence in the Palace were even worse, slinking off before they could be caught by palace staff – the Palace cats knew of cubby holes where they would be safe for days ahead until this problem has been resolved.

Fredcat had his turn and, naturally, was an instant hit. Long hours of practice acquired while staring at Cathie (and, in particular, Mr. B.) for food bowls to be replenished had clearly paid off. All the hours patiently waiting at bedside tables waiting for sleeping humans to rise and sort out Fredcat's breakfasts had had the desired effect. Sitting with a ramrod back, staring fixedly for hours on end had fully prepared our famous friend for the task ahead. His sergeant-major chevron markings made him even more noteworthy and, together with his military bearing, ensured that he was quickly adjudged to be the outstanding candidate in any event. A winner by a mile!

The MI guys (and gals) quickly affixed a radio transmitter to Fredcat (while it was never made clear exactly where this was located, it didn't seem to affect our famous friend). The trap was set, corgis cavorting everywhere, presided over by a still, silent ginger cat sat in front of an open fire. The dogs all fell quickly asleep but our hero stayed awake, twin orbs unblinking. He did not need a hundred eyes to keep his sentry senses functional.

Then ... the gang appeared, almost as if from the woodwork. In fact it WAS from out of the woodwork, via a secret door, one of apparently hundreds in the palace, from which our villains crept. It was easy from then on for our silent sentinel to pass the message on to the waiting police. Within minutes the trap was sprung and all villainous activity ceased. The gang did not even realise who was the architect of their downfall!

The Police Commissioner was very pleased, his impending knighthood seemed more secure than ever. The Police were pleased, they had captured the criminals (albeit it with assistance from Fredcat The Famous), and the residents of the Palace were pleased. Fredcat was invited to the interior of the Palace to be given the thanks of the Royal household by someone very important; he would never say who of course! That person told Fredcat that he was very famous. "I know", he said. And, with that, he set off home.

Mr. B interrupted this tale with his usual snort of derision. "This is a figment of your imagination isn't it?", he almost bellowed. Fredcat bridled for the second time that day. "Indeed, it is not", he calmly replied. "Have you never heard that a cat can look at a king, or, in this case, a queen? Saving the Royal corgis surely deserves the accolade of pure famousness!"

"This is impossible, and I cannot believe it", said Mr. B., and went to make the tea. What do you think?