“Rinpoche, how is your new friend from Australia?”
“Harry? I suppose he’s all right, Daddi.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic. Have you two had a falling-out?”
“No, Daddi, I like Harry a lot. It’s just that I don’t understand him. He meows with a funny twang, and everything he says sounds like a question.”
“Ah, he obviously has an Australian accent.”
“It’s not just the way he sounds, Daddi; it’s also what he says. I don’t understand what he’s going on about most of the time. He keeps saying Goodonya to me. What does that mean?”
“It’s a compliment, Rinpoche. ‘Good on ya!’ means ‘Well done!’”
“But he says it all the time – even when I haven’t done anything clever. Yesterday, he said Goodonya when I … er … broke wind. Then he burst out laughing and said I was a ‘fair dinkum Larry King’. Who is this Larry King, Daddi?”
“A larrikin is someone who is a mischievous prankster – a rebel with a devil-may-care attitude.”
“Do you think I‘m a Larry King, Daddi?”
“No, Rinpoche, you are far too anxious and neurotic to be a larrikin.”
“Thank you, Daddi. I wouldn’t want to be a Larry King.”
“What else has he said that you don’t understand?”
“He invited me to come to his house this arvo, because his humans are having some of their cobbers over, and there are going to be snags as well as a slab in the esky and plenty of goons. He warned me to watch out for the littlies and the ankle biters, as they are bound to throw tanties, and this can be distressing for a peace-loving cat. What’s that about?”
“Harry said that some of his owners’ friends are coming over this afternoon. There will be sausages as well as a case of beer in the cool box and plenty of cheap cask wine. He warned you to watch out for the toddlers and young children, who are certain to throw tantrums.”
“There’s more, Daddi. He told me that some bogans at one of his humans’ parties had once poured a few stubbies into his water bowl. As a result of this, he got rotten and felt crook the next day.”
“It appears that some boorish, uncouth idiots at the party poured a few bottles of beer into Harry’s water bowl, and he got drunk. The next day, he felt sick.”
“Daddi, why doesn’t Harry learn to speak proper English, like a Gloucestershire cat?”
“There’s nothing wrong with slang, Rinpoche. It makes language more colourful.”
“I don’t want him to speak coloured language, Daddi. I’d like him to speak the Queen’s English.”
“Now you’re being a snob, Rinpoche. Besides, you don’t always speak the Queen’s English.”
“Of course I do, Daddi!”
“I think Her Majesty might disagree with that!”
