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One afternoon, the Wuzel came across the Roo talking to the Bedsnatcher, her cat-napping partner in crime.  This was fairly normal.  The subject matter, however, left the Wuzel fairly perplexed.

When the Wuzel inquired about what the Roo was talking, he was met with the confusing answer of “Potatoes”.

The Wuzel asked what there was to say about potatoes and was even more surprised when the Roo replied in shock, “Do you not know where they come from?”

“Of course,” replied the Wuzel, “they grow in the soil.”

The Roo started giggling.  “No, you daft Wotsit!  They come from trees!”

The Wuzel, who didn’t like to told he was wrong let alone be called a daft Wotsit, started to get annoyed, because he was certain that potatoes did not come from trees, but from the earth.

The Roo, thankfully, decided to explain to the Wuzel exactly how potatoes came from trees.

“Well, you know where apples come from, right?  They grow on trees!  And when they fall to the ground, if nobody picks them up, they eventually hatch into potatoes!”

The Wuzel was speechless.

“And do you know how I know this?”  She continued, ecstatic.  The Wuzel shook his head.

“First, Kanga told me.  And second, the French call apples “pomme” and potatoes “pomme de terre”, which means apples of the earth.  It’s all quite sensible, really.”

With that irrefutable evidence, he accepted that perhaps the Roo was right after all.

And that is how the Wuzel came to learn about potatoes.

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Kanga was something of a mother to the Roo.  Whilst the Roo and the Wuzel often had mishaps and adventures, Kanga always explained things to the Roo in a sensible way, such as potatoes and where the Bedsnatcher came from.  (Roo thought it was better this way because the Wuzel had the bad habit of inventing stories about how things came to be, the daft Wotsit.)

Later on, when the Roo went into hibernation/transmogrification, Kanga was left with a rather bored and bad-tempered Wuzel.  But that is another story.

 

One day, the Wuzel came across a rather bothered Roo.  She was sitting looking at a plant pot in a most worrisome manner, as if there was something lurking inside that would bite her.  The Wuzel, intrigued, went over to see what was going on.

 

The Roo was most confused, for there was no plant in the plant pot, but peeking out over the top was a pair of black furry ears.

 

The Wuzel was accustomed to finding plants in plant pots, not quietly snoring balls of black and white fur.  This creature was most bizarre, resembling a cow with black splodges on her back, and a thick black tail that was even longer than his.

 

He looked at the Roo quizzically and before he could say anything, the Roo exclaimed “But she stole my bed and there was nowhere else for her to go!”

 

At this, the quiet snoring stopped and there was a yawn.  The creature got up and stretched lazily, arching her back before sitting down looking at the two of them.

 

“You really should learn to talk more quietly,” the creature said sleepily, “otherwise you risk interrupting my precious sleep.”

 

“But you’ve been sleeping for days!” Cried the Roo.  The creature yawned again and then started to clean behind her ears nonchalantly.

 

The Wuzel found this all rather unnecessary.  He was more interested in who this creature was, and why she had decided to sleep in a plant pot than for how long.

 

“I am the Bedsnatcher.” The small black and white creature replied, when the Wuzel asked her who she was.

 

The Roo and the Wuzel looked at each other, curious.  They had never heard of the Bedsnatcher before, and with a name like that, they felt they should have.

 

“But, where have you come from?”  The Roo asked before the Wuzel could stop her.

 

“From a land far, far away, with catnip, feathers and mice.”  The Bedsnatcher paused.

 

“But why are you here?  Your land sounds like a lovely place.”  The Roo said, puzzled.

 

The Bedsnatcher looked tired and said, “That is a long story and not for today.  Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a small cat-nap..”  And she curled back up, with her tail as her pillow, closed her eyes and began to purr.

 

And so the Bedsnatcher joined the Wuzel, Kanga and the Roo.

 

I should probably explain what this is. This, is one of several short stories that I’m writing for my parents as their present this Christmas. Strange, I know, but they are all based on experiences that I have had that either involve my father, my mother, or the cat.  Any feedback would be most appreciated, but most importantly, enjoy! Roo

There once was a Wuzel who lived in the outback.

One day, when he went bounding through the undergrowth searching for witchetty grubs, he got a thorn in his paw. The disgruntled Wuzel sat down on a rock and harrumphed.

It was then that he met the Roo.

He first noticed a large pair of eyes peering round a tree trunk, and being in a bad mood, he merely glared at them. However, the pair of eyes didn’t run away, but they started to come out from behind the tree trunk and soon a body emerged.

It was a strange creature; petite with hair like tangled spaghetti, curious big eyes and a small tail, similar to the Wuzel’s. And a mad grin.

The Wuzel, who was in a lot of discomfort, had no intention of making conversation, but the Roo didn’t seem to care. Then she noticed the thorn in his paw and asked him how he’d got it.

“Thorns are strange little creatures”, she said to the Wuzel before he could answer. The Wuzel looked at her blankly, not really wanting to believe that thorns were creatures. She continued, “Unfortunately, they’re rather misunderstood. They don’t mean to hurt people, it’s just that they don’t know any different.”

