On Wednesday, the best friend and I headed off to the cinema to see 'A Street Cat Named Bob'. Now I'm not really a cat lover. I'm not too sure whether Mrs S is, but as she keeps no animals, let's assume she isn't. Why was it then, two hours later, we were both just a little bit in love with Bob? The story, if you don't know it, is about a homeless busker, who, once Bob comes into his life, finds happiness and success. If only every pet were the same...
Since Reg has come into my life, all I have known is poverty (the pet shop have bled me dry with their expensive suggestions of what to buy next to curb the chewing) and heartbreak (my slippers, my rug, my door stop and my toy schnauzer). I was thinking yesterday what a film about Reg would be like, and then I suddenly remembered. They've already made a couple of films with a similar storyline. Jaws springs to mind, but Piranha (the original, not the remake) and Grizzly would also fit the bill.
Anyway, back to the film. Mrs S and I both agreed that it was a wonderful British film, one of those which gives you a warm, fuzzy feeling (without alcohol being in the vicinity) and what impressed me most was that for some of the film, Bob was played by himself. But here's the strange thing. He had several body doubles who also appeared in the film. Apparently a lot of these cats (of both sexes - let's hear it for long fur) were brought over from Canada to be in the film. Turns out that the body doubles weren't too happy about acting in London, so Bob had to do those bits. I can just imagine him pushing them out of the way, striding towards the set, saying, 'Let the professional through luvvies'.
Mrs S and I set the world to rights before and after the film, as I was driving her home. Just as we pulled up outside her house, the husband called to tell me that I hadn't answered his calls.
'I was in the cinema with the phone on mute'.
You didn't even answer my texts'.
'That's because I was in the cinema with my phone on mute'.
Mrs S, sensing that this could be the start of a domestic, hurriedly gathered herself up and almost ran to the front door. The husband persisted.
'Not even WhatsApp....you didn't even see the messages on that?'
I was getting a bit miffed now, so I said very slowly.
'No. I was in the cinema...WITH MY PHONE ON MUTE'.
And then he told me. Son number one, always keen to position himself at the bottom of a rugby scrum had dislocated his thumb, and the husband was beetling down to the seaside to see him in the hospital. The doctors had tried to pop it back in with no success, so a small operation was required yesterday.
The husband had a sleepover down there so I had to share the bed with another grey haired snorer in his absence. I must say though, Reg was very well behaved, although he did take the opportunity of my being asleep to 'bury' a piece of chewed toy under my pillow which I found at about 4.00 yesterday morning.
With the operation done, before and after photos were posted on our family messaging app. Apparently, he had a plastic surgeon do the op. I was tempted to see whether I could have got the husband's ears reduced slightly while he was down there, but unfortunately, there wasn't a BOGOF offer on yesterday.
Another time perhaps...