9th August ~ Woke up this morning from dreams of school again to find Mille nowhere to be seen. She wasn't in her furry bed, or wrestling with the chest of drawers as usual. Fearing the worst, I jumped up and rushed to the garden, the tail from my Dalmatian onesy that I sleep in swishing to and fro. Not in the garden. Back in the kitchen, I decided to check the house...what followed was a montage of doors to various rooms and cupboards being opened with lights flickering on. To no avail, I returned from the'Graham Greene Appreciation Lounge' to the kitchen. As the lift door opened, I thought I'd have to do it. Enter the living room. I don't go in there at present, as the balancing presence of Daisy is temporarily absent, causing the forces that live in there to be unsettled. It's like the green screen effects of Tobe Hooper's 1982 classic 'Poltergeist' in there, and I have often had to duck and roll to avoid being struck by a flying 'Star Wars' toy. I have however, stored the properties for the show against the far wall. Entering gingerly ( I always have to don a huge curly ginger wig to disguise myself from the forces at work ) I saw with alarm a work table set up, paint tins opened and the radio tuned to classic fm...Millie was touching up the few props I had had to rush the night before, mewing in time to the 'Bolero' as she did so. For a moment we looked at each other silently. I slowly removed the wig so she could recognise me ( and was promptly hit on the forehead by Han Solo encased in carbonite that you had to send off for with vouchers. ) and tutted promptly.Whilst I appreciate her help, she hasn't got opposable thumbs and hence, can't hold a paintbrush correctly. The finesse was lost. I had to repaint.
11th August ~ Woke up from dreams of school again to find Millie sat on my chest, staring into my eyes. I got up, made coffee and her breakfast, whilst all the time Millie sauntered behind me, to then position herself on a chair to again gaze into my eyes. Upstairs, checking the day's online bitchiness, she sat on the occasional table (which I occasionally use like a pretend steering wheel when I imagine I'm driving an Aston Martin as James Bond) to further peer into my eyes. Looking up, I glanced into my 'Cheeses of Norfolk' map mirror to see that the mascara from yesterday's performance of 'Dalmatians' had smudged in the night (I often leave it on to make myself look like Gary Numan) giving me the appearance of a hung over Panda that had recently been dug up by Gene Simmons. Thank goodness she pointed it out to me before I went to Church today. Although, to be fair, the vicar often borrows my stage makeup to go to sex jamborees in Suffolk.
12th August ~ Woke up from dreams of needing the toilet in public places to find cubicles with no lock again, to find Millie nowhere to be seen. With horror, I leapt out of bed and rushed to the open window. The netting I had placed there to let air in but keep kittens safe was fluttering on the lawn below. "Millie!!" I called, rushing downstairs to the garden. Nothing. I stood in the morning air, my dressing gown undone, a cool August breeze dancing meditatively around my testicles, "Morning..." said Linda, our neighbour, with a look of restrained shock on her face. Inside, I found Millie again in the living room. She had set up my old PSOne and was loading 'Medal of Honor'...she looked at me with her big rich eyes and mewed. I felt sorry for her. It's a classic game but without opposable thumbs, she couldn't hope to operate the controller correctly.
14th August ~ Woke up from horrid dreams of school again to find I had lashed out in my sleep, bopping Millie on the nose as she lay on the pillow next to me. Poor kitten. We aren't talking at the moment. She's sat drinking her coffee in the Colorado lounge with her back to me. Of course without opposable thumbs she can't grasp the mug properly.
15th August ~ Woke up from dreams of being slowly drowned in an iron maiden to find Millie nowhere to be seen. I leapt up (making sure my testicles were hidden this time) and hunted around calling her name...nothing. After searching outside in the maze, past the topiary animals and the croquet court, I returned through the north entrance, ignoring Hallorann who was lying on the floor, through the kitchen. Eventually I made it upstairs to find her snuggled up with Joseph, who had stayed the night after the soiree the evening before. Purring contentedly, she glanced up at me with disdain. Incredulous, I decided that neither of them would be getting breakfast. However, as Joseph doesn't have opposable thumbs, I don't know how he'd tackle the eggs benedict anyway without making a mess.
16th August ~ Wokaupa froma sleepa to finda that Ima speaking likea Manwell froma FawltyTowers...Millie nowherea to be a seeny. I goes down to the .... que???The...'living room' and shes a sleepy on the soofa. I kick her offasoofa....she gets back on the soofa, I kick her offa. Misssster Fawlty no likethe cat hair on the soofa...then I find Millie hasa been in the...que??? 'Fridge'and to drinka ALL the milk! Buta without errr....que? 'opposable thumbs' she noholda the milk properlys anyways.
