Life After 60

A friend once asked me if I was catatonic. I knew for certain that I was not dogmatic.  In 'dogmatic' you realise there is  ' matic '  something like automatic. Auto slobbering, auto barking and more. But with 'catatonic' you see that 'tonic is part of the ball game. You don't get dogmatic slobbering. The tonic part of the cat is very pleasing. It might chew up your socks. You should have changed the smelly things many months ago anyway. Just don't blame the cat, it is just trying to keep the air at home fresh. The cat has knowledge of where its favourite food is and will try to nick it. It points to the intelligent and the efficient burglar. There are cat burglars you know; a thief who enters a building by climbing to an upper storey, an act learnt from a cat. That's what cats do in innocence, but the cat is not a burglar. A cat is a killer looking for innocent birds. But they leave the two-legged ones alone or even win their affec

I was waiting at the bus stop when I noticed the old gentleman. "Waiting for a bus?" I asked trying to be friendly. He shook his head and looked at me with mournful eyes. "No. I'm waiting for people," he said with a sad smile. "For people?" "Yes to pick their pockets," the man said sorrowfully. I was instantly alert. "Are you a pickpocket?" "A gentleman pickpocket," he sighed unhappily. "What's the difference between the two?" I asked surprised. "I always ask permission before I pick someone's pocket," the old man said with a nod. "Oh!" "They usually respond by giving me some money," the pickpocket said. "But that's no better than begging!" I exclaimed. "Certainly not. A gentleman pickpocket does not beg. He merely borrows and there is no tomorrow for repayment." "Is this a touch?" I asked

I was having a conversation with Humpty Dumpty. "What on earth made you sit on a wall endangering your yolk?" I asked. "I am fully insured," he said smugly. "But all the king's horses and all the king's men could not put you together again," I pointed out. "Actually I am like a crossword puzzle. I knew that the king's men were asses. They could not put two and two together," he smirked. "So who picked up the pieces?" I asked. "None did, I put myself together again," he said chuckling as he teetered on the wall. "You will fall again and break your crown," I said. "That didn't happen to me. You should read 'Jack and Jill' more minutely," he said snobbishly. "They could have made a poach out of you, or scrambled eggs or even an omelette," I said ominously. "I wouldn't mind as long as they don't use pepper, it makes me sn

I found Cupid sauntering down the street with his bow and arrows tucked under his chubby arm. He seemed to be enjoying his constitutional. I cleared my throat. "Ahem!" "How is it that you are walking about, I thought you could fly," I said. "That's when I have gas," he replied, "I have to submit flight plans in triplicate twenty-four hours in advance to the nearest airport where they schedule an eye test and ask me how Venus got to be my mother." "You have gas?" I asked in surprise. "Everyone has gas except the moon which must be on a course of antacids because it has no gas," Cupid reasoned.  "Have you been to  the moon?" I asked wonderingly. "No Neil Armstrong beat me to it," he said regretfully. "Why didn't you take pot shots at him with your arrows?" "He is thick skinned. He wears a spacesuit, my arrows can't go through that," he rued.

“I see that this is a rather large footprint,” the man said examining it minutely with a telescope. “Do you use that sort of thing to make your deductions?” I enquired surprised. “I base all my deductions, subtractions and multiplication with it,” he replied. “Why not use a magnifying glass?” I asked. “I use it when I’m thinking aloud,” he said. “But there can’t be a footprint in that pressure cooker,” I protested. “Now that you say it, you might be right,” he chuckled, “Elementary my dear Watson . I was only testing your powers of deduction.” “Now deduce what is wrong with the pressure cooke r,” I said sharply, “There’s no need to test my powers.” “The cooke r seems to be all right, but the pressure seems to be the problem,” the man said after examining it for a while. “Is that so?” I asked. “High pressure is bad and low pressure is worse,” He said sadly, “I don’t know what other things might be wrong. “Are you a doctor?” I asked taken aback

“I have gum boil,” I told the quack who had a chamber in the neighbourhood. “You should never boil gums, it causes the enamel to evaporate,” he said disapprovingly. “I did not use boiling water, but boiled water,” I said wincing in agony. “That’s what I said in the first place,” he said, eyeing me up and down, “And you have trimmed your nails I see, that causes night blindness.” I nodded glumly. “It won’t happen the next time.” The fraud rummaged among his instruments that he kept in a pail in the corner of his dispensary and pulled out a pair of fearsome looking tongs. “Stick out your tongue.” I did as directed and he pulled it out with the tongs and inspected it minutely. “It looks like you have a hernia.” “Is it bad?” I asked anxiously. “It’s certainly bad since you trim your nails, you should only bite them after dinner it hel ps digestion,” he said. I gurgled a bit. “How many fingers do you see?” he asked as he let go of my tongue and show