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, another big plus as Rosie only liked classical music, with a little rap thrown in. I needed to find out more about his chef training. He might be able to pull the wool over Daddy and Rosie's eyes by saying he'd trained under the 'great Marilyn Manson' but I'm not that wet behind the ears. I knew ...

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, for instance, he didn't know the difference between  an eggs Benedict and a beggars banquet, probably also knew nothing of the practice or practise conundrum,  and I bet he valued Stork margarine over Flora. His name, Philbert, is odd, and my oh my, his sartorial skills and....

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manners were something to behold. I hoped he wasn't the kind of chap who was forever checking his hair in the mirror and applying some kind of highly perfumed stinky pomade.

Anyway, putting his affectations aside, it was time to test his culinary skills.

'Mate, I'd like you to make me a perfect mille-feuille; eggs florentine with two beautifully cooked poached eggs, and a   birthday cake with chocolate ganache. You have ...

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two hours 43 minutes 54 seconds, starting...now...'.

I stood looking at him.

'Boss..what's the urgency?', he asked, cutting a carrot 🥕 with a sharp knife,  smiling laconically as he declared, ' the best chef is a chilled chef, and Rosie agrees.'

'Oh she does now..??'

''And she probably agrees that you are a....'

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bit of a control freak.'

This obviously wasn't going to work out.

'OK, Phil-butt. Well leave it there, I think. Don't call us, we'll call you.'

'But...but ...'

I hustled him out the door.

Maybe I could take over the catering! It seemed near impossible to hire suitable staff. How hard could it be?? After all, I could make a mean mashed spud and who ...

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in their right mind would dislike roast taties, bubble n squeak, and a side of cabbage?  Thinking I was onto something here, I prepared to rejoice ,telling Rosie all about Philbert and his rank misdemeanours.

Rosie was not, however,...

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d all the ingredients by hand. It was a small price to pay for her happiness and in time she might weaken and allow me to use our new Shreddy Mercury Multi-purpose dicer/shredder/grater with the powerful 2000W motor and the variable speed pulse. When I enquired why I must do it by hand, she replied that the supersonic sound it made when in action, frightened the cats and they went around, for several hours later, with their ...

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tails low among the back legs, noses tapping the  floor superciliously,  backs furtive, low hanging, compressed, neat , and feline.

One cat, a black boy  named Tibbs, was of the notion that the world price of fish merited.. ...

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a sit in meow outside the local chippy at night. 

A friend of Rosie, by the name of Germane Solution, 43, a lecturer from Troon, had passed her Level 23.6 in Cat Language at Gosport Polytechnic in 2022, a pastime, she swore, was certified....

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by a ornately decorated, gilt-framed diploma, generously festooned with paw prints. Ms Solution agreed to act as mediator and translator between the disgruntled moggies and we lesser mortals. In the meantime, we continued to supply our pinickety felines with ...

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 freshly grilled cod, dogfish, and tinned salmon chunks from Aldi.  On the day of the protest, all local cat 🐈 people were astounded to be roused from their  Eastenders watching torpor, by someone knocking on the door at 11am, to invite 'your cats', to a demonstration tonight outside Bill O'Brien's fish monger on Stinkhole Avenue, please wrap a scarf around the kitties as it'll be cold. 'Protesting against the amazing cost of fish, we believe that all cats ought to be receiving free sardines at wholesale fishy type holes such as O'Brien's...after all, it's not every.....

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one who's a fan of sardines, all those crunchy bones, the bane of homo sapiens but most delectable for felines. Surely, the least fishmongers could do in appreciation for the service cats provided in keeping down the mice and rat population, was to supply sardines pro bono.'

Most cat owners, seeing which way the wind blew, decided to ...

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bring an average of 2 cats to Stinkhole Way, and by 3pm Bill O'Brien's shop was surrounded by disappointed,  demanding,  cats, and happy, entertained hoomans.

Gabrielle Portmanteau, 43, of Welcome Kitties Home, from Bristol, was on the microphone.

Jack Fishbreath, from Chingford,  31, a worker at O'Brien's, opined that, given the situation,  Bill ought to give spare,rotting, fish heads to every kitty, ' to quieten  down the furore, I mean it's 

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just going to waste, otherwise.'

This brought a fusillade of indignation from both cat owners and their pampered pets. Everyone started yelling at once, the cats began throwing up everywhere and Jack Fishbreath had to take refuge in the shop and barricade the door with fish bins. Someone called the police ...

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, and when PC Collar McCatchem, 43, from Dunstable,  arrived, with Detective Myonly Hope, 32,Brixham born, things were so fish orientated, that even Bjorn Aloser, 54, of Trondheim, whosuffered from chronic loss of smell, post Covid era, was holding his proboscis and moaning about the sheer lack...

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of adequate ventilation. Unfortunately, covid had somehow affected his spacial awareness and he didn't seem to realise he was outdoors.

Detective Myonly Hope tried to de-esculate the whole situation by calling for calm, but his voice was drowned by caterwauling cats and their irate and vociferous owners. PC McCatchem went round with his notebook and pencil trying to ascertain who was responsible for the stink. It wasn't long before all fingers were pointing at Jack Fishbreath who was cowering behind the barricaded door, crying piteously that ...

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'all I was asking was a fish head for a kitten ,never too much to ask..'

Meanwhile, Rosie was sat doing the admin in the office, when, out of the blue, a call came in....a staccato voice rang out.

'Is this..Discard your Vestments Cattery?'

The voice was male,austere,and 

 

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supercilious.

'I beg your pardon,' said Rosie indigantly, 'to whom am I speaking?'

'Hubert Hoitytoity, Madam. Investigating racketeering and criminal operations.'

Now Rosie, usually the sweetest and most obliging lady you could ever meet, was annoyed. Hubert had clearly crossed a line.

'I'll thank you kindly NOT to address me as Madam! I am NOT and have NEVER been, a brothel keeper! And I have never heard of the establishment you are referring to. Please don't call again!' And she did what many of us do when faced with an unsolicited call, she ...

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hung up and resumed her daily duties. 

With a handle like  Pussy Galore cat cafe, she mused, is it possible the cretin rang up thinking it's a house of ill repute? 

'Johnny, a weird....

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thing just happened. I had a call from a very rude man and he called me a Madam! He thought we were something to do with taking your clothes off! You don't think our name could be misleading, do you? I thought you said we were named after a movie about James Blonde or someone? Did he go around taking his clothes off all the time?'

'Well, sometimes ... but only to go to bed,' I reassured her.

'Anyway, I hung up on him.'

'I think ...

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who was really in charge. I suggested this to Rosie and she readily agreed. She was still getting over the shock of being addressed as a Madam, so I sat her down and made her a cup of sweet tea. 

'Do you think we should tell Daddy?'

Daddy had lately been conspicuous by his absence and as far as I was concerned, long may it last. As long as he kept financing our little venture, everything in the cafe was rosy. Clever little pun there, I thought.

'I think not, darling. You know his heart isn't strong and it would just upset him.' 

'I'll just ring him and tell him about the name change.'

Not five minutes later ...

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