The Killer Cat's Birthday Bash

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And, go ahead. Stuff me with sorry pills. It all ended up a bit of a mess.

Well, more than a mess. A disaster.

Well, more than a disaster. A real riot.

But it was not my fault. If Ellie hadn’t got so bored she rooted through the cupboard and found that old photograph album, I would never have known the date of my birthday. None of it would have happened.

So you blame Ellie. Don’t blame me.

2: ‘You talkin’ ’bout me?’

IT WAS A horrible day. Horrible. The rain was splattering against the window panes. The wind was howling. So Ellie lay face down on the rug and flicked over the pages of the album.

‘Oooh, Dad! Here’s one of you the day you tumbled in that muddy ditch.’

(Best place for the man, if you want my opinion.)

‘Oooh, Mum! Come and look at this photo. Your hair looks lovely.’

(On Planet No-Style, maybe. But not here.)

On and on Ellie went, squealing away like that baby mouse Tiger and I gave such a good fright behind the wheelie bin. In the end I decided I couldn’t stand it any more, and made for the door.

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