Tiger Tales And Friends: Trev & The Gammon Tiger Tales (And Friends) Trev & The Gammon I arrived home from work, put the key in the door and sighed contentedly. It was friday and my working week was done. The drudgery of the week was over and I was free. As it was the height of summer I decided I would stoke up the barbecue and crack open the beers to surprise my boyfriend on his return. Until then I had two whole hours to myself to worship that glowing entity in the sky; the sun. I rushed upstairs, replaced my pencil skirt, heels and silk shirt for shorts and a bikini top, and put a light slaver of factor five on my skin. On my return back downstairs the usual crowd of cats met me mewing impatiently for their evening meal. My ginger tom, Tiger rubbed himself against my legs purring in a perfect unison with the rest of the assemble and it struck me as odd. Tiger usually gave communal meal times a wide berth on account of his dislike for our tabby, Trev the dominant male. They fought on every meeting, Tiger trying to over throw for the top spot. Trev never missed a meal time. Where is he, I pondered. Convinced he would turn up, I poured a large glass of water, put on my sunglasses & made my way to my garden recliner. After a while I felt myself drifting into a peaceful slumber when my idyll was interrupted. Someone was calling my name. I roused myself & the sight of my rather eccentric neighbours greeted me. Martha and Greg stood propped against the red brick wall, waiting for me to acknowledge their presence and indulge them. "Hi", I reluctantly climbed up and walked over to join them. "If you're wondering where Trev is, he's in the house asleep on the sofa" Martha cooed. They were childless and too old to do anything about it now, so babies our cats. They prattled on for ten minutes more and my attention was momentarily averted to behind them and into their house. I had a clear view into their kitchen, where I could see Trev on top of their kitten worktop approaching the cooker top. Martha noticed my shifting gaze and turned in time to see Trev lift a gammon joint from the pan Martha had put it in. She shrieked and made to run back in. As she yanked the back door open, Greg and I were treated to the hilarious sight of Trev's alarm at being caught in the act and, still with the gammon joint in his mouth, scaling the loaded dish rack resulting in a shower of broken glass as he made his cunning escape. He shot past her through the back door at lightning speed and scaled her shed. There he sat proudly demolishing Martha and Greg's dinner. They stood together at the bottom trying in vain to coax him down, whilst I took the opportunity to sneak back in doors out of culpabilities way.