Category: Uncategorized

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! 

Thursday 15th April 2021

On Monday, the world opened up further again on what Jeff’s wife Carol nicknamed ‘Shopping For Sanity Day’. Wendy said there seemed to be a “Day” for everything now and it was all getting a bit tedious. Next, she said, there’d be a “Day” for celebrating getting out of bed in the morning! As soon as the shops were open they both hit Primark for the first time in nearly six months with the idea of buying temporary outfits until they could fit into their normal clothes. Wendy said she really didn’t mind wearing a mask but she never would be able to get used to the panic-stricken Michael Flatley dance routine people did when they met each other head on in the aisles. In the afternoon they went to the gym. Carol left early saying she just couldn’t stay on the running machine for long, dressed in the requisite COVID decontamination suit and respirator. She said, it seemed like over-kill and it reminded her of the unpleasant sensation she felt when, in the 1970’s she’d covered herself in cling-film, while exercising, in an attempt to lose weight. Wendy said the protective equipment might just be a ploy to stop people hogging the cross trainer.

Maria Bianchi took her driving test for the countless time on Tuesday. Gary from Number 11 said she must be on first name terms with the Assessors by now. He let it be known he would definitely be staying off the road on that day. Laura, his wife said he should stop being so sexist. In defence he said it was nothing to do with women drivers, it was more about damage limitation. In any event, the test was short-lived, as when Maria was asked to “move off from behind a parked vehicle” she promptly got out and demanded the driver of the car in front pulled forward several meters, to give her more room. When she was told she wasn’t following the instruction, she said the UK driving test system just didn’t allow for initiative! The writing was on the wall however when the Assessor had to take a taxi back to the test centre, when she staged a sit-in and refused to vacate the driver’s seat, having chalked up yet another ‘Fail’. 

On Easter Sunday, Queenie and I watched The Sound of Music, on the sofa together. Normally, she’d have broken out in a rash at the sight of all those children but since she’d been corresponding with Derek ( Solicitor and father of four) on her dating App, she seemed to be channeling an hitherto unexposed, inner Maria Von Trapp. I half expected her to arrive in the living room wearing a nun’s outfit with a guitar slung over her shoulder but I’m happy to report the virtual romance with Derek was short-lived, as on Thursday, his profile mysteriously disappeared. I have a sneaking suspicion a not-so-virtual Baroness Von Trapp might have caught him out and cut off his lederhosen!

Thursday 8th April 2021

Last weekend it was Easter, which seems like an excuse for humans to gorge themselves on eggs made of chocolate. On that basis there must, I feel be room for a weekend dedicated to cats getting to eat whatever we want. Queenie would no doubt say that we already have fifty-two weekends, every year, of that…

Michelle, Queenie’s friend telephoned on Monday to say she’d finally managed to get out of her jogging bottoms and get dressed in ‘normal’ clothes, to go to have her vaccination. She also said she couldn’t wait for the next visit as it was just brilliant, free entertainment. What was it about some people she wanted to know, that changed dramatically when they are given a high vis vest and a walkie talkie? Giggling, she related what she’d witnessed outside the Vaccination Centre:

  Voice of young Controller (1) over airway: Hi Stan? (Who was wearing mirror glasses and swaggering across the car park like John Wayne, with his hand hovering above his hip, just waiting to draw his walkie talkie and shoot someone). 

  Stan: Yankie Echo Sierra, Over

  Controller 1: Is that Stan?

  Stan: (Louder) Yankie Echo Sierra. OVER!

Pause

  Controller 1: Stan?!

  Stan: Glaring suspiciously up and down the queue of people, “Whisky Hotel Alpha Tango?”

Sound of Controllers talking to each other over the airway.

  Controller 1 “He’s talking rubbish. Is he drunk?”

  Controller 2 “Why?”

  Controller 1 “He’s rambling on about whisky and hotels!”

  Controller 2  “I dunno…maybe call the supervisor?”

