Mansfield- The Diary of A Talking Cat

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: December 14, 2018

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Submitted: December 14, 2018

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Dear Diary,
Ever since Mr. Anthony taught me to speak I have also learned to read and write.
Therefore, I have considered the idea of keeping a diary to record the very important
happenings in my life. Mr. Anthony tells me that people do this when they
wish to record important or interesting events for posterity. Personally, I find this a very dignified way
to pass one's time. Honestly, what could be more interesting than what happened
in my life on this particular day of whatever month or year this is
(Please, excuse me as I still do not understand this concept that humans have of months and
years. Despite all of Mr. Anthony's attempts at explaining).
So, after much thought and meditation (we cats are very good at that sort of thing, you know)
I have come to the conclusion that I will attempt to keep a diary of the daily
occurrences in my life. Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen I give you
(dramatic music)... “The Life and Times of Mansfield, the Cat” or perhaps “The Story of Mansfield”, or wait better yet “Mansfield: A Cat's Tale”. No, that's just
ridiculous. Forgive me, it's still a work in progress.
Day 1
I awoke at a good hour, 1:00 pm., to be exact. I try to rise early so as not to
disrupt my evening nap. As my great-grandfather, Toby used to say “Early to bed,
after a good meal. Early to rise, in anticipation of a good meal. Makes a cat fat
and happy!”. Ah, dear old great grandpa, now there was a fat cat! I fear I shall
never live up to his sterling example. As I was saying, I arose early and stretched
each leg carefully, sprang gracefully out of bed and began the tedious business of
alerting my human servants that it was time for my breakfast. Nothing fancy mind
you, merely a trifling meal of caviar, Lobster Benedict and a bowl of organic
cream. I'm a cat of simple tastes. After a frugal breakfast, I casually sauntered
about the house for an hour or so searching for the perfect place to stretch out
and have a brief snooze before my evening nap. Alas! It was not to be, the day
had started so perfectly that I had quite forgotten what day it was... KITTY BATH
DAY! Dear Diary never was there a more awful, more horrid day invented by man!
Imagine, me “Mansfield III of Mansfield Estates“ rudely snatched up by handlers,
taken out of doors and submerged in a “kitty tub” to be scrubbed like a common
house pet (so what if the handlers were wearing satin gloves and so what if the
“kitty tub” was made of gold, can you imagine such an indignity to a cat of my
standing”?). Oh, the shame! I will spare you the grizzly details Dear Diary. When
the torture had finally ceased, I was set down soaking wet, to await the arrival of
lavender scented towels. I quickly looked around the gardens to ascertain that the
groom's lovely tortoise-shell, Adelaide was nowhere about. It would not do for her
to see me in this embarrassing state. I would never hear the end of it. When I was
finally dried, I was off like a shot I can tell you. This gruesome event always ruins
the rest of my day, I'm ashamed to say it Dear Diary but I hid under my canopied
bed until everyone else in the house was asleep. Whereupon I crawled into bed
and settled down hoping that tomorrow would be a better day, the rest of my
evening being ruined as I had no intention of showing my lavender-scented face in
public after the day's horrendous events.
I assure you when my schedule is not upset by that barbaric ritual that humans
call a Kitty Bath, my day is much more interesting. Well, I must say that I quite
enjoyed writing about myself and am looking forward to tomorrow when I can add
another chapter too, “The Glorious Chronicles of the Life of Mansfield III”, no “The
Amazing Story of Mansfield”, Rats! I really must work on that. Speaking of “rats”
I'm beginning to feel a wee bit peckish. Not that I would ever admit to chasing
mice, I do have my reputation to uphold. Nevertheless, I am still a cat, but I trust
Dear Diary that my secret is safe with you. After all, who would ever read the
diary of a talking cat?
 
