A CAT CALLED MERLOT

Thursday 22nd September 2021

Queenie’s friend Linda has come to stay after she separated from her husband. From what I can gather through the weeping and wailing, Malcolm has run off with the woman who does his back waxing. I asked Marjorie what this meant and she explained it was a bit like the depilatory cream debacle that left Queenie chasing me around the bathroom determined to wash my fur, after I’d rubbed up against her legs. The flat is quite stressful at the moment with lots of intense, late night discussions, bottles being opened and shouty mobile conversations that seem to end with the phone in pieces, on the other side of the spare bedroom. I’ve met Malcolm and to be honest, I would have thought Linda wouldn’t have minded the Back-waxer taking him off her hands. Queenie, for her part, just looks tired and a bit fed up. On Monday afternoon, I wandered past Linda’s bedroom and saw her in bed with two discs of something on her puffy, blood-shot eyes. Keen to get a better look I jumped up on the bed, crept up to her face and had a noisy sniff. Without warning she shot up with a yell and what turned out to be cucumber discs went flying as I dived for cover under the bed. Queenie abruptly terminated her conference call and came running to Linda’s rescue, retrieving me and firmly closing the bedroom door. Rolling her eyes, she whispered in my ear that hopefully this wouldn’t go on for much longer. I did feel a bit bad at upsetting Linda, so later that night by way of an apology, I brought in a dead vole (pre-owned but in very good condition) I’d found at the end of next door’s garden and presented her with it at two in the morning. Ta da!

Maria Bianchi from Number 42 has finally passed her driving test and according to Queenie, The Avenue is on ‘high alert’ for a crazy red Fiat. I spotted her car on Wednesday parked on a double yellow line outside the bakers with her hazard lights winking. A brave Traffic Warden was in the process of issuing a ticket when she barrelled out, spotted him and ran across the road cursing in Italian. He stood his ground for a few seconds before Maria chased him down the road brandishing a large baguette. Short in stature and carrying a lot of weight, speed wasn’t exactly on his side, so when he stopped to draw breath, hanging onto the side of a pillar box, Maria caught up with him and, puce with fury, whacked him repeatedly on the arm with the loaf until it broke into pieces. People stopped and stared and filmed the incident with their mobile phones, as the Traffic Warden fled, covered in breadcrumbs shouting something like, “Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this. I’m not taking a battering from you!”

“To be fair it was more of a ‘bread crumbing’,” said a man in the growing crowd of onlookers.

 “I think,” said a passing American tourist to his partner, “That must be what the brochure referred to as street theatre.” Looking impressed, the woman responded “Wow, it sure was realistic!”