The Bennetting Pintercats of Meldrew Avenue

Ball of wool on floor rolled between both characters

MUNGO: How are you finding it?

PRUDEY: (scratches back of neck) Bit itchy, to be honest, especially when I’m doing my 3 o’clock wash. My paw bumps into it

MUNGO: Hmm, it’s not as if we’d go that far though, is it? Mind you, Floof went 56 miles North back to his previous human

PRUDEY: I don’t blame him. If my human carries on, I’ll do the same, though I’m rubbish with directions. By the way, have you been presented with that new pouch yet?

MUNGO: The one with peas and carrots from The Wet Nose brand?

PRUDEY: Yes! Force feeding us veg. Abuse! Deprivation of liberty!

MUNGO: What next? A pudding version of Spotted Richard and custard?

PRUDEY: Yuck…Ha, yeah, anyway, not only does mine itch, it vibrates when there’s a thunderstorm

MUNGO: Double tremors? Unthinkable. You must have a faulty one, but how do you tell them?

PRUDEY: Extra meows, hunger strike? Point my paw to my neck?

MUNGO: Yeah, right. As if they’ll understand…

PRUDEY: All this technology nowadays, they should invent a way for cats to speak to humans

MUNGO: They can’t even get the microchip right, let alone anything advanced like that. Imagine the things that could go wrong? Mis-translations, subtle pauses mistaken for aloofness, black humour mistaken for wickedness. It would all be guesswork. We would have to have some input and devise a second version. Besides, what would we talk about with them? The weather? Existentialism?

PRUDEY: Well, we’re quite au fait with those subjects, and mine harp on about both all the time, so yeah, that’s two for starters.


(Both MUNGO and PRUDEY stare into space)

MUNGO: You going anywhere this year?

PRUDEY: Two weeks in November, apparently, at Aunty Joan’s. Excellent victuals, though she only hoovers fortnightly, and there’s always a faint smell of urine in every room

MUNGO: So where are your humans off to?

PRUDEY: A flight free jolly in Finland. Looks like they’re finally getting a footprint conscience.

MUNGO: Thought they liked hot places?

PRUDEY: It’s all about the search for the Northern Lights after watching that talking bear on TV

MUNGO: If only they knew we could talk. We could give them our review of the whole series

PRUDEY: We may have a choice of what to watch!

MUNGO: Good point. What would be the first thing you would say to your human?

PRUDEY: Less with the goo-goo talk, I’m not an idiot. You?

MUNGO: Any chance I could sleep on your cashmere jumper, mate?

Sound of thunderstorm

PRUDEY tremors


Copyright © Deborah Edgeley

Confession Box

ROBOT PRIEST faces audience

SINNER sits sideways to ROBOT PRIEST

SINNER: (Crosses themselves) Bless me Robot Priest for I have sinned. It’s been one year since my last confession.

ROBOT PRIEST: Go on, Sinner.

SINNER: I blocked somebody on Bookface.

ROBOT PRIEST: Have this stone slab for your neck to keep your head bowed.

SINNER: I walked past a homeless man and didn’t give him any money, even though it was payday.

ROBOT PRIEST: Spend two days fasting, outside Greggs.

SINNER: Talking about food, I bought a really expensive lasagne, when a no frills one could have done. Plus, I could have made it from scratch. Wait…that’s two deadly sins in one. Sorry. Oh, and I hoard things.

ROBOT PRIEST: Forget the lasagne. Hoard what?

SINNER: Thimbles.


SINNER: So I can display them.

ROBOT PRIEST: To thimble lovers?

SINNER: No, in my living room. Makes me look interesting to others…

ROBOT PRIEST: Maybe you should think about going thimble-less. It serves no purpose if they aren’t practical. Do you do any sewing? How many thimbles does a person need?

SINNER: They are pottery thimbles.

ROBOT PRIEST: Ridiculous *coughs* Oh, problem solved, then. Suggestion: Use as water cups for insects on your window ledge.

SINNER: I don’t read about politics, but I read silly articles about celebrities.

