[m i a o w] the cat

Dear Small Brother,
How are things in London? Are you fondly anticipating the visit of our mutual female parent, so recently Australian? I hope you are prepared to suffer the onslaught of family gossip and commentary that I have been shouldering on your behalf since you left some years ago with the intent to drink your father’s homeland dry.

For all I know I may be writing to you as you lie supine in some private hospital bed as your blood is pumped out, detoxified and readmitted to your temple-like carapace, a la Keef. Or maybe you’re just somewhere in a darkened room trying to recover from the primary school teacher type voice messages that our mother will most definitely have been leaving on your phone.

Just remember, if you organised her accommodation, every dripping tap, scratchy sheet and dodgy minibar is going to be On Your Head. Maybe start working on your neck muscles instead of spending so much time on squash?

Now email me, or I shall continue to embarrass you in front of the Internet.

Your elder, but mechanically defunct, Sister.

P.S Can I borrow your car?