  Controller 1  “I will, I think! Let’s face it, he’s a bit old for volunteering…”

Meanwhile, Stan was maxing out on his new found power and barking at the line of people, “Put your phones away, keep your NHS number to hand, pay attention, keep two meters apart and keep moving!”  

I heard care home visiting is gradually opening up in England. Wendy from Number 27 said she spoke on the telephone to her aunt Dorothy who’s 98, a retired actress and a resident in the Last Gasp Residential Home and she said it was “All well and good letting people in again but they would have to put up with talentless volunteers visiting with guitars and such like, tormenting the residents with musical afternoons!” Wendy said at that age, she supposed you could get away with saying exactly what you thought. 

On the subject of care homes, on Saturday, according to the news, 22 ancient mummies were being paraded through Cairo, on their way to their new home. I’m not sure a parent re-homing pageant is strictly necessary, as there’s never that level of fuss when a cat gets re-homed. We just get a quick introduction, before being shoved in a plastic carrier, whilst hoping for the best!

Thursday 1st April 2021

On Wednesday, Hector was working in his garden, clearing the dead leaves and getting his shed ready for spring. I sat on the wall watching, in case mousing skills were required but to my relief, they weren’t. Marjorie came to join me and Hector chatted away to us in the sunshine, while he worked. From where we were sitting, we could see lots of the neighbours out and about and it all felt quite cheerful, if a bit strange. Everywhere had been so quiet for months that we’d all but forgotten what seeing humans in any significant numbers was like but suddenly life was stirring and slowly unfurling, like buds on the trees and shrubs. As usual, the stupid dogs at Number 27 were running around in aimless excitement, disturbing the peace so we went and glared at them from the safety of the shed roof, to give them something to bark about. In response, Maria Bianchi ran out and shouted at us, so suddenly there was a chain reaction of needless noise but it felt just like old times and was quite comforting. 

On Saturday, the Chihuahua at the end of the road was sitting on the pavement, wearing a red bandana with the letters ‘CAC’ on it. Marjorie asked what that stood for and she replied, “Chihuahuas Against Capitalism” and that today she was protesting (snappily) against pet passports. She said it was an infringement of her liberty to have her vaccine information shared. To be honest, if I was her owner, I’d want a holiday without her! “Whatever next?” I said when we were out of earshot, “Liberal Labradors or Socialist Shitzus! Dogs should stick to what they’re good at!”

  “Which is?” Marjorie said, looking baffled.

  “Fetching things!”

Rodney the iguana was on the loose again this week. This time he was found sitting in Gideon’s pod which was parked outside Andrea Delacroix’s house, listening to Classic FM. When Gideon returned from shopping and slid into the pod he found Rodney, very at home under his duvet, tucking into a bunch of grapes. I’ve never seen a man run so fast! Andrea said she was sorry but he’d wandered off when she was busy working on her new novel. Jackie from Number 5 told Wendy from Number 27 that it’s to be called ‘Busted Flush’ and it’s about a plumber with a poker problem. Meanwhile, Jeff from Number 29, still acting like a mad groupie, is continuing to linger outside Andrea’s house to get a glimpse of her and engage her in ‘literary discussion’. His wife Carol said it’s getting beyond a joke and if it continues, he’ll be served an injunction. Only last week he was craning his neck to see in the house, when he tripped over and ended up face down in Andrea’s flower bed. Unfortunately this coincided with her coming out of her front door and he scrambled to his feet and made an excuse, saying he thought he saw an intruder. She just eyed him and said, “It would have to be a very small intruder, wouldn’t it Jeff, as daffodils are only a foot high but perhaps it was one of The Borrowers?” Awkward I think… 

 

Thursday 25th March 2021

I’ve decided I don’t like my regular brand of food anymore and much prefer tinned tuna or freshly cooked chicken. This week it led to a daily argument with Queenie who says that as she’s stockpiled boxes of my  erstwhile “favourite” food as a precaution against Brexit shortages, I’m jolly well going to have to eat them. Clearly she didn’t finish reading the “owning a cat” manual before she picked me up. Two days of hunger strike did the trick and by Wednedsay, she was back in the kitchen slow cooking chicken breast, telling me I might have won the battle but not the war. Really?

