Indian Curry

Gavin was walking along the High Street of his shire when a right English rain began to tumble down. Ducked he himself into a pub, whereupon friends he met, quaffed a number of pints, and then a few more, and began the long slow stagger home in the midnight hour.

Meandering in the cold, Gavin decided it was time to get himself an Indian curry, so he stepped into the nearest New Dehli Deli take-away and ordered an extra hot vindaloo. Getting home at long last, Gavin put the curry on the kitchen table while and went to the bathroom to freshen up.

Now it would come to pass that the house cat closed in on the curry and, hungry and bored, decided to take the temptation to task. Nom nom. Nibble nibble. Chow chow. Lick lick. The vindaloo vanished.

Sure enough, Gavin returned and was shocked to find his felis domesticatus fully immersed, whiskers in the sauce, licking the tin clean.

Gavin grabbed his cat by the scruff of its neck, and carried him out to the trash bin. "You horrible little floor mop. Now you've done it! Good riddance!" he shouted. Filling a trash can with water, he tossed the cat into it and slammed the lid down, keeping it weighted down with bricks.

Returning to his abode, Gavin started to feel very sorry for himself. A few minutes later he heard a knock on the window, and sure enough, when he looked there, he saw his cat.

The cat looked at him and asked,

"You wouldn't happen to have any more water, would you?"