19th August ~ Woke up from dreams of surfing behind helicopters in Vietnam again, to find Millie nowhere to be seen. After her greeting at my homecoming last night, I was surprised that I was on the hunt around the house for her. I entered the kitchen, deserted, aside from Millie's breakfast of quail and orange juice: untouched. Quickly, I turned on the internal CCTV system and scanned the various parts of Barton House : the billiard room, nothing, the pool house, nothing, the Aldous Huxley Library, empty, the Jim Davidson dental ward, nothing; but then, I saw a tail slink around a corner of the opening to the Rothko Room. I hit the internal camera. Millie hates the abstracts. She had spent the night turning the massive paintings to the wall and drawing her own representations on the backs. I admit, her rendition entitled 'litter tray at dawn' was remarkably accurate, done in the garconne style. But of course, without opposable thumbs, the lines were crap.
21st August ~ Woke from dreams of fighting rubber lizards in a slightly camera tinteddesert landscape to find Millie nowhere to be seen. Her furry bed was empty and the MG was missing from the garage. Worried, I leapt onto the Harley and activated the homing beacon, racing down country lanes in a montage of revolving wheels, the speedometer gaining speed and the road ahead. Suddenly, as I screeched around Dead Man's Curve, there, infront, the MG was off the road. Millie sat on the bonnet, gazing at me with her big green eyes. Unhurt.
Time has passed and we don't talk of the accident. Millie goes about her business unwilling or unable to discuss the reason why she tore away, on a desperate escape mission, or a flight of fancy. The car is fine, undamaged. The investigation into the accident sits on my desk, Millie sees it and nonchalantly slinks away, feigning disinterest. But I know. I know what she is thinking. Paragraph three reads : ' MG undamaged. It is this investigator's opinion that the car left the road due to negligence of the driver and that not having opposable thumbs was a definite factor in the car losing control.'
Time has passed and we don't talk of the accident. Millie goes about her business unwilling or unable to discuss the reason why she tore away, on a desperate escape mission, or a flight of fancy. The car is fine, undamaged. The investigation into the accident sits on my desk, Millie sees it and nonchalantly slinks away, feigning disinterest. But I know. I know what she is thinking. Paragraph three reads : ' MG undamaged. It is this investigator's opinion that the car left the road due to negligence of the driver and that not having opposable thumbs was a definite factor in the car losing control.'S.M.Morgan 2013
Further Dreams ~
Woke up from dreams of solving the Acle Old People's Retirement Village Sandwich and Scone Caper (it was the janitor! All along! Of course, there was only one set of keys after all) to find Millie nowhere to be seen. She wasn't in the massage tray or in the conversation jar, so I called down to Mellors, the temporary groundsman, to ask if he had seen her,
"E, my John Thomas!! My old John Thomas!"
Disgruntled, I decided to walk the grounds and attempt to locate her again. The swans were basking by the lake and I paused to take in the scene. It was a beautiful autumnal morning, golden and bright. The bison herd meandered across the plain and even the flamingoes seemed happy. Above, flocks of Canada geese sauntered across the sky, heading south, and even the lonely parachutist, hung from the branches of the tall oak looked up from his kindle and called a "good morning!" ~ all was peaceful.
Finally, I reached the summer house. And there she was, of course, how could I forget? Today was her modelling class. A group sat in a semi circle, copying the items placed on the pedestal in the centre; a vase, two oranges and the most challenging item, a snow shoe. The teacher wandered amongst them, nodding and quietly offering advice. But there, Millie perched, her work suddenly revealed as I entered, caught mid sculpt, green eyes wide. Aghast, the teacher edged away slowly...a gasp rippling around the other students. Millie simply began to wash herself. On her little table was a collection of sculpted thumbs, thumbs, thumbs, thumbs; human thumbs modelled from clay.
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'Woke up from dreams of being chased by Molly Ringwald from the movie 'Sixteen Candles' to find that Millie had refilled her litter tray with muesli. Or was it the box of muesli with kitty litter? Either way, it goes well with a banana....' ~
Simon M.Morgan first started incorporating his kitten Mildred into facebook posts in July 2013. Since then, the two have become world famous, with a television show, 'Paws for Thought' aswell as a hit movie, 'Star Trek, Into Darkness' in which Millie starred as Benedict Cumbersnatch's hair, numerous television adverts, internet virals and political campaigns. Relaxing in her New York apartment, Millie spoke of her process,
"To me, the art is the writing. You have to be able to paint satire convincingly, otherwise the message is lost. That's what my message is about, making statements about the detritus of the common man. Feed me."
Currently, Millie is working on a new series of 'Paws for Thought' with her opposable thumb assistant, whilst Simon can be seen by opening your eyes and looking at him.
They live in Norfolk with the gardenist Monty Don.
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Woke up from opium induced night terrors about huge ear lobes, to find Millie nowhere to be seen. She wasn't in the Victorian Iron Lung I had picked up from Looses and converted into a comfortable kitten cwtch, nor was she in her study, working on her kitten chocolate formula. Concerned, I called to the new groundsman, Tom, who believes he is a character in a Pinter play, and asked if he had seen Millie this morning,
"No"
Pause.
I then asked if he would let me know when she sauntered around,
Pause.
"I lived on the old Kent Road once. In this bedsit. Couldn't get the work see...to...afford a nice place..."
Pause.
"Have you any cigarettes?"
Pause.
"I couldn't..."
Pause.