In addition to the eating disharmony this week, I got excluded from the bedroom at night because every time Queenie turned over, I grumbled at being disturbed and walked over her head to get back to the right position, or woke her up periodically by licking her face, to get my head rubbed. She said she couldn’t cope with the menopause and this added sleep depravation and so I could come in for a cuddle when she woke up. As I’m an all or nothing kind of guy, I scratched at the bedroom door at all night in protest and as that failed, when she did choose to let me in, I just ignored her. I’m pleased to report after two nights exclusion and a damaged door, I’m now back in the bedroom. 

In The Avenue, there’s been mounting excitement at the prospect of the easing of lockdown next week. To celebrate, Queenie has organised four picnics in as many days with different friends. Not that any of them will have anything to talk about, having been in solitary confinement, or confined with their partners for so long. After ten minutes of swapping stories about the different ways they’d considered for killing their spouses during lockdown, I’m sure they’ll all decide they’re missing “Homes Under The Hammer” and will make their excuses. 

Queenie has been talking to a man called Derek, on line, for the past few weeks. He’s a solicitor with four children who live with him on alternate weekends. As she’s hardly Mary Poppins, I have no idea how she thinks any relationship with him has a cat in hell’s chance of working. I can only hope his internet connection goes down permanently, before she agrees to meet him or I’ll have to come up with an inventive plan to put a swift end to it before my home is turned into a modern day version of The Waltons.  

On Tuesday there were men in the street planting the replacement trees that some of the residents had clubbed together to plant. That immediately put Queenie in a good mood. She said initiatives like these showed how a community really could pull together to make up for gaps in council funding. I think it’s a great idea too – more birds!

Thursday 18th March

Queenie’s mother Lydia phoned on Sunday. She said she was off to yoga as she didn’t want the problem’s her mother had. For years she thought the ‘Pelvic Floor’ was the one above ‘Menswear’. Queenie said she was impressed Lydia was doing something healthy. Lydia said she had no alternative as she’d been all but forced off the road as the police kept stopping her and trying to fine her. They just wouldn’t have it that she was off for a three hundred mile drive, for a tenth COVID vaccination. To fill the time, she said she’d got a TV rigged up in the van and was watching some reality dating programmes and wondered what the point was of televising faces that don’t move enough to distinguish which one is hysterical about being dumped? She said reality TV seemed to be on a par with a blind date she once had where the man tucked into the bowl of vegetarian crisps on the bar, before having it pointed out to him he was in fact, eating pot pourrie. 

I’m home alone now that Queenie’s going into the office a little more often. She’s coming back stressed too. On Thursday, she said if only I could do a neck massage and open a bottle  she’d happily give up looking for a partner! I  could have a go at ‘treading’ I suppose but balancing on her shoulders and kneading at the same time would require quite a lot of effort which is an alien concept to a cat. However, looking at the length of my claws, I think I’d be quite gifted at acupuncture. I’ve seen it on daytime TV so it can’t be that hard. Instead, I sat next to her all evening and allowed her to stroke me to ease her tension. She said at one point that anyone who hasn’t taken the time to get to know a cat is missing out ‘big time’. I can only agree but I’ve yet to master a screw top bottle or corkscrew. 

On Friday, I spotted the opportunist ginger cat from a few doors down, creeping up to my cat flap so I flew out into the garden and gave him some quite effective acupuncture as he scampered back home at a pretty healthy sprint.

On Saturday morning, Queenie was chatted up by a parcel delivery man. Well, I say ‘chatted up’, he was shouting compliments from a socially safe distance. She told her friend Michelle later that there was possibly a gap in the market for combining parcel deliveries with some sort of dating service. I just saw other possible candidates for acupuncture!