And as she continued with her inane ramblings to both the Wuzel and the thorn, the Wuzel found himself beginning to get used to the madness, and he came to realise that it was no bad thing.

On this day, the Roo removed the thorn from the Wuzel’s paw and the two became friends.

Right, Rob. 3 Blue horses, as written for that lovely German I exam… *mischievous grin*
Enjoy xD

Franz hatte ein Problem. Es ist keine gute Sache für solche einen Mann wie er. Franz war Maler, aber kürzlich konnte er nicht mehr mahlen. Er hatte keine Ideen und so er saß am Stuhl, allein, im Atelier; sein Kopf in seinen Hände. Es war still.
Bis er ein Geräusch hörte. Er öffnete seine Augen und konnte nicht glauben, was vor ihm lag. Er schloss seine Augen wieder zu, öffnete sie nochmal und hoffte, dass er träumte. Leider, war es nicht so und er blinzelte, voller Überraschung. Vor ihm standen Tiere, aber nicht irgendeine Tiere. Diese Tiere waren ganz.. anders als normale Tiere. Vor ihm standen ein orange Molch, mit großen Augen und zwei hell grünen Sumpfschildkröten.
„Hallo Franz, wie geht’s?“ sagte der Molch. Der arme Franz versuchte, etwas zu sagen.
„A-a-aber..“ Stille.
„Aber was?“ antwortete der Molch.
„Aber wie kannst du meinen Namen kennen und wie heißt du?“ Der Molch schien verwirrt.
„Alle kennt deinen Namen, Franz. Was für eine komische Frage. Ich heiße Zeppelin, und meine zwei Freunden hier heißen Bismarck und Tirpitz.“
Die zwei Sumpfschildkröten nickten ihren Köpfen und lächelten zu Franz. Er guckte aus dem Fenster und er sah drei blaue Pferde. Sie waren so schön, dass er keine Wörter finden konnte, sie zu beschreiben. Zeppelin unterbrach diesen Moment und sagte, „Halt die Ohren steif, Franz. Nicht alles ist so schlimm wie du denkst.“ Franz erschien als ob er ihn nicht gehört hätte und guckte weiter aus dem Fenster an die Pferde – er war total fasziniert.
Plötzlich, guckte Zeppelin um ihn-selbst, als ob er jemanden, oder etwas, suchte. „Sag mir, Franz. Hast du einen gelben Dachs kürzlich gesehen?“ Franz schüttelte den Kopf. Zeppelin wendete sich an Bismarck und Tirpitz. „Irgendeine Ahnungen, meine Herren?“ Die beiden schüttelten die Köpfen. „Ach, so. Ich wunde, wo der Ferdinand sein könnte.“ Stille.
Dann:
„Wo ist mein Hut?“
„Dein Hut?“ sagte Franz, ganz verwirrt, dass ein Molch einen Hut tragen würde.
„Mein Hut, der mit drei Ecken?“
„Dein Hut, der mit drei Ecken? Müsste er drei Ecken haben?“
„Doch! Hätte er nicht drei Ecken, dann ist er nicht mein Hut!“ sagte Zeppelin, sehr aufgeregt.
Bismarck und Tirpitz sahen schuldig aus und guckte einander an. Zeppelin wurde verärgert. „Was habt ihr zwei mit ihm getan?“ Tirpitz antwortete, „Aber erinnerst du dich nicht? Du hast ihn dem Pfefferfresser gegeben um das Teich überzusetzen.“
Zeppelin sah grüblerisch aus und seufzte. „Kein Hut und kein Ferdinand. Heute ist nicht ein guter Tag.“ er schimpfte. „Franz, mein guter Herr, es tut mir Leid, aber wir drei müssen dich jetzt lassen, um mein Hut und den Ferdinand zu finden.“
Und damit, stand er auf und verbeugte sich – so gut wie ein Molch kann – und wendete sich an die Richtung der Tür. Die zwei Sumpfschildkröten senkten die Köpfe, lächelten zu ihm und wendeten sie sich auch an der Tür.
Und dann waren sie weg.
Den nächsten Morgen tritt die Reinemachefrau ein und sah ihren Chef schlafend, vor einem Bild, einen Pinsel in seiner Hand und Farbe in seinen Haare. Ein Bild mit drei großen blauen Pferde in einem orange Feld, und die Pferde, mit ihren grünen Mähnen, waren so eindrucksvoll, dass sie sprachlos war. „Herr Marc,“ sie flüsterte, „es ist so schön!“ Und sie ließ ihren Chef zu schlafen.

English Version here

Alors, mes amis.  Welcome to wonderful world of Roo, a rather unique and sometimes quirky view of the world and its happenings.

Roo currently works as a translator (of sorts) for BearingNet during the summer, after which she’ll go back to studying at Queen Mary, University of London to get a BA Hons in French and German Procrastination and Being Nocturnal.  She currently spends her time either in her little box in East London near the university with Ferdinand or back in her native home of Wonderland, where she likes to spend her days relaxing with her feline friend Sushi.

Time to stop using third person, I think.  Right, I’m tired, my brain feels like it might go BOOM and I’m going to go and do some reading for college.. German history ftw.

Tschüß!

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