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Gordons Cat

Illustration 1 Gordon’s Cat

Story by Sandshoe

Schmoley the room lit up like a Roman Candle going off. Looked like Gordon set up one of the best exits for the bish. Totally.

Gordon spiralled through the door of the bar out of a parallel universe. He swooned like an accordion collapsing onto the bar stool next to where the bish was flopped with his limp head lolling in the space under the bar. See previous episode eh to understand what is going down here.

Gordon was oblivious to everything in the room aside the bish. He was tapping his foot way wrong.

Gordon always tapped out I Did It the Wrong Way which was a song he wrote when he was a post man and the more seriously (totally) wrong the timing (yeah, I know but his theory, not mine) he thought he could raise the dead. No, you’re right nobody else has mentioned this not even in passing. The bish might have but who knew so much going on.

Talk about silly this lot. Universities, eh. Like Schrodinger’s moggie. Not that Gordon had run into Schrodinger on the circuit even when their cats’ lives over lapped, but there are some dead and undead theories going on in Gordon’s head about the bish in that moment would have made any phsyicist proud, more so if they had been on the turps themselves up the way a bit. Polite way of saying Gord was feet up and the rest of him on Rosie on Rosie’s sofa having his own down time.

There’s a euphemism. When the lights went out instead of on at Rosie’s, Gordon (nothing surer, our Gordy) jumped to his feet as well as he could manage with his inebriation and flailing tumescence and looked out the louvres that looked out over the left hand and the right hand stair case. You know the sort. Inexplicable design to accommodate an onslaught of who knows how many tramping feet and they reach a landing that is a square hardly looks big enough for the anticipated siphoning of these many arrivals up the remaining single staircase. Without the neon light flashing in his eyes as it did in usual syncopated beat-style FLASH FLASH no worries a light or two fallen out over the years, he made out the shape of a contingent of pleece personnel at the door of the Sports Bar. If not pleece, it was an army battalion.

PLEECE! PLEECE!

That’s what he heard.

Nobody could hear Gordon tapping his foot anyway so what hope would the dead have. The pleece bursting through the front doors off the street unexpectedly caused a sort of Pandemonium.

I’ve got the timing right, you don’t have to worry about that. Gord was upstairs looking out and downstairs looking at the bish’s head lolling in the space under the bar at the same time. He arrived before he was missed upstairs. Rosie did not know he had left. She did work out he wasn’t all there. She asked him to please not to forget to put his pants on being like he was well affected by Rosie’s liquor. He replied he had and Rosie said to him even though he was downstairs wrestling the body of the bish back up into an upright position from prone no he hadn’t.

Gord was there when he wasn’t to explain what happened without to-do. He was both present and absent in both places at the same time. He put pants on and he hadn’t. He met himself coming.

PLEECE! PLEECE!

“Likely story.”

That was what the Superintendent at the Pleece Station said when Gordon was brought in by half the army battallion-like pleece personnel contingent struggling and clutching the bish upright who it appeared in the light of an emergency generator was a stiff already dressed in a floor length ceremonial death caftan and Gordon wouldn’t or couldn’t let go. He couldn’t. He went back a long way with the bish. It was time to take their relationship to the next level. Keep him close. Bring the bish back from the dead.

“Name!”

He tried. He couldn’t say it. It was too long. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Alright then, sir! Initials if it’s too hard! Give us a … “

“G.” Gordon managed a G. Tap. Tap.

“It’s a start! Got to start somewhere.”

Gordon noded his head and shook it. Confused the desk clerk. EEvonnn. Hard to confuse Eevonnn. Tap. Tap. Tap. He kept tapping his feet.

“Next!”

“O a postrophy D. For O’Donnell. G is for Gordon. Ehxcuzhe me. I urgently need to phone my cat.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Shoe

The Author – fact checking

TO BE CONTINUED: