The noble art of cat shagging can result in two very different responses. For instance, in our school, it wasn't all that bad; Wayne Radford was a catshagger, yes. But no-one minded. However...

Paul Bradfield was a Patrick Sears (see Patrick Sears). His life was a non stop carnival of misery and pain, and many long hours were spent chained to railings and crying. (The railing he was chained to was directly outside the staffroom window, and yet, no-one came...). Anyway - the highlight of Paul's career was the day the rumour began that he'd been shagging his cat. The magic of rumours like this is that they don't have to be true - his reaction made us want to believe it. The plush pussies followed. The stickers. The chalk pictures on every blackboard in the school. Every year, every pupil knew that Paul Bradfield shagged his cat. Eventually his parents complained, but you can't exactly punish an entire school, can you?

Daniel Kelly wore wellies ALL DAY. His dad was a monkey with a trophy wife who had failed miserably to produce non-mong progeny. Daniel it was discovered, had a special relationship with his cat. However, his simian cock must have been too much for the poor pussy, as, lo, we found the wretched thing wandering folornly outside his house mewing softly and trying unsuccessfuly to withdraw the biro that was protruding from its arse. mi-OW!