Back from holiday and ready for randomness!

In a small house nestled in a small valley (well, actually on the side of a small hillock in that small valley, to be more precise) lived a small old lady. In fact, she was very old, and very close to death.
She lived alone, because some years earlier her husband Merv-Eric had died after choking on some custard, getting his face stuck in a mousetrap and cracking his head open on a sponge. (Yes, all at the same time.)
This old lady's name was Porirua. (Her parents had never been anywhere near Wellington when they named her.) She had hair of a snowy white, with faded streaks of blonde in it of a creamy colour reminiscent of boogers. She was a very typical old lady, dressing in cardigans, comfortable shoes, long skirts and never remembering to shave. (So as a result she had quite an impressive goatee.)
Porirua was retired, and spent her time knitting for her 31 grandchildren, 11 children, and her brother HENRY. (His parents had never been anywhere near punctuation and grammar school, either.)
Also living with Porirua was a small, rather fat cat, whom she had called Mr. Cuddles The Third. Although his name was really Dellua, and he was an alien in disguise, this name didn't really bother him. He just liked the catfood. Dellua was supposed to be on earth as an intelligence agent responsible for monitoring human contact with outer space, but, as that job was as boring as it sounds, he spent most of his time chasing mice, rabbits, and paper boys in the small valley in which he lived.
One day, Porirua died,. Tripped over a cordless phone, or something.
And MAYHEM, yes, MAYHEM, ensued. Though I'm not entirely sure how, as that is up to my fellow blog-novel author to decide.

Contents Page : : Next Blog