For the dearly departed. We thought we should keep records.
Attack of the Killer Bees (and Our Revenge):
I hate him, he hates me
Come and hate Shelley with me
With a failed smokebomb
And some fizzy drink
Shelley learns to feel the sting!
That’s really pathetic, Jack, I could have done better!
Oh dear. Now we’re really sorry about Cerberus:
He was such a nice fluffy doggy. He didn’t deserve to be hurled, smacked, buried, dug back up again and eaten by giant flying monsters from way back.
It’s times like this I don’t feel bad about Shelley at all!
He’s a mean, mean man.
Alas, poor Cerberus:
We knew him well, we did.
At least until an unfortunate accident with a siege engine sent him face-first into a milk truck.
It really was an accident!
And I’m not allowed to make siege engnes any more, or so says Mum. Surely that’s punishment enough?
But nooo… not according to the doggie’s owner. You’d think HE never made a mistake.
Rest in Peace, Peter:
What kind of an owner lets his bunny hop next door to eat the lettuces? Didn’t he learn anything from Beatrix Potter?
Lettuce makes bunny sleepy. Sleepy bunny is easy to catch.
One bunny pie in the hand is worth two in the supermarket, that’s what I say.
What? I offered Shelley some. Is it my fault he ran shrieking from the room? If he had just tried a bite, but no! Some people are just too picky about their food. And there are people starving in Africa, too! (At least that’s what Dad says, when I don’t eat my silverbeet. They can have that, I reckon.)
Who knows what they’re called:
They’re fish, alright. They don’t have names. At least none they can remember.
But it is my fault. I swiped them from the Mad Scientist’s pond one winter day, and put them in ours. I didn’t think that our pond was shallower, or that it was getting colder.
By the time he realised they were missing, our pool had frozen solid and, well, so had they…
I should have held on more tightly, Winston:
But I thought rats LIKED mazes!
So when we went visiting a nice big human one, with all the fun hedges, I took him along. He seemed happier being outside. Every time I picked up a knife he looked at me funny. Which was rather prejudiced of him, you have to admit.
For all I know, he’s still in the maze.
There’s no actual proof that he’s dead. Just departed.
Fly on up to heaven, Orville:
Well really, the MS brought this one on himself. What’s he doing with a critically endangered flightless parrot, anyway! There’s laws against that sort of thing.
He sort of clambered over the fence one day (alright, I may have dangled berries at him). But he looked so sad!
It’s not right for a bird to be flightless. So I built a big kite and gave him a nice ride. Everything was going perfectly, until he got sucked into that airplane propellor.
Poor Orville. He had pretty feathers. They rained down for two hours!
Serves you right, Mr. Corny, you big fat thing:
Shelley actually showed us this one. He didn’t know us very well then, we had just moved in. So when he went to visit his ex-Conjoined Twin one weekend, he said we could look after it. He never did that again.
I didn’t like it. Feeding the greedy thing all those poor mice! How they struggled and squealed. I felt a bit guilty. There’s a first time for everything.
How would you like to be eaten, you big guts, I thought. And then I thought harder. Mum’s always trying to get me to cook more.
Maybe next time I’ll try taking care of rodents.