Dear Diary,
Once again, I wish to record a few memorable and rather embarrassing days in my life. They began
one morning, a few days ago, quite out of the ordinary. I was awakened at the ungodly hour of 11:00 am in the morning by the strangest sound. It sounded like Mr. Anthony in his study, so I decided to force myself to rise at this dreadful hour to see what the matter could be. The truth is, that I was incredibly curious as to what that sound was. We cats are bad about that, we are notoriously curious. I suppose it is our fatal flaw, so to speak. Ack! That reminds me of that terrible saying that humans have, “curiosity killed the cat”. I know you will agree with me Dear Diary, that this is a horrible and barbaric saying, invented by dog lovers to destroy our proud and noble reputation. Anyway, when I entered Mr. Anthony's office, I found him sitting alone at his desk and he seemed to be speaking to himself. I sauntered over and with one graceful spring, I was sitting on his desk. I asked Mr. Anthony what the noise was about and he informed me that he was practicing Russian. Russian? Whatever on earth for? Of all languages, why Russian? I myself have only just learned the King's English and see no need to learn any other languages, Thank you, very much!
I really should have seen it coming though, Dear Diary. Last month it was French and the month before that it was German. However, my friend Mr. Anthony does not merely content himself with learning a new language. No, Dear Diary, he must also learn the history of that language's country of origin. Whenever this occurs one will find him sprouting random and obscure facts as he carries out his research. I, being a cat and therefore the most intelligent of creatures on earth, quickly learn and retain
information. As a result, I find that, quite unwillingly, I absorb these facts right away and am then stuck
with them. Ah... I must, however, confess to you Dear Diary, that at times these facts become somewhat
muddled in my mind, owing of course to their complete and total lack of relevance to my life, mind
you. Also, from time to time it occurs that these random names and places affect my speech from time to time, this must be, due to the fact that my superior intellect is working overtime to process and store this information in a thorough and meaningful manner. This has brought about some rather... er,
embarrassing misspeaks on my part. I reveal them to you in the strictest confidence for should they
become public knowledge, I fear that my reputation would be ruined.
Once while Mr. Anthony was studying German I told some cats that they should be 'kinder' to each
other, for you see 'kinder' is the German word for children. Oh, the shame! Another time, while Mr. Anthony was studying French, I made the mistake of telling a dog that 'chats rule!'. 'Chats', of course, is the French word for 'cats'. I made quite the fool of myself. I believe, however, that my greatest embarrassments came today while I was speaking to the horses. I was out in the barn with Adelaide and she was chasing a particularly difficult mouse which ran under a large hay bale and eager to be helpful I called a horse over to aid us in moving it. Quite forgetting myself in the excitement I shouted to the horse … I shouted..., I can barely bring myself to tell you Dear Diary, but I must. Caught up in the thrill of watching the chase I turned to a horse and shouted “Trotsky, over hear and Lenin us a paw... a hoof... whatever!”, by now quite flustered I made matters worse by adding “Quit Stalin and get over here you... you...”, quite taken aback by all the laughter and coming to the realization of what had just come out of my mouth I was utterly shocked. Me Mansfield III of Mansfield Estates, making such mistakes, as though I were some common animal and not a fine feline of noble stock. I spent the rest of the day in somewhat of a daze, mostly hidden under my bed out of shame.
I would confess all of these facts to no one else Dear Diary, nay, not even to my dear Adelaide. I
should never be able to look her in the face again if she were to come to find out about all of these
embarrassing misspeaks. I must have a word with Mr. Anthony about this, perhaps he can give me
some advice. He is, after all, very intelligent for a human and it is, after all, his fault that these things
happen to me. I mean, I couldn't possibly be to blame for anything. Could I?
 
Dear Diary,
Once again I wish to tell you about a momentous day in the life of Mansfield III of Mansfield estates. However, enough embarrassing mishaps, enough writing about my shortcomings, today I wish to tell you a tale of a hero so bold as to stagger the imagination. By which of course, I mean myself, Dear Diary. Today I wish to tell you of the time I single-handedly or rather single-pawededly stopped a robbery. However, I concede that Mr. Anthony, the butler, and the dogs did help somewhat in the capture and the detainment of the burglar.
 
(Single-pawededly? I do believe I just made that up now. I shall have to contact Mr. Webster.)
 
Anyway, how shall I begin this story? Time and place? Introduce the hero? Never mind that last one,
Dear Diary, it would be fruitless, as you already know that I am always the hero. Aha! I have it! I
believe that I shall begin at the beginning, for that seems the perfect place to begin any narrative,
whatever the occasion. Our story begins with me, for I am the perfect beginning to any story, don't you agree? It was about 11 o'clock at night and I was on the prowl. I never go to sleep before 1 o'clock in the morning. Therefore, I repeat, it was about 11 o'clock and I was taking my nightly turn of the property and all was well with the world, that is until I ran into the biggest, meanest, cat-eating, man-eating dog you ever saw! I knew everyone was in terrible danger and knew I would have to engage in vicious, life-threatening, mortal combat with this terrible beast! I quickly sized up the situation and...?
 
(What's that Adelaide? Oh, very well! I suppose I'm not telling campfire stories. I beg your pardon?
Stick to the facts? I was heroic enough without making up extra details? Fine! If you insist!)
 
  I suppose I should tell you that Adelaide has taken to reading over my shoulder as I write. How you
may ask? Well, you see, I made the mistake of teaching her how to read. It seemed like a good idea at
the time. You know, showing off my intelligence would be a good idea, right? Wrong! She is now my
self-appointed editor. That is when she's not chasing mice in the barn. Which the groom is keeping her
to do.
 
