Captain Midnight here. You’ll be pleased to know that my tail is out of its sling and that I’m back on active service. I’ve got important duties this week because he’s got a cold (man-flu) and is feeling very sorry for himself. Sore throat, blocked-up nose. What a wimp!
My first job is to make sure he gets out of bed in the mornings which I do by threatening to pee on the floor if he doesn’t take me out. Then there’s the frequent, dewy-eyed “you’ll be alright master” look, which took years of practice and an abundance of natural talent to perfect.
I sit by his side during the day, trying to look interested while he’s being a writer. At mealtimes, I bark to remind him to feed himself when I eat. Then I drag him up to bed and sit on his head to make sure he goes to sleep before midnight.
Of course, I slip out sometimes when my superdog powers are needed elsewhere. I saunter into the garden when he’s not looking and go under the Shepherd’s Hut to my secret Captain Midnight cave. He thinks I’m burying bones but we know better, don’t we?
You may have noticed that my coat has been cut. I’d just like to say that it wasn’t my idea. I much preferred having long hair: it organised itself nicely into knots and retained the mud really well. But himself dragged me back to the G.R.O.O.M.E.R.S. on the pretext of re-visiting the scene of the tail-wounding incident and left me there for the white-coated operatives to resume their villainous games.
“Do you expect me to talk?” I asked, as they fired up the laser-clippers.
“No, Mr T. We expect you to look ridiculous,” they replied and made good on their promise.
Pussy Galore got me out of there by coughing up fur-balls to distract their attention. It was too late to avoid the clippers but I lived to fight another day. I don’t generally like creatures of the feline persuasion, but she’s an exception. Damn fine girl. We’re currently plotting the downfall of G.R.O.O.M.E.R.S.
I can’t quite work out whether himself is actually on their side or whether he sent me in undercover to destroy them.
Either way they don’t stand a chance.