“Oh my, the dish has done it again!” said the cat, peering through the binoculars.
“W-what?” said the fiddle, mid-bow.
“He’s run off with that ditsy Royal Albert teacup and they’re about to jump over the moon. Yup, there they go…”
“It must be love!” said the cow.
“You cannot be serious!” said the little dog, trying to suppress a snigger.
“Ooh, you’ve got to hand it to Dish. He’s always been one hell of a smooth-sided platter!” said the cat, whiskers twitching.
The fiddle frowned. “Oh dear. Saucer will be in shock. I predict the usual over-spill and it’ll be a case of helping to mop up. As for the spoon, well, I can just imagine the look on her face.”
“Dish is still darn dishy,” said the cat, “ — and by the looks of it, has recently been used for serving a fishy. I’d give him a jolly good lick myself. I don’t blame Teacup. You go, girl!”
“Moooo!” said the cow.
“Tsk, that teacup has a poor sense of devoir, and by that I mean service,” said the fiddle, severely.
“It’s old Teapot’s fault. Used to let Teacup get away with anything. Remember that time she forgot to wear the tea strainer?” the little dog yapped, between giggles.
“Oh, that is gross!” said the cat, putting down the binoculars.
“Alas,” sighed the fiddle. “It’s no good crying over spilt milk. Hey ho. I guess we’ll read all about their ‘hey, diddle diddle’ in the evening edition of ‘The Nursery Times’.”
Lise Colas lives in Hove on the south coast of England. She writes poetry and short fiction and is currently working on a novel which is “a wreck of a perfect work of chick-lit”. She used to work in the archive of Punch Magazine.
