Читать книгу ‘Knocked out by my nunga-nungas.’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 26

I took Angus for a walk to check out the nightlife that Jock McThick told me about. Angus is the only good thing about this trip. He’s really perked up. I know he longs for Naomi the sex kitten inside his furry brain but he is putting a brave face on it. In fact, he is strutting around like he owns Scotland. This is, after all, his birthplace. He can probably hear the call of the Scottish Highlands quite clearly here. The call that says, “Kill everything that moves.” There were four voles all lined up on the doorstep this morning. Mum said she found a dead mouse in her tights. I didn’t ask where she had left them. If I ask her anything she just giggles and goes stupid. Since Dad came home her brain has fallen out.

Angus has made a new furry chum. None of the other local cats will come near our cottage. I think there was a “duffing up” challenge last night. The black and white cat I saw in the lane yesterday has quite a bit of its ears missing now. Angus’s new mate is a retired sheepdog called Arrow. I say he is retired but sadly he is too barmy and old to know that he is retired, so he keeps rounding things up anyway. Not usually sheep though … things like chickens, passing cars … old Scottish people doing their haggis shopping. Angus hangs out with Arrow and they generally terrorise the neighbourhood and lay waste to the wildlife.