THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: Part Ten - General Norman

The other week, as an amusing one-off Tim Matthews, wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one, and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

The General was thinking about the cat too. He was also thinking about fame and fortune, getting one up on his imagined competitors, especially those clever clogs from the FRS with all their damned credibility and scientific know how. It had even got to the point where, instead of Paranormalists, people who attended David Icke lectures and Ufologists getting involved, they had started to produce a magazine about Natural History! I mean what next, the General thought to himself.

He’d been into UFOs once, and now what he called Alien Big Cats. To him it almost didn’t matter what subject he was dealing with as long as he was Top Dog and he’d do anything to stay there. Big fish, small pond. That was as near to the twin toed amphiuma of the FRS he was going to get, he told himself. Often, within the promotion of the Paranormal, people with little or no education or training got involved precisely because little intelligence was required to “make it” onto the speaker’s table at a conference. Blind belief, an occasional show of loyalty and the well placed stab in the back were the required elements to be a success and the General had gutfuls of talent in these directions.

And often, as he knew, the more shocking rubbish you put out there on the internet the most people took you seriously. David Icke had proved that. The General’s main talent was for making a splash. His ex wife Dawn has always said that if he’d jumped into a swimming pool the water would jump out in horror but, despite what he considered a messy divorce when she burned all his Hulk Hogan magazines and posters, the General believed, like Hitler, that he was mightiest alone.

Sitting in his C+C (Command and Control) vehicle, a burger van cum gathering point for other members of the ABC Team, the General surveyed his empire; a couple of walkie talkies with the squelch buttons turned up for lifelike “police hiss”, a faded yet current Ordnance Survey map of Dorset featuring the villages of Upper, Lower and Little Minster, a half drunk cup of coffee in a mug with stuff growing in it that would fascinate scientists for years to come and a packet of Tesco value range digestives, “for energy” as he would tell his shock (ing) troops when they arrived.

Just then, a knock on the door. “Helllooo, anyone in theeere”? said a female voice.

“Errrrmmm, come in,” said The General, semi panicking that someone not under his control might be wanting to speak with him. Struggling to get out of his seat – well he was 18 stone – he opened the door to discover a moody yet confident looking teenager with long dark hair and red streaks staring back at him.

“Alright then?” said the girl. “My name’s Ellie, Ellie Macpherson. I’m looking for the ABC man.”

“Errrmm yes love I am he,” said the General, always able to muster pomposity on demand. “What can I do for you love?” Ellie thought he sounded and looked like the sleazy salesman from KirbyVax who’d dumped powder all over her mother’s bungalow floor a few years ago and insisted that £2500 for the Ultimate Cleaning System (“it can even be used on the dog,” said the man) was a “lifetime bargain and cheap at twice the price.”

What, she wondered to herself, had her best friend Frieda Fox got her into this time...?

“Big cats? I’ve seen a few locally and I think I can lead you right to them,” said Ellie. She was a sharp girl in many ways but was attempting not only to remember her script but also to seem as natural as possible - not to mention a bit thicker than usual. She’d been told to ‘dumb down’ for the General. It had also been suggested that his own massive ego would mean that he’d believe that she saw him as the all-important Hunter of the Mystery Beast. The General, meanwhile, was thanking his dear old mum for this bit of luck. More cannon fodder against the FCS. More media fodder for Channel X TV!

“Tell me more,” said the General, sounding ever like an enthusiastic child. “What can you tell me about the creature.”

“Well,” replied Ellie, trying really hard not to laugh, “I’ve seen it change, right. In front of my very eyes. One minute a big cat, black, long, and the next minute just like a demon flying through the air.”

“Perfect,” cried the General, forgetting himself.

“Well, it is good, isn’t it?” teased Ellie. “Look, in the morning why don’t I take you and your friends down to where I saw it and we can scope things out a bit? Thing is,” she added, naughtily, Scully style, “you’ve been looking in the wrong place. You need to look on the other side of the village. This thing isn’t gonna hide in woods and run around open fields. You need to be looking by the river. After all, most Paranormal activity takes place near water I’ve heard, but you’d know more about that and that’s why I came to see you. You’re the expert, not me. I’m just one of the little people the system ignores. People don’t take me seriously, right? Think I’m mad. And those sightings in the graveyard made me seriously start to wonder what was going on here. About my own sanity, really. Sitting drinking a few cans, with my mates, nothing serious like, and then these figures just rode acrosssss the skkkkyy.”

As she spoke she looked rather gormlessly into the distance and started to make slow, sweeping movements with her hands as if to indicate what she had seen. Not even one of the Most Haunted crew could have pulled off a better blag than this.

The General was, like Ellie, over the moon with her performance. He clapped his hands and started rubbing them together like a used car salesman who’s just sold a £150 wreck for £1500. Reaching for an “ABC Report Form” (in brown and white, camo colours...) he glanced at Ellie who was staring rather vacuously into space and looking bored with her hands in her pockets. He could hear the hum of her MP3 player in her jacket pocket – a camo jacket no less – and he was rather taken with her Avril Lavigne look and pink leggings. Her hair was black and flame red and the fringe partly obscured her face so it was a bit hard to tell what she was thinking. She’d look good on TV or video, he thought.

“Your place is with us,” he declared. “Kid like you, difficult background, no aim in life, bit of a rebel as I can tell, realises there’s stuff going on locally. All these boring old farts with their quaintness, tea sets, family portraits and just-so lives haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on out there. But they’re gonna find out and you, my girl, can help us unlock the mystery for good...”