pilsner

Tonight I ventured into the long lost realms that is our laundry room having been pesterd by one of my cats for beef. Having discovered we were fresh out of beef I began rummaging through the room searching for the second highest object of his desire, a type of catfood known only to his ears as 'pouch'.

Alas, pouch was nowhere to be found. But I'm a dedicated, loving sort of guy and wouldn't give up the plight of the pouch, searching high and low, behind cupboards and along shelves, until eventually my search brought be to behind the washing machine. Quite why it brought me here is unknown: the unit is stuffed into a tiny hole and only something the size of a rat could squeeze through either side. Yet something caught my eye. Not the shimmer of a pouch my companions, oh no. I was sure I'd caught sight of a can, a beer can perhaps... yes, I was sure of it. It had to be the long lost can of Fosters which had gone missing from my possesion only two days ago. At long last! Sod the pouch, the English brewed amber nectar was fie in my reverence once more!

But oh, was my joy to be short lived. A dig in the side from my cat's claw awoke me to my senses, coming to the terrible realisation that what I saw infront of me was not Fosters, it was infact a dusty, long forgotten can of Pilsner. Shocked and somewhat unsure as to how to precede, I bravely hooked the artifact out from behind the machine with a trusty hockey stick and with trepidation sought the best before date. Fortunately for me it was only out of date by 6 months, so the XXXX glass was broken out and the Pilsner and I shared a merry night of Scrubs and Britain's Hardest Pubs together before retiring upstairs for music and sleep.

Yet now I have this raging ache come all over me, this could be because of the rogue mouldy carrot I found and consumed at the base of the fridge next to the corked wine, however I have a sneaking suspicion that the German beer was to blame (well, less the beer). And just when it seemed the pain couldn't get any worse, the terrible realisation: my Fosters was still missing.

Moral of the story: feed your cats more and don't trust the Germans.