Having lived for more than 60 long years in the environment of Montelimar (26) I live in perfect harmony with my neighbors, who are all of deeply rooted French stock.
Unfortunately, in the springtime of last year a family of loud Italians moved into a house a couple of doors from me. I can’t begin to tell you the racket that they make with their savage music! They play the mandolin and they bang on their tambourins until all hours of the night.
I say it’s a shame for our beautiful country!
And to crown it off, they have a cat, a persian or maybe a burmese or a norwegian of the woods or maybe a chartreux… possibly a scottish fold? Hard to say. In any case this thing vocalizes, her too, all through the night, regularly bothering my sleep. (At our age a good night’s sleep is essential!)
Well, I came up with a strategy that will enchant you; you who are always ready to defend fly fishing.
Surreptitiously, in my garage, I created a sort of a cat fly that I would like to share with you (perhaps I am not the only one to be annoyed by foreign cats).
It took me a few hours to think about the essential question: what do these filthy beasts eat? The response is relatively simple: birds of all sorts, mice and canned cat food. Based on that, I created a fly and will share with you my method for mounting the fly.
I have to say to cast such a fly I had to use a #12 rod and the appropriate silk!
Anyway, on my second cast into the garden of these unwelcome neighbors, I felt a violent pull on my line. The filthy feline took my lure. The combat was violent but in the end I brought in the cat and scooped it up into my net. What followed, you’ll see, was high comedy.
That night I invited the neighbor to dinner and as the “plat de resistance” I offered him, boiled and dressed like a pheasant on a platter with raw potatoes, his cat.
Upon seeing that vision the poor man had a heart attack, you can just imagine my undisguised joy!
Dear friends, my question is the following: what do I do with the cadaver of this neighbor? The garbage can? Meat for the cats?
I await your response with impatience.
Signature: illegible.
Dear Reader,
Vilmo, as his name indicates, happens to be Italian (from an old family of neapolitan grave diggers) and he just flew out of our offices with a Beretta in his pocket to get on the first Paris/Montelimar train.
The response to your question won’t be long in arriving.
Patience.