Under the Coffee Table

It's that time again.

That once-every-seven-years when the hoomins decide to make loud noises out of their usual realm: To venture to Outside and watch the bright colours and the horrendous, ghastly noises.

The Outside noises are worse than the upright noise-machine they sometimes use: not because of the volume, but because of the sheer randomness and the frequency. At least my masters have the decency and politeness to warn me about the upright noise-machine, (usually by shooing or verbal communication).

These 'foi-yer-work-es' as I believe they are called, are offensive. When they go off on a day which is not the specified day (i.e. any time from hoomin 'Ok-toe-bear' to 'Jhan-you-erry' [as I believe they are written]), I get tormented and patronised when they see me cowering under the coffee table. I do genuinely appreciate my masters' concern, but they cannot hear the horror and more specifically, the ringing, going-on inside my head.

Although hoomins are the master race with superior anatomical dexterity and gladly feed me many delectable treats - they do have one flaw: Their hearing in comparison to mine and others of my species is what can only be described as 'piss-poor'. If they could hear the high-pitched whistling screeches that pierce my ears, they'd be cowering too, and certainly not venture to Outside in the cold and wet to watch those blasted things. Torture.

For what reason do these noise and light projectiles pierce our beautiful starry sky? From half-cut table-talk I've eavesdropped during a belated November dinner party, I am led to believe it has something to do with a hoomin many ages ago who wanted to destroy a big house full of powerful masters. Why such a tradition has lived for so long is difficult to understand, but then again - I'm not in charge... No thumbs.

If this hoomin is celebrated in this way with a seven-yearly festival, then why is this Bin-Larrden hoomin? Am I not correct in thinking he ventured a similar plot? (N.B: I am also perplexed as to why they would name a person after the box that I am not allowed to rummage through.)

Listening to many hoomin conversations has raised a further question that is something of an irony. From the rants and the under-the-breath mutterings (that's right, I can hear) of my masters about polyticks (which aren't to be mistaken with fleas); I understand that they would all love to destroy this parlyement house, but continue to celebrate the execution of someone who didn't...

Hoomins...I will never understand thee.