In an unusual turn of events this month, the Impact office acquired a cat. It seemed only fitting that the new member of the editorial team had a chance to voice her opinions on office life…
Life as a student’s pussy isn’t easy. You’re constantly getting sat on, random strangers are always stroking you, and the Sainsbury’s basics kitty litter is even worse than their toilet paper.
Torn away from London, I found myself in the backwaters of Nottingham. Things took a turn for the better once we got to the Albert Grove mansion, where the clientele were less inbred yokel, more bewildered back-brushed blondes. With piles of clothes as my playthings, numerous admirers photographing my best angles, and masseuses tending to my fur and ego equally, I was finally getting the treatment I deserved. Maybe they’d even give me a decent name. However, after setting some fleas free on the white bed linen, I was soon unceremoniously carted down the Derby Road.
My whicker vehicle eventually arrived in the Impact office; I was brought blinking into the glow of highly polished CVs and immediately christened ImpCat. In the absence of our corrupt dictator hallowed Chief, who was busy playing with children in the woods leading Scout Camp, executive decisions were immediately handed over to me. I swiftly invested the annual budget in building the ‘Chateau de Chat’, my presidential residence, lovingly hand crafted in cardboard. All agreed it was a fitting monument to our 200th anniversary, far superior to any bumper issue that might have been financed by the old regime.
Privy to all the editorial gossip, I soon learnt the taboos and talking points of campus news. Sex and SU politics, yes. Fleeces and fat people, no: any argument over ‘fatism’ is quickly solved when you point out that it’s just not cost-effective to employ a sweating, blubbering rhino who can’t move between the desks without causing a three person pile-up. Having quickly caught on to the unwritten rules, I was outraged to find the Chateau lined with an old fleece. Clearly some Impact staff were unaware of the PR disaster risk posed by this choice of insulation. What asbestos is to fire, the desecration of a fleece is to the moral outrage of geeks everywhere.* To douse the impending flames of fury, I promptly pissed all over it.
Having asserted my dominance as dictator and style icon, someone caught my eye. A blonde thatch of hair teamed with a cocky smirk and vintage stash. Gasps were drawn as people looked around: yes, it was the Third News Editor and former Karni King. Maverick News Ed was so rarely seen inside the office that his existence had been branded as simple rumour, his byline used as a nom de plume to put to articles of dubious origin. But here he was, a myth incarnate. Our eyes locked, he strode purposefully towards me and there was no doubt what would happen next. After a little brief flirtation and the obligatory groin sniff, I found myself in the pocket of Maverick News Ed on the way back to his.
Next month: ImpCat finds the life of a kitten concubine less gratifying than expected…
* see ‘A Few Words of Advice’ at www.impactnottingham.com