(Isn't that right, Adelaide? OUCH! You know I hate it when you bite my ear! Now, the groom is
expecting you, is he not? Adieu, my dear. Parting is such sweet sorrow!)
 
Finally, she is gone, Dear Diary! My Adelaide is very sweet but she is a pain to have around when I am writing, I assure you! Now, where were we? Ah yes! The burglary at Mansfield Estates. As you know I was making my rounds of the estates, when I noticed a mysterious character slinking along the hedge in a most sneaky manner. Wondering who this stranger could be I decided to follow him. At first, I thought that maybe it was one of the gardeners who had forgotten his tools and was attempting to
retrieve them without disturbing anyone of the household. Further investigation revealed that this was
not the case. When I made this disturbing discovery, I was tempted to run for the guard dogs Scott and
Sophie, burglars were definitely in their job description. Then I stopped myself, why should the
dogs get all the glory? I came to the conclusion that I would stop this burglar on my own. I crouched
low and crept along in the shadows, following his every move. He sneaked along until he reached a
downstairs window. Whereupon, he took from his bag a tool and opened the window. I will confess that
about now, I was feeling nervous and was hoping for the arrival of the dogs. I pushed these feelings
down and steeled myself for what I was about to do. As he climbed through the window, I crept in behind him, without making a sound. As I hid under the piano I watched the burglar begin to remove paintings from the wall, I assumed he was looking for a safe. Ha! The poor, poor buffoon! He would never find the safe behind one of the paintings. Of course, I knew where the safe was. I do, after all, have Mr. Anthony's full confidence.
Once again, I was beginning to lose my nerve when what I saw next filled me with such a furious
resolve that I was determined that this petty sneak thief should not go unpunished. What I saw Dear
Diary was the bandit remove a very expensive oil painting of myself and Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield and
then just toss it aside as if it were nothing. Such gross disrespect! I am aware Dear Diary, that I have
a tendency to put down humans in favour of cats, and I am by no means changing my position, mind
you! However, if there is one thing I cannot stand, it is insults to Mr. Anthony and his wife. I have a
great deal of respect and yes, I will admit it, affection, for the two of them and no one, but no one disrespects them in any way in my presence. As I crouched in the spring position and flexed my
claws in anticipation of the richly deserved punishment I was about to meet out, I remembered a few
sayings by my old Uncle Toby. One such saying was, “There is nothing in the world, more dangerous
than a cat and his claws”, another of my favorites is “These are my claws, there are many like them but
these ones are mine”. Armed with these maxims, I leaped into battle! You should have seen me Dear
Diary! I was here! I was there! I was clawing my way up his trouser leg! Never Dear Diary, will I
forget the look on that crook's face. Never was there a more surprised looking crook in all the history of
robbery! I was a whirlwind! I don't believe there was an inch of bare skin that my claws didn't find and
the noise Dear Diary, it was deafening! My hissing, snarling, and yowling, combined with the burglar's
bellowing. Of course, the sounds of battle brought reinforcements in the form of Scott and Sophie
sailing through the open window and rushing to my aid. They added a whole new aspect to this fight,
you should have heard that crook wailing and begging for mercy Dear Diary, it was a sight to behold!
Eventually, Mr. Anthony arrived with the butler armed as they were with cricket bat and candelabra. Soon the bandit was restrained with ropes, the constable was sent for and I was the recipient of many caresses and congratulations. It was my proudest moment, Dear Diary!
I will admit to you, however, that I was most grateful for the timely arrival of my two good friends
Scott and Sophie, without whose help I would have most assuredly been overthrown by my adversary.
Although you must never let them know this. That, Dear Diary, is the heroic tale of the time I thwarted a burglary.
 
(What's that Adelaide? You need my help to catch a rat? What? You mean you've rooted out Frenchie?
I'll be right there, my dear! Try not to lose him!)
 
I must be going now, Dear Diary. You see 'Frenchie' is a particularly large and cheeky rat, who has been wreaking havoc in our feed shed. It seems he is the patriarch of all of those pestilent rodents. He is
constantly leading his pack on these devastating raids that nearly drive poor Adelaide out of her mind.
Also, it seems that she doesn't think any less of me when I join her in the chase but rather she seems to
appreciate it. So, until next time, Dear Diary, I bid you a good evening. I am off to assist Adelaide in
lowering the boom on Frenchie once and for all!
 
(I'm coming! I'm coming! Calm down, Adelaide! I'll be there in a moment! What!? What do you mean
you'll be leading the chase, this time? What's wrong when I lead? I beg your pardon!? Oh, we shall see about that!)

 


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