Charlie was pleased with himself. On his way back from a day of chasing mice and scaring bees, he’d managed to book a table for two at George’s favourite restaurant for their five year anniversary. A task that’s quite tough when you’re a cat.

Five years? He couldn’t believe it. Not many people imagined Charlie and George would stay together for very long, but they managed it. And despite the mood swings and irrational anger on an hourly basis, Charlie really couldn’t think of a wolf he’d rather spend his life with.

In the past George had refused to go to restaurants with Charlie. “Why bother flaunting ourselves in front of strangers and pay over the odds for under-cooked food when we could just order a pizza and watch a film?” George would often ask.

But no, not tonight. Charlie was sure George would be too intoxicated by love and goodwill to care about that kind of silly nonsense. Tonight was their five year anniversary, what better way to spend it than in the company of your loved one at your favourite restaurant.

Looking forward to an evening of seafood and reminiscing about their relationship, Charlie picked a rose from a neighbours garden, popped it in his mouth and skipped the rest of the way home.

“Konckity knock knock,” Charlie giggled while opening the front door. “I’m home!”

George, curled up in the corner of the sofa watching La Belle Noiseuse, just about acknowledged Charlie with a faint nod.

Charlie danced up slowly to George humming the tune of Can You Feel the Love Tonight? He slowly circled around the sofa, stopping every time he was behind it to gently run the back of a claw down George’s long greying spine to the base of his tail.

“Stop it,” George wriggled. “I’m trying to watch this.”

“Oh come on, Georgey, play with me.”

George stared at the TV.

“Fine, I’ll just have to join you.” Charlie popped the rose on the fireplace, climbed over the back of the sofa and found a perfect spot behind George’s front legs to nestle up to. “I’ve got a surprise for you, Georgey.”

“Hmm?”

“How would you fancy a meal tonight at… CHIEN MOELLEUX?!”

“I’d rather not.”

“What?! But you love it there!”

“I’d rather not-”

“You’ve forgotten haven’t you?!”

“I’d-”

“You know what George? To hell with you! I try so chuffing hard to keep you happy and I get nothing in return. I’ve been working all day at a job I hate to save up the cash to be able to spoil you with a gorgeous meal at your favourite restaurant. I don’t even like the place to be honest, but I want to go because YOU like it. But no, you’d rather not. YOU’D rather not. Grumpy George would rather stay at home. Let me guess. ‘Shall we order a pizza?’ No. Tonight is our fifth anniversary and I want to go and celebrate. I’ll tell you what though, there’s not much to celebrate, is there? Look at us? We barely talk, we barely do anything. My mum was right. ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks’, that’s what she always says about you. ‘Once a boring wolf, always a boring wolf’. You know my parents never thought we’d last, right? ‘Cat and wolves don’t mix’. That’s what mum said. But I fought and fought and fought to tell her how wonderful I thought you were. Maybe she was right. The fact you were different was what always attracted me to you. You never wanted to do what normal people do. You were unique, unlike all of the cats I’d ever been with. But sometimes, George. Normality is good. Sometimes I’d like to watch an awful Disney film, be spoilt with flowers, drink cheap wine, eat rubbish sweets and get all gushy. Why do you have to be so awkward ALL OF THE TIME?!”

Charlie ran into the kitchen in floods of tears. The lights were off but the room still shone. He wiped his eyes. “Oh George” he whispered.

Candles, big and small, white and pink, filled the kitchen work tops. A rose petal path spiralled from the kitchen door, past the oven, past the sink, and circled around the dark, oak dining table. A bowl of salmon, tuna and prawn pasta, in a cheese sauce sat between a glass of Australian white wine and a box of Jelly Babies, Charlie’s favourites. The Lion King soundtrack played in the background.

Charlie turned as he felt a familiar, warm paw on his shoulder.

George smiled a comforting smile. “I love you, Charlie.”

© Carl Burkitt 2012

My baby has no eyes.

My baby had eyes but then we went to the shops and then my baby no longer had eyes.

I went to ask a man if he had seen my baby’s eyes and explain that my baby had eyes and that we went to the shops and my baby no longer had eyes. I said to the man: “Excuse me sir, have you seen my baby’s eyes? My baby had eyes but then we came to the shops and my baby no longer had eyes.”

The man said yes, he had seen my baby’s eyes. The man gave me my baby’s eyes.

I thanked the man for giving me my baby’s eyes, because it’s not nice having a baby with no eyes, and then I took my baby’s eyes.

I put my baby’s eyes back where my baby’s eyes should go then I took my baby, and my baby’s eyes, home. When I got home I noticed that the man who gave me back my baby’s eyes had not given me back my baby’s eyes, he had given me two rocks.

My baby has no eyes.

© Carl Burkitt 2012

Two and a half years ago I was at a loose end with my reasonably new girlfriend, Beth.

I was visiting her at Uni and we really had nothing to do. The day was nice, so we went for a walk around Bournemouth.

As the sun shone and birds sang we got playing a word game. The one where you name a famous person and the other has to name another beginning with the first letter of the last surname said.

We giggled lots as Beth revealed the number of EastEnders actors she knew despite “never watching it” and how after a while it’s quite tough thinking of celebrities beginning with P. Eventually we made it into the high street of Winton and decided to buy a board game.

There’s quite a few charity shops in Winton so we thought we’d do the moral (and cheap) thing of buying a game from one of them.

Nothing caught our fancy.

I wandered up to a volunteer in Oxfam and asked if they had scrabble. “Oooh Scrabble, we were just playing a word game,” added Beth.

I smiled.

“Sorry, sir,” said the volunteer. “Sold out of Scrabble. We get one every day but they sell so quickly. Even faster than flat caps.”

We chuckled, thanked the volunteer and went hunting for Scrabble.

Six charity shops later, nothing. “The Red Cross is our last hope,” Beth said. We entered.

“Excuse me,” Beth asked a volunteer. “I don’t suppose you have Scrabble?” A shake of the head was her answer.

“Oh bum,” Beth said. “We’ve been to every shop and I can’t believe it’s nowhere to be seen. Thanks anyway.”

As we started leaving the shop a friendly older lady tapped Beth on the shoulder. “Are you after Scrabble?” We nodded.

“I’ve got loads of them, give me your address and I’ll post you one.”

We were stunned. “Really?!” Beth squealed. “Of course!” said the jolly lady.

Beth scribbled her address down, begged the lady to take some money but she was having none of it, then we skipped home all happy like.

Four days later a parcel arrived at Beth’s, with the letters in the postcode marked with the number of points they’d score in Scrabble.

Inside was a note that read…

“Dear Beth,

I had big Scrabbles, small Scrabbles, old Scrabbles and new Scrabbles but I’ve decided to give you this travel Scrabble. Please take it on picnics or pub lunches with your tall boyfriend. I hope you enjoy it as much as me and my husband did.”

She left no name, no address, no number. We don’t know who she was, other than the little old lady who brightened up our life.

© Carl Burkitt 2012