Mass Benjy was a simple man, though a great admirer of famous philosophers and writers. He lived alone with his dog and his puss, Aristotle. Of all his animals, only Aristotle and his cow, Lizzy, had the good fortune to be given a name. Marse Benjy called his dog 'Big Dog'.

Benjy avoided anybody he found difficult to respect, so naturally, he avoided Vicky. Miss Vicky was downright pretty. One of her several boyfriends who had come and gone, had remarked that her creator must have spent more time in manufacturing Vicky, than he had on any other woman. But whether her manufacturer lived in Heaven or was the occupant of a lower domain, was moot. For Vicky's bosom cradled a heart which held the venom of seven big and deadly snakes.

Everybody knew that she had liked Benjy. What they didn't know was that she had been planning to marry the man, even while his loved and lawful wife was still very much alive. Miss Lynda, Mass Benjy's better half, was always a puny person. She gave up on child-bearing after her third miscarriage, and was never her old self again. So when Vicky asked her favourite obeahman to speed things up a bit for her, she figured she was simply hastening the inevitable. Miss Lynda's poor health declined in deference to her rival's wishes and she died to make room for Vicky.

At that funeral, Vicky cried like a crocodile. Mass Benjy's grief was pitiful. He would much have preferred to have a helpless Lynda than no Lynda at all. It was not many days later that Aristotle walked out of nowhere and into Benjy's life. Nobody had seen this puss before and none could convince him that the animal had not been sent by his recently departed wife, to comfort him in the dark hours of his loneliness.

It was a Sunday afternoon. Miss Vicky had prepared a splendid meal for her intended and headed for Benjy's house. She found him waiting expectantly on his front porch, with Aristotle on his lap. His gentle, calloused hand caressed the cat as he welcomed her with a wide grin and pleasant "good evening". Miss Vicky's and Aristotle's eyes made four for the first time and it was mutual hate at first sight.

For Benjy's benefit, Vicky assumed a delightful smile and extended a hand with the intention to pet the puss. But Aristotle was no hypocrite. He responded with such loud snorting and baring of fangs, that the hand quickly recoiled to its owner's side. Mass Benjy angrily scolded Aristotle and drove him away from his presence. He was very disappointed with this puss, whom he had regarded as most intelligent. In fact, it was this look of quiet wisdom that had earned the animal its name.

With the puss in the dog house, Vicky chalked up her first victory against Aristotle and happily spread the feast for her future husband. After she had left, Mass Benjy called Aristotle and fed him what was left of the magnificent dinner. Aristotle was very impressed by the food and figured that he should probably change his attitude to this wonderful cook.

The following Sunday, Miss Vicky had to attend a funeral, so she sent Mass Benjy's dinner with her nephew. Vicky just loved funerals. She called them 'dead party'. Most people need to at least know somebody who knew the deceased, for them to attend the funeral. Not Miss Vicky. All she needed to know was when and where the funeral would take place.

Having heard how much Aristotle had liked her cooking, she sent him his special portion in a shiny calabash. She had even scratched the word 'Harry' on the calabash.

Mass Benjy was deeply touched by the gesture. He was relieved and happy that Vicky had so quickly forgiven Aristotle of his bad behaviour.

The food was wonderful. Vicky had outdone herself. Mass Benjy ate 'till his belly was full. His 'niggeritis', a sign of deep satisfaction, began to kick in before he had even finished eating. He slept deep and comfortably that Sunday evening.

It was not until about eight o'clock when he discovered that the cat had not touched his own dinner. Benjy warmed up the food in the calabash and proceeded to persuade the puss to partake. He even tasted it a few times to demonstrate its virtue to the reluctant Aristotle. The puss persisted in his prejudice. If Aristotle could talk, he would have told Benjy that the food on the table was somehow different from that in the calabash. It didn't smell right. Much later, the man gave up and turned in for the night.

It would be necessary to stretch the imagination to its farthest limits, in attempting to fathom the perils of Mass Benjy's bowels that night. Mass Benjy and his toilet had never been closer. Like peas in a pod were they that night.

So Benjy never looked at Vicky again. News of her attempt on Aristotle's life was the talk of the village for months. Her further attempts at snagging a husband just died in the water.

When Vicky's wicked heart fatally attacked her, Benjy did his Christian duty and attended the funeral. But though it was a big funeral, there was not one sad face in the place. For most people had come, not to pay their respects, but because they had a most fearsome respect for the duppy of the deceased.