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Black Cat Investments Ltd. - Your Money Is Safe With Us
One of our famous one page stories by Rod MacDonald.
‘It's a bit over the top,’ my client complained. A fat, grease ball, his money came from chips...and pies...and sodden pizzas. It seemed as though he combed his thick black hair with lard and the smell of rancid battered fish was overbearing but...he did have 80K to invest! ‘Besides, the idea of a cat being a fund manager seems ludicrous!’
‘But Tiddles isn't any old cat,’ I assured him. ‘He is a rather special cat!’ His bulk wobbled. ‘Now don't try to take the mickey out'a me, young man. Cats can catch mice and birds and even lick their own arses but I've yet to see one who reads the Financial Times.’ He laughed, seemingly delighted with his banal witticism. I shook my head with derision, paused for a moment and then attempted much against my better judgment to explain the Stock Market Zoo. ‘Look, you've heard of bulls and bears who put the market up and down respectively...and also stags, the quick profit takers. Well, we now have a place for black cats.’ ‘And what do they do?’ ‘Set trends for others to follow!’ I replied confidently. ‘Absolute and utter crap!’ he shouted. ‘An' I 'ate cats. They're foul smelling disgusting things. When the business was starting up, I used to catch them by the score. Skin 'em alive...aye, and shove them in the pies, I did.’ A huge laugh emanated from the interior of his gross corporation. ‘Nobody could tell the difference and the wife had nice gloves to boot!’ I inhaled deeply. ‘Would you like to see the black cat? He's through in the adjacent room.’ He looked puzzled then, somewhat suspiciously, he ambled into the room. A few seconds passed before he emerged with a broad grin slashing the folds of fat that represented his face. ‘It's just a pussycat...with the Financial Times in his litter tray!’ He laughed again. ‘You're some joker...half expected a big bastard black panther.’ ‘Actually, I select the equities,’ I confessed. ‘Thought as much,’ he smirked. ‘Here, give us the papers. I'll sign.’ ‘You're doing the right thing.’ Leading him over to the desk, I noticed my hand upon his shoulder. Thick black fur was beginning to grow and razor sharp claws were already appearing. ‘You'll have a ripping future with Black Cat Investments Ltd.’ end Rod MacDonald (c) 2004 - all rights reserved
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OTHER CONTENT - November 2004
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Where
the Black Cat goes, others follow. Stalking the stocka market, his
predator eyes watch over every equity and waiting for a flutter,
a hint, a nuance of notionality, he pounces with deadly accuracy
to stake his claim. His success rate is phenomenal. Fund managers
stand back and wonder at his excellence.
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