A CAT CALLED MERLOT

Last Saturday, I was strolling around the garden minding my own business when the crows from next door kicked off.  A pair of them suddenly appeared and began flying at me, trying to peck at my fur. Traumatised, I shot under one of the garden chairs to get away from them but they stood their ground and continued the intimidation until Queenie, alerted by the noise came out from the kitchen and began flapping back at them. At that point, my money was on her and sure enough, they flew off squawking all sorts of expletives. Eventually she managed to coax me out from under the chair where I pretended I was just relaxing and took me indoors. The next thing I knew, the crows were aggressing one of the fox cubs at the end of the garden, so Queenie was up and out there again, chasing them off. “I’m not,” she said to me when she returned, “The Avenue’s answer to Worzel Gummidge, so I’m ordering an owl from Amazon to keep the crows at bay.” That was a turn up for the books I thought, since I’d asked for an owl a couple of Christmases ago and didn’t get one but the crows just have to go on the attack and Queenie’s straight onto Prime. Sometimes, there’s no justice!

Things didn’t get any better. As the weather was warmer on Tuesday, I decided to stay out late instead of going home to bed with Queenie. Sitting in the porch, enjoying the moon and lost in my own thoughts, the foxes from the end of the garden arrived at two a.m. with their excitable offspring. Somehow, between them, they’d managed to catch something but it escaped under Queenie’s car. They were making a terrible racket and the cubs were running around uncontrollably. Without thinking, I decided to cut in and share a piece of the action and so I shot under the car to check out the quarry. At that point, the dog fox thought he’d try a sly left hook from the side of the car, so I retaliated with a loud protest and a swipe back at him. This must have alerted Queenie to trouble, as she flew out of the front door, barely having time to fasten her dressing gown, causing the foxes and their prey to scarper. I trotted indoors innocently and had a bite to eat, while Queenie and the rest of the neighbourhood attempted to get back to sleep. 

Unfortunately I got caught scrapping again yesterday evening when Queenie happened to be walking down the road. Harry, the big ginger cat from down the road had been rude and I just wasn’t in the mood to let his insults go. We were on the pavement having a noisy stand-off, causing pedestrians to cross over the road to avoid us, when Queenie approached. I didn’t see her until she was level with me and within a nano-second, she scooped me up and headed home, giving me a telling off. I wasn’t really listening as I was busy pointing at Harry, over her shoulder and growling “Don’t think for one minute this is over!”. Queenie deposited me in the kitchen, saying, “This isn’t your finest week, Merlot!” She was probably right but it’s been a jungle out there.

The owl arrived on Wednesday in a cardboard box that , once empty, I investigated fully. The bird is metal and about forty centimetres high and its head nods in the wind. The crows are ignoring it and I’m quite glad I didn’t get one for Christmas…