Felix

On the train home tonight a twenty-something woman got on at Burton behind me carrying a cat in one of those cases you carry cats around in, I don't know if there's a name for them. She was talking to it in a squeaky voice, "Where shall we sit, Felix? Let's go down here, Felix..."

She sat further down the carriage and continued to squeak a conversation with Felix all the way to Derby. Meanwhile, I was craning my neck and trying not to look too obvious, but trying to see whether there was actually a cat in the box at all. I could only see through the slats in the plastic at the back, but I could see all the way through and couldn't actually spot any sign of Felix in there at all. Maybe he was lying down, covering his ears and pretending to be asleep like any self-respecting person would when faced with someone like that, or maybe he only existed in the mind of that woman.

I hope it's the latter. Talking to a cat in a box like that is just plain annoying. Talking to an IMAGINARY cat in a box takes real style.