Goodballoon's paunch

If I had to hazard a guess I'd have said that James was a man. He had all the bits that men have, the feet and inches, the stones and ounces. His head was big and handsome, like a chiselled TV that had been showing an old episode of Blue Peter with Simon Groom and his dog, Doggy. He had first bounded into my life when, open-hearted and bottomed, I had been looking for love. Love wasn't on the cards, but it's remains soon would be.

James wasn't my usual type; for a start he was a man. I had always been able to admire the finer points of a masculine frame; the broad sweep of the shoulders, the strong arms coated with a fine dusting of dark hair, the delicate labia... but I had never loved a man. A man had never swept me off of my feet, never made me want to dance (Forsyth aside), never broken my heart; James was to change all of that. As soon as I saw him, I wanted to be close to him; close to the warm hum of his testes, the dank lesson of his neck, the ripe mantlepiece of his wrists. He had broken me. Ow!

It took me months to summon the courage to speak to James. How could I, a mere cat, make him mine. It was an impossible task... I would have to use every trick in the book. The Paul Daniels Magic Book. First up: the disappearing chinaman.

I would need to find a chinaman.