Further Adventures of the Pocket Panther

Fergus is a strange cat, and is only getting stranger.

Monday night, I was getting ready for bed when I heard louder-than-usual thumping in the living room. I went to investigate.

There, by the shelves which hold the studies on mediaeval religion and theology, was my wee boy, his front paws resting on a book which he'd pulled down. 'Looking for a bedtime story?' I asked him.

And what book had he pulled off the shelf? John K. Ryan's translation of the Confessions of St. Augustine. Not quite what I would consider light evening reading. He reluctantly moved aside when I bent to pick it up and return it to the shelf. I tossed him his new suede mousie, he skittered off with it, and so to bed.

Last night, I was getting ready for bed when I heard more louder-than-usual thumping in the living room. I went to investigate.

There, by the same shelves, was my wee boy, with two books off the shelf. Ryan's translation of the Confessions again, and the abridged Latin copy of the same which I used long ago in a Latin literature course. He had a paw planted on each volume and glared contemptuously at me when I approached.

'What, now you want to compare the translation against the original?'

He sniffed disdainfully and let me put the books back on the shelf. When I told the Viking about Fergus' choice of reading material, he grinned. 'He gets it from you.'

'Being weird?'

'Being scholarly. Goth kids often are, you know.'

Veni Carthaginem, et circumstrepebat me undique sartago flagitiosorum amorum.

verso - recto