A Cat Called Merlot

Thursday 22nd April 2021

On Sunday, Marjorie and I were sitting on the shed sunning ourselves when we heard Jackie from Number 5, telling Queenie that she really felt her capacity to concentrate on mundane daily tasks was getting worse, as she’d taken the car, on her own, to the petrol station, filled it up, paid at the pump, jumped back into the car and fastened her seat belt. So far, so good. However, a minute or so later she realised she was sitting in the passenger seat, having totally forgotten she was the driver. Embarrassed and realising she would be on CCTV, she eased herself out of the seat belt, opened the door and rifled purposefully around in the glove compartment for a minute or so, before getting out, opening the door to the back seats, still pretending to look for something, before nonchalantly making her way back round to the driver’s side. Memory loss must be a human thing, Marjorie said as she caught her housekeeper, Judith, trying to lock her car while she was on the phone, using the tv remote control. We agreed it’s a good job humans have got us to keep them safe. 

There are angry seagulls nesting on the roof of the house. These birds always seem uptight and aggressive. As they’re the gangsters of the bird world and it’s spring, everyone’s trying to avoid them, so they really needn’t worry that any of the cats are after their babies. We’re not that stupid! A few weeks ago, Marjorie and I watched them working the beach in gangs, squawking instructions to each other: “Luigi, child to left at seven o’clock! Parent not paying attention. I’ll decoy, you get the chips. Approach at six o’clock from a height of fifteen metres!” It worked every time, leaving a screaming child with an empty bag in its hand and an hysterical mother insisting they immediately returned to the safety of London where they only have pigeons and lots of trauma counsellors. I must say, It’s a very effective way to clear the beach during COVID and much cheaper than police patrols. You had to admire the gulls teamwork and I was left pondering if they were on the Council’s payroll. 

This week Queenie had her worst haircut ever. The stylist, appearing to have mistaken her clients for sheep, went ferociously and randomly mad with the scissors. Queenie told Michelle she thought it was some kind of revenge attack for being locked up continuously, with a nine year old daughter, for four months coupled with a lack of a nicotine break. The result, I have to report looked suspiciously like a bad case of moth attack. A classic case I would suggest for a no win no fee lawsuit!