The Post received yesterday afternoon the following cable from Drumnadrochit, Scotland, which lies midway between Inverness and Fort Augustus on Loch Ness. We pass it on for your information:

Hello, humanoids? Now hear this. This is a message from Nessie, your lady of the loch, and no monster, understand? I'm sick of being called a monster. Some of my friends find me rather attractive, thank you. I know you're there. Don't try to hide. I've seen you, although why anybody would want to is another question. The way you look perched on those spindly legs, and with that silly thatch on top--well, it's good for a giggle, down here in Loch Ness, but darned little else. Certainly it's not edible.

As you have noted, I've come up for my annual sighting, but in your crudely anthropocentric way you presume to think that you're sighting me. Ha. Double ha. You people wouldn't know me if you tripped over me, which, for your sakes, you may hope to avoid. I have a short temper, and I am in danger of losing it. You wouldn't want me to lose my temper, I can assure you. It has come to my attention--we have our ways which I am not about to reveal--that your newspapers have referred to me as a salmon, a trout, a stickleback, a char, a pike or a large sturgeon. I do not like it. I am not a fish, any more than you, a creature of the dry land, are a donkey. Get it? I like considerably less being likened to a floating barrel--might I suggest that you look who's talking?--or a waterlogged Scotch pine propelled to the surface by gases. And least of all do I appreciate being referred to as a giant newt, a great worm or a gigantic plesiosaur from your Mesozoic Era. It is most unseemly.

Yes, I'm back for my annual sighting. And you know something? I don't like what I see. I don't like it one bit. I like it even less than last year. Talk about monsters! I am positively sick of you people with your video cameras, your burglar-catching devices and your wet suits (quite unsuited to this environment, incidentally) disturbing what was, within happy memory, a lovely Highland lake, one in which I, my family and friends have been until recently quite content. So lay off.

And by the way, my name is not "Nessie." Here's looking at you, kid.