His name is Ewan. I've met him.
Do not be deceived; he is not to be confused with my little protegée Ewan (my partner's nephew), who continues to grow in charm and vitality. No. The disturber of my brain for these past few weeks is also named Ewan and I have just been introduced to him.
He is a border collie crossed with a labrador, and has black and grey tousled fur.
My nose confirms that, yes, this is the owner of the hair that I carefully harvested and the new aromas encircling my partner. The discovery of my formerly anonymous tormentor has proved no balm to my irritation. He is young, handsome, and annoyingly devoid of brain-cells. I had expected some relief to come with the unmasking of the fiend, as I was beginning to suspect that BC may have returned to the scene - but I find no peace. Ewan's youthful exuberance and his attraction to my partner serve as constant sources of annoyance. His partner is Jo, a countryside ranger and one of my partner's new colleagues. He spends much of his time at my partner's new office, where a football and a water-bowl are provided for his entertainment and sustenance. When I visited the office, he compounded his impudence by refusing my challenge of a fight and offering me instead a game of football in the yard. Grrrowl. My partner says that I should "be nice to him." Yeah, right.
Now the presence of two Ewans in my nicely-ordered life is causing chaos. I love Ewan, but I cannot abide Ewan. I am looking forward to welcoming Ewan to my home to spend the forthcoming Christmas, yet I cannot bear the thought of festivities with Ewan. I wag my tail at the prospect of kicking a football around with Ewan, and would rather die than have a good old knockabout with Ewan. I loathe Ewan, although I love and respect Ewan. I am HUGELY confused, and have had to factor an extra nap into my daily schedule in order to fully comprehend this nonsense.
While I was trying to sort out the Ewans in my scarred psyche last night, a new source of torture arrived outside my bedroom window to taunt me. I should take a moment to explain that my partner and I like a bit of fresh air in our chamber at night, even in the winter. The smaller of our two windows is therefore often open, to admit the cool night air. This circumstance explained, I shall continue. I was lying awake late into the night, musing on the perverse paw of Ewans that fate's dealer had meted out to me, when I heard the distinct sound of scuffling and muttering in the street, outside my window in the silent night. My partner lay sleeping beside me, undisturbed by the soft sounds.
There was a noise akin to the clearing of little throats, swiftly followed by one of the most obscenely out-of-tune, scratchy, appallingly-warbled ditties ever committed to "music". Several voices were involved, none of them with any sense of harmony or rhythm. But the quality of the singing was nothing compared to the insulting words of the song. It went thus:-
"Jasper is a fat dog,
When he jumped out of bed,
He triggered a tsunami-
That left a hundred dead.
Yes, Jasper is a big boy,
His belly's pink and hairy.
When you see him running to you,
It really is quite scary..."
The singing trailed off into helpless laughter and, just as I made it to the gap in the curtains (my reactions having been dulled into slowness by the sheer audacity of the song), the carollers scuttled away, still laughing disrespectfully. I didn't manage to catch the merest glance of any receding behinds, but there was a distinct whiff of the New Cat in the air. Dammit. I thought I'd seen the back of him months ago. I never suspected for a moment that he'd be back with reinforcements.
My life is become a cruel round of unnecessary torture. Why? What did I do?