Cat's entertainment, with tabby Martin Harper

A feline perspective on the latest cinema releases, by cat Martin Harper.

I’ve been trying to get into Prometheus (15) for weeks but the cleaners keep chasing me out. I bet Peter Bradshaw doesn’t get harangued out of screenings by an overweight woman with a hare lip and a broom. Anyway I finally had success this week after nine hours of waiting by the screen door, purring. The film itself is quite confusing. Something about Noomi Rapace getting spayed with a lazer coupled with some musings on the origins of mankind, which it’s hard to care about when you’re a cat. I found a pair of discarded 3D glasses on the floor but they were much wider than my head so I could only look through one lens at a time, which didn’t seem to have the desired effect. I went to sleep twice although I don’t count that against the film because I like sleeping.

There’s another film out called Fast Girls (12A) about some human females that like to run EVEN THOUGH THEY ARE NOT BEING CHASED. Sorry, but just running for no reason could cause a nearby dog’s prey drive to kick in. Then it would chase the girls and, if they couldn’t get on a fence, tear them to shreds. The main characters in Fast Girls do not get savaged by terriers but they should for being so stupid. Another issue, less directly related to the film, is that I couldn’t get into my seat because I wasn’t heavy enough to pull the bottom bit down. I had to dangle off it, swinging back and forth, until it gradually lowered. Then when I hopped up it slammed shut like a damn Venus flytrap. Sorry my problem I know but it’s hard to focus the critical eye when you’re being eaten by a chair.



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Leveson triggers Cameron's camouflage reflex

DAVID Cameron survived a day’s questioning at the Leveson inquiry by turning semi-invisible, it has emerged.

At 10.07, Mr Cameron began to blend in with his surroundings. He had almost entirely vanished by 10.35, apart from his eyes, which swivelled independently of each other.

The Prime Minister’s phone bleeped constantly throughout the day. When challenged by Robert Jay QC, semi-invisible Cameron reluctantly read out some of the messages.

He said: “They, ah, appear to be supportive messages from Mrs Brooks riffing on the first syllable of my name.

“For example, ‘When this is over we’ll sit down for a ‘country supper’ with organic veggies and a nice joint of Cam,’ and ‘There’s been a ‘Cam raid’ on the nation’s fluttering hearts.”

Jay replied: “That’s enough, please stop now. Please.”

Proceedings then temporarily halted as the assembled humans reeled from the nauseatingly sycophantic wordplay and the mental image of something called a ‘country supper’ involving Rebekah Brooks wielding a carving knife.

Later in the day, when cornered about poor decisions by culture secretary Jeremy Hunt, Cameron inhaled a large amount of air to give the impression of physical bulk and displayed reddish ‘neck frill’.

He then steadily deflated as the questioning became less aggressive.