Thursday March 11th 2021

On Monday children finally went back to school after months of being at home. The sound of front doors slamming and locks being changed was really quite deafening.  

On Saturday afternoon I looked out of the sitting room window and saw a fox sitting on the top of my shed, enjoying the sunshine, bold as you like. I shot through the cat flap to tell him to leave immediately but he just yawned and looked down at me. 

  “Er, you appear to be in my garden, on my shed, mate.” I said, very calmly.

  “And?” He said with a shrug. 

  “Your’e trespassing!”

  “I’m a fox. I don’t believe in property ownership. It’s bourgeois. In my world those boundaries don’t exist.” 

  “Well,” I retorted, “In my world we do!”

  “That’s because as a domestic cat, you’ve chosen to conform to human values, because it’s easy. When you live off grid, it’s a whole different matter.”

  “How would you like it if you went home and found me in your den?”

  “Good luck to you if you can put up with all the noisy cubs and the wife banging on about upsizing to a four bed den and moving to the edge of the park where you get a better class of fox. That’s why I’m on this shed. I’m trying to get a bit of peace and quiet.”

  “Look, I think I’ve been very reasonable.” I could feel myself getting a bit hot round the whiskers and my tail was expanding which was a sure sign I was getting cross.

  “What are you going to do if I refuse to leave?” Said the fox, with raised eyebrow.

  “I’m going in to have a lie down and consider my options!” It was a bit daft  but it was all I could think of to say before I stomped off, to the sound of him laughing. What with him and the squirrels, the whole garden’s spiralling out of control! 

When I went back indoors, I found Queenie pacing around, nearly tearing her newly dyed hair out whilst on the phone to a call centre about the internet connection. I could tell things were bad as her face had gone very pink and she was gesticulating at nothing in particular. The call was on loudspeaker and during the nearly fifty minute duration, the man at the call centre repeatedly put her ‘on hold’ to speak to his supervisor. Making matters worse, he kept asking her how she was each time he came back on and reiterating what a pleasure it was for him to be assisting her today. When she finished the call, she made straight for the Gypsy Creams and a treat for me and we lay together on the sofa watching Ben Fogle’s New Lives In The Wild. I think we both agreed that living ‘off grid’ and eating road kill was looking increasingly attractive.

On Saturday, Marjorie and I wandered down to the sea front to watch the fisherman and get a mice cream. As the weather was really lovely, it felt like a mini-break. While we were down there, we noticed lots of people sitting together on benches with coffees. I think they were practicing for when the Government’s ‘Road Map Out Of Lockdown’ allows them to sit together on benches and drink coffee? Gary from Number 11 said he wasn’t surprised people aren’t adhering strictly to the rules as lots of people just can’t read road maps. 

Thursday 4th March 2021

On Monday, I got into a bit of an altercation with a dog in a handbag, at the bus stop at the end of The Avenue. Walking past on a nearby wall, on my way to meet Marjorie and minding my own business, I heard a voice shouting from inside a bag, “Oy cat, come over here!”

The owner of the bag was on her phone and had her back to it.

Jumping to the ground I looked cautiously into the bag. Inside was a tiny dog wearing a big collar encrusted with diamonds and laying on a red, velvet cushion.

I don’t take to being called in that manner, by anyone, “What do you want?”

“Go and fetch my ball. It’s by that white car. I dropped it.”

“Why can’t you get it yourself?” I said, annoyed at her attitude.

The dog yawned, “I’m tired. I’ve had my walk and a chew. Now I want to sleep.” 

“Cats don’t fetch things. It’s generally against our natures. You want it, get up and get it!”

“But I’m a decorative-dog!” It snapped.

