The Enigmatic Aristocrat

Yes, I know it's an odd title, but it contains clues as to the identity of the subject.  What, you may ask yourself,  is so mysterious and unfathomable - not to say inscrutable - and at the same time clearly aware of its status of Superior Being?  Exactly - it could only possibly be Felis Silvestris Catus, or the (un)common Domestic Cat, two examples of which employ us for domestic duties.

Millions of words have been written about them, which, of course, they expect - this is perfectly natural for a creature that was once revered by the Pharoahs. It has taken centuries of patience, knowledge, a little light bullying, some love, and many tantrums, but at last, the training is complete;  they now have us precisely where they want us.

It has taken millenia for them to achieve the prodigious feat of taking an upright, intelligent being with complete manual dexterity and a complex language structure, and bend its will to such an extent that it can be very easily manipulated by a small, furry, quadruped that eats mice.  They will even allow their human to give them instructions - as one would a dog - which the cat will, if it feels like it, obey, whilst at the same time doing exactly what it likes.

Dogs do what they are told because they are pack animals, and - if you've got it right - you are the leader of the pack, and the dog wishes to please you.  Being a Good Dog is vital to its psychological well-being.  Cats, on the other hand, wish to please themselves - there are no bad cats or good cats, merely cats that are doing precisely what they want to - and when.  Make no mistake - they do not give a flying wossname whether what they're doing pleases you or not, they like it.

Are cats capable of affection - or is it simply a way of getting what they want?  Some people say they are capable, others that they're a bunch of users, in it to win it no matter what.  My own feeling is that cats - much like us - vary enormously in their characters.  Those who know us will know that our Florence -a tiny and gentle little tabby who would not hurt a soul - is unique.  Love Flo, and she'll love you right back.  She has no hidden agenda, and is possibly the only cat in the universe who likes you to blow raspberries on her belly - usually a recipe for losing your ears.  She has trained us well, and it is interesting to see that we are not the only pair of gullible prats who spend hours browsing the cat-food shelves in Sainsbury's trying to find a food that she hasn't got bored with or doesn't like at the moment.  Having found one she is keen on, we buy a quantity, and she will immediately go off it!  Trying to second-guess Flo is about as easy as not loving her - quite impossible.

Digit, our Polydactile (five toes instead of four and looks weird) nightmare is quite different.  She goes from a purring, happy, fluff-ball with the brains of a brick to a psycotic little shit in under a nano-second.  Rough, tough, and possibly wearing the wrong jersey when the whistle went, she too is a character, and just as interesting in a different way.

So if you're thinking of getting a cat, remember that everything you've ever read about them is probably true; proud, cruel, arrogant, smug, noted for being thieves and users, they are still curiously appealing.  Almost human, aren't they?

Good luck

What Seems To Be The Trouble?

I recently changed my doctor - or, to be more precise - my doctors's surgery, as my doctor retired.  There were other reasons, too - I did not fancy the two remaining practitioners one little bit, and the reception and admin staff were from Hell.

Getting an appointment while still alive could be well-nigh impossible, and then some genius had an idea;  don't bother to ring up for an appointment, because surgery policy is 'No'.  Far better to have a 'Drop-In Surgery' where you turn up at 8 am, when someone may grudgingly open the door.  You then form an orderly queue, leave your name at reception, and wait..........and wait...........and wait..........you know what I mean, I'm sure.

One of the biggest problems with this (apart from the interminable wait) was the fact that - in order to be seen at all - it was necessary to turn up at 7.30 am at the latest, which of course was half an hour before they opened the doors.  This was bad news for an elderly person who felt ill on a winter's morning, and I'm sure I don't have to draw you a picture.  I pointed this out to the Surgery Manager (who is probably undeserving of the capitals), who replied that the system worked well, and more patients could be 'processed' - I noted that word.  I pointed out that many patients must have felt a good deal worse (or have died) by the time some smug bitch opened the door at 8 o'clock, and anyone who thought that queue was a good thing had never stood in it - I then left - in high dudgeon and a Ford Mondeo - never to return.

