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Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. Now - you are accused of heresy on three counts - heresy by thought, heresy by word, heresy by deed, and heresy by action - *four* counts.

You thought my persiflage was a distraction, you wrote that Hornblower served on board HMS Resolution, you started this thread and you acted to train the Viking Cats from Hell to terrorise crossword compilers everywhere.

You have one last chance: confess the heinous sin of heresy, reject the works of the uncryptic - *two* last chances. And you shall be free - *three* last chances.

Bring on the soft cushions!

Ahem. The inquisitorial authorities apologise for the interference in sound and vision. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

Phillip, we've always had Maine Coons but they do have a tendency to be a bit mad - something to do with interbreeding I suspect but we have no cats at all at present. As for travelling on the bus - Norwegian Forest cats are FAR too posh for that - when they need to go out, they will travel by limousine.

Pastille, take a look here

http://www.coscathasnorwegianforestcats.co.uk/Kittens/Kittens.html

Using the inner scroll bar, scroll down and you'll see 2 ginger kittens (they call them cream and white) these are our boys Randy & Rufus who we'll collect from UK next month.

Torquemada, training is coming along nicely. I've been told that in order for them to be most effective, I need some of your hair, a few nail trimmings and a pair of your dirty socks.

For just RETRIBUTION, please send these items to:

Lieutenant William Bush
Brise d'Anus
Clos de Mal Vent
Sark

You cannot have those, I'm afraid. My wife always sends them to her mother.

Wendy: I'm afraid you've violated Rule XVII in Liber Haereticus, which translates (roughly): Never supply an Inquisitor with the names and current address of your feline guerrilla operatives. Most unwise. On the bright side, however, this Inquisitor can hardly be (how shall we say) top-drawer if he allows his mother-in-law access to his soul-steeped socks (unless of course he doesn't have a soul, in which case I would contact Kitty Konceivers at once).

By the way, Wendy, your address sounds elegant; I don't speak French, but it nonetheless conveys a certain air. Do your cats know what awaits them?

The cats will soon get wind of the fate in store for them.

It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good.

Bring on the soft whoopee cushions!

After the pretty dreadful winds our Scottish contingent must have suffered yesterday, this is a tribute to them.

Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie,
Lurks in yer bellie efter a feastie,
Just as ye sit doon among yer kin
There starts to stir an enormous wind.

The neeps and tatties and mushy peas
Start working like a gentle breeze
But soon the pudding wi’ the sauncie face
Will hae ye blawin’ a’ ower the place

Nae matter whit the hell ye dae
a’body’s gonnae hae tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
it’s like a bullet oot a rifle

Hawd yer bum ticht tae the chair
Tae try tae stop the leakin’ air
Shift yersel fae cheek tae cheek
Pray tae god it disnae reek

But a’ the efforts go asunder
Oot it comes like a clap o’ thunder
Ricochets arrond the room
Michty me! a sonic boom

God almighty it fairly reeks
A’ hope a’ huvnae shit ma breeks
Tae the bog a’ better scurry
Whit the hell, it’s no ma worry

A’body roon aboot me choakin’
One or two are nearly boakin’
I’ll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile

It wis him! I shout and glower
Alas too late, he’s just keeled ower
Ye dirty bugger! They shout and stare
I’m no that welcome any mair

Where e’re ye go let yer wind gang free
That sounds jist the joab fir me
Whit a fuss at Rabbie’s party
Ower the sake o’ one wee farty.

(Hopefully some kind person will translate it for Aristo!)

Translation not necessary; once I shift gears I sail right along. Didn't know the Scots were so cutting-edge in the rap genre. Or is it technically hip-hop?