We all think cats are cute balls of fluffy fun, but there's also something sinister about them. Sometimes you occasionally glance over at them, and you catch them glaring at you, it's not the look an affectionate pet gives their master, but a steely cold look of merciless hatred and repugnance. The look a murdered child's mother gives the killer when he gets off with manslaughter - there's something untoward in that glance, something unsettling. Like the cat is exacting revenge right there in its little fur-lined skull.

Call me paranoid, call me deluded, call me irresponsible, heck you can even call me unreliable but I'm onto something here, I've been onto it for some time, all I needed was the slightest hint of validation and I've found it.

Now we've established that cats are the spawn of the unholy armies of Lucifer and are all out to massacre our families while we sleep, you need to know the tell tail (!) signs, and just what are those? Is it a destruction of feral alley cats staking out your house, maliciously tapping baseball bats on their paws - the bats themselves strewn with matted human hair, congealed blood and skull fragments? Is it a pride of lions constantly cruising by your house in a pimped-up Chevrolet Camaro, shooting you the evil eye, then pointing at you and making a slicing motion across their throats?

No, that would just be too easy; they're far more mundane, far more ordinary, so check out this list and be afraid. Get your cat, before it gets you...

Sometimes you go out to a restaurant and you remark that the food tastes like cr#p. Well for these unfortunates they could say it with utter conviction; their food really did taste like cr#p, because it was cr#p - literally.

Never upset managers or chefs at a restaurant, it's the unwritten rule of dinning out, because when it comes down to it they're the people who are serving you your food. And if they choose to curl out a dirty protest into your dessert then by Gordon Ramsey's tiny balls, they will.

In a move that was bitterly ironic, as bitter as the finest 80% cocoa solids dark chocolate, the dessert served to these hapless souls was chocolate ice-cream! You can afford yourself a little chuckle at that, it's harsh, but funny.

It's now descended into a nasty spat and I bet both parties can't wait to see the back of the whole damn, ahem, stinking mess. The lesson? You can't polish a turd, but you can disguise it in some chocolate ice-cream.

Until someone eats some, that is.