"Get the work for a nicer place."
Pause.
"I got plans."
Pause.
"Had plans then and got them now"
Pause.
"Could murder a cigarette, if you've got one"
Pause.
"Do you have a cigarette?"
Pause.
Eventually, I hung up to find Millie relaxing in the latex hammock, snoozing away oblivious to the morning ritual of hunting for her, a copy of 'The Caretaker' nestling between her
Paws.
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Woke up from dreams of chasing plastic bags and an endless supply of kibbles to find Simon and Daisy nowhere to be seen. I called their names (I haven't yet mastered the absurd language, seems to be all cooing and babytalk, even to each other) and jumped down from my number four daytime nap place (the windowsill overlooking the garden) to hunt for them. After twenty minutes stalking and attacking a sock, I continued looking through the house. Barton House is large, even for a 4lb kitten, but that aren't too many places they could hide. They weren't in their night time lie down place (that they seem to stay in until well past my breakfast time) they weren't in the large water place (that Simon stands in each morning to try to master his 'singing') or the food place. After ten minutes investigating the food place I noticed I was near to number five daytime napping place, ontop of the sofa. I'm sure they'll turn up when they get hungry. Trying to type this without opposable thumbs has tired me out. I hope they bring more kibbles ~ Millie
Woke up from dreams of being marooned in a giant kitty litter tray to find Millie nowhere to be seen. She wasn't in the editing suite where I had left her last night (we're working on a short film noir) or working on her motorbike. Alarmed, I texted her but no reply. I tried calling, again, no answer. Turning on the laptop, there, she appeared as a screensaver. In the night she had somehow gotten into the computer through a USB port, no doubt looking for kibbles, but without opposable thumbs, she couldn't press the disc release button and escape. Kittens! They get everywhere!
Woke up from dreams of being trapped down the back of a giant sofa to discover it had its own self contained shopping centre, ('Loose Change and Chips!') to find Millie nowhere to be seen.
She wasn't in the studio, working on her clawed rendition of the cast of Star Trek from the episode 'Space Seed' (Khan needs work, right now he looks like a pony tailed David Cameron) nor was she in the bath, perfecting her campus technique on the shower curtain.
Perplexed, I went down to the temporary groundsman, Jonathan, who was stood in the shadows in a trench coat and trilby, smoking surreptitiously in by the bean wigwam. He believes he is narrating a crime novel. I asked if he had seen Millie this morning,
"He came up to me, tired, worried...he had the kind of look that said, 'I could moider some breakfast', but hell, I'd seen enough of moider, enough to last a lifetime...he was cold, no slippers, no socks, the kind of feet that said, 'I could moider some shoes' but I'd seen enough of shoes, the moider at the Clarks factory stayed with me, eating away at my waking moments like a goldfish in a bowl of Cherrios. He'd asked me if I'd seen Millie, 'no' I said, 'your broad? I had a broad once, a looker, she had the kind of look that said, 'I'm all yours for the right price' we weren't talking no Sunday morning stroll to Waitrose to buy some pot plants, capiche? She was a heart breaker, her price was the kind of money that didn't fold in the pocket, that always left you wanting more sugar in the coffee, more whiskey in the cold dark empty hell holes downtown; Moira, Moira...Moira was moidered, snapped out, she'd tried to kill me with a hairbrush, our one night together...Jesus...what a ride...but this ain't no choir boy love story friend, no story with a happy ending, life is hard pal, you have to look it in the eye, the kind of look that says, 'I ain't taking no crap off you', like a moider, a cold calculating moider, ah..Moira...I still have the hairbrush, couldn't hate her y'see, still have her hair too, made a wig, gives me a look, the kind of look that says, 'Hi sailor, new in town?' but this ain't no sunday school picnic friend...it has a look, the kind of look that says..."
I left him muttering and wandered the grounds. The bison were moving calmly across the horizon and the gnu enclosure looked lovely, having recently been re-wallpapered. The flamingos too had really mastered their line dancing routine, some taking a break to play ping pong. Even the parachutist was in good spirits, cooking himself an omelette as he gently hung from the tree, whistling the theme from '633 Squadron'.
I gingerly approached the summer house. Millie had recently been quite secretive about it's use, spending more and more time in the evening there. Plus, there had been deliveries that I wasn't allowed to open, parcels and packages. Well, I was about to find out. I slowly opened the door and went in.
All around were test tubes bubbling away, apparatus connected to each other, Bunsen burners, flasks of liquid...a blackboard held cryptic writings, symbols, paw prints and there, in a tiny white lab coat and goggles, was Millie. She slowly put down the clipboard as my gaze fell onto what she was working on.
On a table, tied down, was a robot version of myself. Where the hands should have been were two bowls full of kibbles. The stomach area was a huge bag of kibbles, that replenished the hand bowls all the time. The legs? Scratching posts. The head was a tin box with a crude photocopy of my face stuck on to the front, obviously acquired while I was asleep.
We stared at each other until an alarm went off, kibbles suddenly pouring into my bowl hands and onto the floor, breaking the tension.
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