My new surgery is light -years away from this shambles, with a spacious surgery offering a walk-in facility, blood-tests, ECG tests, and a choice of seeing a nurse or a doctor - and all that is for people who aren't registered with them!  I can be seen by a doctor from 7am until 10 pm, seven days a week, and every day of the year.  I may not always get the same one, it's true, but when they're all so capable and charming, who cares?  The receptionists are a complete joy, and this has not previously been my experience.

My last set of receptionists (I believe the collective noun for receptionists of the medical variety is 'a bitching' of receptionists) were, as I have said, from Hell.  No matter how polite I was (and I can, surprisingly, be very polite), I was clearly as welcome as diarrhoea in a swimming-pool, and the very audacity of requesting an appointment................well, I mean!

All is now well, and as I was chatting to my doctor a while ago, she explained why it all worked so well.  As doctors, she said, they were well aware of the 'grumpy' - nay, negative, attitude of some medical support staff, and this appeared to be endemic throughout the NHS.  For this reason, they had been particularly careful to recruit all their support staff from commerce and business, where high levels of customer care were the norm - and, indeed, essential.

This simple idea has ensured that they have people, she hoped, to whom the patient (customer) is important, and they are made to feel that they matter.  They are there to solve problems, and bring about a successful conclusion - as they would in commerce, with the result that people are much happier - and probably get better quicker.

It's so simple, it's a wonder they don't all do it.

Which would allow all those self-important old ratbags with an attitude-adjustment requirement to go back to Tesco.

Is There Anybody There?

I am intrigued - nay, astonished - at the amount of cheaply-made TV programmes that are hurled at us these days, from the so-called 'reality' shows that show a kind of reality you would not want at any price, to the unexplained, and - sadly in the majority of cases - the unwatchable.

UFOs, aliens, hauntings, prophecies, the apocalypse and strange beasts abound on our screens, but probably nowhere else.  It's pure entertainment - or it might have been the first time it was screened, but after twenty or so showings it's kind of lost it's punchiness.  It's ability to amaze - never strong at best - has evaporated quicker than one of Nick Clegg's promises.

I mean, where's the evidence?  Seriously,  it's a simple enough question that you may have thought the producers may have asked themselves, but of course, if they had considered evidence to be essential, there would have been no programme.  They always say they have new evidence, but what they really have is new hearsay, conjecture, wishful thinking or downright lies.  It's not the technical aspect of the ufo thing that I doubt - it's simply that any race technologically advanced enough to get here probably wouldn't want to.

I suspect that the truth is certainly out there somewhere, and that is where it's likely to remain.  I further suspect that certain people have been abducted by aliens - I mean, who could possibly doubt the testimony of someone like David Icke?  It is after listening to this self-proclaimed Son of God that one can readily understand just why the aliens sent him back.  How could they have explained him to their top brass on the good 'ole home planet?

Terry Pratchett teaches us the aliens are not always perfect, and there have been cock-ups ranging from them abducting each other (very embarrassing) to an unfortunate misunderstanding of instructions that resulted in forming cattle into circles and mutilating cabbages.

One 'top-ranking American intelligence officer' has even stated that much of our modern-day technology is derived from alien sources, and due to the vast numbers of crashed ufos, I have no doubt he's right, and it's possible that Microsoft is an alien joke we didn't get - like Peugeot or Virgin Media.

In an episode of 'The X-Files', someone asks an 'Intelligence Operative'  "Are they here?, referring to alien visitations.  The reply is "They have always been here".  I believe this to be true - they've certainly always been here.  There are some on an estate near you, you may be sure, worming their way insidiously into our society - bringing about the fall of mankind from the inside with advanced technology like hoodies, Staffordshire bull-terriers and super-strength lager.  Fuelled by benefits and class A drugs,  they hurtle silently through our universe in highly-advanced Vauxhall Novas, buggering-up all before them.  They are responsible for many of humanity's woes, including the Beckhams, Jonathan King, the EDL, and - worst of all by far - Simon Cowell.

Know them well, for they are among us, although ED - a member of The Flat Earth Society - says it's all bollocks.  Oh, yes, the truth is out there.

But a whole industry has sprung up out of the lies.