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Huntin, Shootin, n Fishin? Easy!

Well, the
hunting’s easy.I know, because I
sometimes hunt out cockroaches, but shooting them? No, leave that to experts.
Fishing, now, that has to be easy.
I mean, just look at this photo. This big guy, Hassan, he comes up to me
and he says,

“Look Eleanor,
I caught this fella right alongside your boat”.

“OK”, I
think.“If he can, I can.”
So out I go and buy me a reel of line.
“Tough stuff” I told the shopkeeper.
“Gonna be catching a big fish.”

Got a whole
bunch of hooks too, all sizes, from big to miniscule.

“Something else
you’re sure gonna need,” he said. “This little book.”

“Oh?”

“Yep.
Tells you about the right knots and stuff.”

So, I’m all set
and I sit in the cockpit and figure out how it all fits together and all the
knots and weights and stuff.Not so
easy, because Alicia, my cat, is very interested and involved, getting into
coils of fishing line and dabbing at the hooks. But finally, I’m there.

“Oops.
Need some bait.” A quick shifty through the food locker soon sniffed out some
dubious bacon.

“This will do
the trick” I told Alicia.Hooked it
on, slung the lot overboard and fixed my supper.

Well, you’ve
read so far.By now you want to know
what I caught, right?Only thing is, I
don’t really want to tell you.Because
— it was only a plastic bag.

Retired to bed
disillusioned with the whole fishing business.

However, a new
day is a new day, and I arose, a new woman and threw myself once again into
this fishing business.I mean, if
there really were fish hanging around my boat, like Hassan said, then there
must be one stupid enough to take my hook.
Hook?Maybe I should be a bit
more modest about the size.And —
there was!A stupid fish, I mean.
It came wiggling and squirming up out of the
water, all silvery and fantastic.
Probably all of six inches long, too, or maybe just about the length of
one of my fingers, if I am to be honest, but it was, without a doubt, a real
genuine fish.Alicia knew the real
thing, too, when she saw it.In a
flash she was up on her hind legs, her little dabs stretched out over the
guard-rail, and before I could recover from my astonishment at having caught a
real live fish, she had bitten through the line.

Oh, the
disappointment; it pierced my heart, it really did. Alicia was not at all pleased, either. She gave me a cold stare.
No purring.Just this blue-eyed
glare.I had to resort to sharing a can
of sardines with her.I had mine on
toast.She had hers on my bed, her
favourite eating place, pretty disgusting I bet you’re thinking.
From this you will gather that she’s not the
best brought-up cat you would ever meet, no manners at all really, but I love
her all the same.Even if she did ruin
my day’s fishing.

Next line of
defence, or do I mean attack?Yes, I
guess I do, because I’m attacking wild creatures in their natural habitat.
Needed advice. Yep.Into the dinghy to
find Hassan.

“That one?” he
exclaimed.“That one was nothing.
Boy! You shoulda seen the one that got
away.”He hunted in his pocket and
produced a fish hook.

And that was
the moment when I decided that none of that trio, the huntin, shootin, fishin
was for me.I’d stick to canned
sardines or a tuna steak from the market.
For just now, anyway.

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