My male staff and I were at Brisbane airport. He was playing with his computer and I was scuttling about the floor scaring the living daylights out of little old ladies by running between their legs squealing like a girl. Such fun. I like to see how often I can get the paramedics called out per hour. So far my personal best is seven. I'm aiming for double figures next time I visit an airport.
A few minutes before we were due to board the flight my male staff decided that his bladder needed to be relieved of some of it's contents. Must have been the bottle of chardonnay he'd guzzled before we checked in. So he tottered off to the gents with me balanced precariously on his shoulder. As he stood there at the urinal sighing with relief his trouser button suddenly gave way to the immense pressure from his belly and plopped into the pretty yellow liquid in the bowl in front of him where is bobbed jauntily like a little life raft. For a moment I could see that he was tempted to roll op his sleeves and fish it out. This was an unnerving moment because I really didn't want him to bend over and tip me in with his button. Luckily with a soft but heartfelt "Bollocks!" he hoiked up his zip, which was now the only thing keeping his trousers up, washed his hands, dried them on my fur (There were no paper towels.) and boarded the plane. It was hard for him to walk properly because he had a hold his trousers up with one hand, carry his hand luggage with the other and balance a furry mammal on his shoulder.
The result of all this was that when he let go of his trousers to put his hand luggage in the overhead locker they slipped down and settled around his ankles. Actually he did very well not to trip over them and I could tell that the other passengers were very impressed with his blue and white striped underwear. Thankfully they were clean on less than a week ago. This happened several times during the twenty three hour journey and provided a great source of entertainment for both passengers and crew alike. I could see them nudging each other and whispering to their neighbours. "Pssst. Look, he's going to get up again. Better cover little Emily's eyes."
Trouser incident aside it was an uneventful trip and having spent a night a male staff's mad sister's house we went to see male staff's mum in hospital. Once again I was smuggled into the ward by being stuffed down the front of my male staff's newly mended trousers and ordered not to make any sudden moves. I was sneaked past the Mike Tyson lookalike nurses and then my male staff sat down by his mum's bed and opened his fly so that I could poke my head out and eat his mum's grapes. So there we sat - the five of us, my male staff, his mad sister, his dad, his mum and yours truly all looking at each other and making stilted conversation. At least the other four did, I stuffed myself with grapes until I felt sick. Now and again a Mike Tyson lookalike would come in to check on my male staff's mum and I would have to be hurriedly tucked back into my male staff's trousers without getting my fur caught in his zip. Heaven knows what the Mike Tyson lookalike thought was going on when she came into the room to find my male staff frantically stuffing something hairy back into his fly.
Anyway, the good news is that we've been back to see my male staff's mum a couple of times now, and each time she's looked better. The poor old thing has an inoperable brain tumour and it had been growing and putting pressure on her brain, causing seizures and other symptoms. They've got her on steroids now which shrink the swelling around the tumour but don't affect the tumour itself unfortunately. They also give her biceps like Sylvester Stallone but that's a small price to pay.