Mr Ketchup’s Lockdown Meltdown

Rosalind sends us the latest topical episode in Mr Ketchup’s continuing mis-adventures!

“Oh no, not another three weeks lock down!” moaned Mr Ketchup.
“Twenty more days in the dog house.
I have reached the ripe old age of seventy plus seven.
Oh Tabby, what ever shall I do now?” Sighed, Mr Ketchup.
His friends were really worried about him lately he had a very dry cough and his face looked red as a beetroot.
He certainly  looked  a bit under the weather. It meant that he now had to stay indoors to stay safe.
Nothing else for it Mr Ketchup  was used to being out, he loved to galavant all over the place. Shops were where he liked to go.  His belly would rumble loudly and off he went to the cafe. He couldn’t be bothered to cook. Mr Ketchup didn’t  like washing up. He often got scolded for leaving heaps of dishes in the sink. As for trash  can it smelt like rotten eggs. Upstairs, in cupboards were stacked all topsy turvy. Everything came flying out all over the floor. Washing piled high. Complete and utter chaos. Poor Mr Ketchup he really got himself into some muddles
Mr Ketchup  felt a bit peckish off he went to the cupboard.
He sighed old mother Hubbard went to the cupboard and it was bare. He opened the fridge and a ghastly smell of soured milk filled his nostles. “Puke,” he thought. He lifted the bread bin, in which lay mouldy old bread.   “That’s torn it now,” he thought, “I haven’t a thing to eat but porridge and I hate it.”
Picking up the the phone he dailed his friend .
“Haggis, I am in a bit of a pickle. I need you to go shopping for me please.”
“Okay.” Ketchup  replied Haggis.”
“My bread has gone mouldy and the milk is sour.” coughed Ketchup.
So off he trotted to the kitchen to look for a
scrap of paper and a pen, but to his dismay he couldn’t find anything to write with. He tried a drawer, it was jammed tight. He heaved so hard that the drawer came off its hingles.
Mr Ketchup went flying up in the air and landed right on the trash can.


Poor Mr Ketchup! He looked like the cats dinner. He smelt awful, a bit like fish stew.
Oh fiddle sticks, why does everything go wrong?
Cough, cough, he splutted all over his cat. The poor thing ran for its life.
Mr Ketchup slowly recovered from his fall he scrambled to another draw near by he wasn’t in the mood for anymore mishaps. Mr Ketchup scribbled a long list of shopping  in bright red lipstick  but Oh dearie me it sounded like a lot of Gobbledygook.  Moments later Haggis appeared and looked puzzled.
“What ever has happened to you?”
“Nothing!” snapped Ketchup.
Mr Ketchup  couldn’t help but notice the expression on his friend’s face.
He went indoors, slamming the door shut.
It was the worst day of his life and now he wasn’t looking forward to more weeks of the lockdown. Off he went trotted up the stairs to the bathroom.
Oh dearie me the day hadn’t ended it had only just begun.

Mr Ketchup  slowly dragged  himself  upstairs put the plug in the bath leaving it to fill up.
Something caught his attention. Mr Ketchup became distracted.  He started sorting out his clothes, but O dear they had peculiar holes in them.  He pulled out his favourite pair of tartan trousers.  “Oh crumbs what has happened to my trousers.
Eeek!”
Well as you can imagine, it wasn’t  a pretty  site.
The moths  made a right meal of Mr Ketchup’s trousers.
He wasn’t amused. He was annoyed.  Mr Ketchup tided his clothes away .
hurried into the bathroom to find his bath had gone very cold..
Oh Mr Ketchup what are we going to do with you!

By Rosalind Alexander

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