ROBOT PRIEST: Neither do I. So do I…

SINNER: Sometimes I can’t be bothered to brush my own hair.

ROBOT PRIEST: I suggest you run continuously at top speed, every day, on waking, for ten minutes, for the rest of your life.

SINNER: I was angry with my boss for reducing my hours.

ROBOT PRIEST: Don’t be a double slave to yourself.

SINNER: Robot Priest have mercy on me!

Do not look upon my sins

But take away all my guilt. Here (gives ROBOT PRIEST a black heart, which he rips up)

Create in me a clean heart

And renew within me

an upright spirit.


(SINNER receives absolution from ROBOT PRIEST and receives a white heart)

ROBOT PRIEST: (short circuits) The audience is your conscience (repeat x 6)

Copyright © Deborah Edgeley

King of Navigation and the Mermaidian Grim Reaper

THALASSA: So, Poseidon, tell us about your watery domain…

POSEIDON: Well, my two brothers and I divided up creation, no biggie. I got the sea, Zeus got the sky, and Hades got the Underworld. The sea was my second choice, actually, as I do have a soft spot for the Underworld, as you know, but I think I’ve finally come to terms with it. Well, you never know, though, one day I may rule all three.

THALASSA: Wouldn’t that be a lot of work? How could you oversee three places?

POSEIDON: I could manage it, easily, better, in fact. Zeus is a bit lazy, to be honest, and Hades, well, Hades doesn’t appreciate his position. Always wishing he were somewhere else. I mean, what else would you need in the Underworld?! They have everything. It’s amazing!

THALASSA: Have you been? I thought that once you’re in, there’s no escape?

POSEIDON: Hades was having a one off open day, just for writers, to give them inspiration. They got the opportunity to chat to ancient authors. He made a fortune. One gold ingot entry fee.

THALASSA: Fascinating. Who did you get to meet?

POSEIDON: I went straight to Tatarus and asked Sisyphus why he murdered his dinner guests, and to show me his rock collection, then a quick trip to the Elysian Fields to ask Shakespeare about his alternative ending of The Tempest

THALASSA: What did he say about The Tempest?

POSEIDON: Sorry, can’t tell you that. It’s a future idea for a sequel

THALASSA: Right, ok, so what injuries did you sustain in striking the acropolis with your prong?

POSEIDON: Ah, it was nothing really, just gouged my left eyeball and lost a couple of digits. The Greek Chronicle made a big fuss about it, so I killed them all in an earthquake

THALASSA: Ah, yes, your brothers called you the Earth Shaker. Walk us through your day as Poseidon

POSEIDON: I’m a bit like a lighthouse, really, King of Navigation, making sure sailors are safe, conjuring a storm if I’m a bit moody, killing people if they insult my new beard shape, that kinda thing.

THALASSA: Thankyou for the interview, Poseidon

POSEIDON: My pleasure. So, Thalassa, I protect sailors and you lure them to their death! Funny old world, isn’t it? What have you got against sailors?

THALASSA: I think we’re both quite dangerous, really, Poseidon. Well, quite simply, sailors are a perfectly balanced diet for us sirens. What else are we supposed to eat? Crabs? Eels. Ugh. Not a chance!

POSEIDON: But isn’t it about power? Having control over men? Luring sailors to their death is a game to you?

THALASSA: Nah, it’s just survival. I don’t enjoy it. I can’t even sing in tune, for Hades sake, but the sailors seem to like my discordancy. Oh, yeah, and I also match their souls to their celestial host, but sometimes it gets complicated, and mixed up, like a comedy of errors.

POSEIDON: Can you give us a song?

THALASSA: Erm, well, no, because I would die, wouldn’t I, if a non-sailor heard my song?

POSEIDON: Ah…moving on. So how would you describe your daily life?

THALASSA: I’m a bit like a mermaidian grim reaper, to be honest, noticing sailors who are going to die soon anyway (they always have a purple aura) ringing up their celestial host, booking them in, singing discordantly, killing them, and then feasting on their fleshy shells, before the whales get a whiff

POSEIDON: Thankyou, Thalassa

Copyright © Deborah Edgeley