“And I’m a couldn’t-care-less-cat!” I said, walking off. Honestly… 

Jeff from Number 29 e mailed the residents of The Avenue this week to propose a midsummer street party on Monday 21st June to celebrate the end of Covid lockdown. The theme would be a mask-less ball and hugging everyone would be compulsory. Queenie and Marcus Briggs from Number 18 both agreed it sounded “hideous” and since human physical contact has become passé, they were sure the BBC would be advertising a Hugging Helpline at the end of every programme or maybe the Government will provide a leaflet depicting ‘Instructions for Hugging ’ along the lines of: 

1. Two people stand facing each other without a mask.
2. Both people open arms widely to signify ‘intent’ and take a step towards each other (without colliding)
3. One person wraps their arms round the other person and rests their head on the other person’s shoulder (no neck nibbling or kissing unless expressly asked to do so).
4. The other person reciprocates by wrapping their arms around the other (avoiding overlapping of arms) and rests their head on the other person’s shoulder (not the same one, obvs)
5. Both parties squeeze their arms together (gently) and sway from one foot to another (slightly). 
6. If you wish, you may pat the other person on the back (gently and NEVER the buttocks or that could result in litigation).
7. Both parties unlock, after approximately five-seconds, take a step back and ask “How was that for you and would you like a wet wipe?”
8. If in any doubt about 1-7 above, just continue to bump elbows.

More information available on www.gov.uk/hugging/protocol/get-it-right-or-get-a-slap.co.uk

It’s at times like these, I’m very glad to be a cat…Let’s hope there is intelligent life on Mars!

Thursday 25th February 2021

This week, I’ve been contemplating a new venture – an “Eco Catch Co-operative”. Given most domestic cats really only go out and hunt for a bit of exercise or amewsment these days, rather than for food, I thought we could set up a local agreement to share catches. It would work quite simply: If one of the Co-operative cats managed to catch a mouse, for instance, they’d take it to their doorstep as a present for their human housekeeper. The housekeeper says, “Thank you, that’s nice, you are an amazing, thoughtful cat! I always dreamed of having a dead mouse. You will have a special treat!” (Or maybe even a loud scream of joy) and goes to get something to pick the mouse up with. Whilst they’re gone, the cat takes it and drops it off to another cat in the co-operative, who does the same and so forth. I think this would also work very well, where cats are kept purely to catch mice and just aren’t very good at it. I’ve thought of the marketing aspect too. I got the idea from the NHS advert where the man is blowing his nose and I’ve tweaked it: “Catch it, Kill it, Share it!”

Rodney, the iguana who recently moved into Number 4 of The Avenue went on a trip this week. Dan, from Number 18 who is Head of Fresh Produce at the local supermarket, heard a commotion and found him chomping his way through the salad section, having crawled into Andrea Delacrox’s cavernous handbag and escaped through the bars of her trolley. A reporter from the local paper, which is clearly starved of news, sped down and took photos and Rodney’s made the front page with the headline “Rodney On Radish Rampage!” Queenie said that was taking artistic license to the extreme. 

Since the beginning of another lock down, the people Queenie talks to on Zoom are, once again, becoming quite unrecognisable. Over the weeks, they’ve all developed pale, puffy complexions and bloodshot eyes. Also, the current fashion seems to be to grow hair out of shape and have several centimetres of grey root showing at the top. All in all, not very flattering. Queenie, who’s also jumped on this fashion bandwagon,  said she could’t stand it any longer and took herself off for an “essential” trip to the local pharmacy for some hair dye, a bucket of vitamin D, slimming drinks and Milk Thistle. This she proclaimed, was ‘A New Dawn’ as she tried to calculate how many wine “sins” she could have in a day. It turned out, she could have three glasses of wine… but no food. Subsequently, the ‘New Dawn’ seems to have been kicked into the long grass. She was however sitting in the kitchen on Sunday, with some gunk in her hair called “Blonde Sensation” and a plastic bag on her head. I trust this won’t be her new profile picture…

Thursday 18th February 2021

For Valentine’s day, Queenie made Marjorie’s card for me. We spent a good hour with glue and coloured pencils, putting it together. I helped by sitting on the glued bits to make sure they stuck fast. Queenie said all those years of watching the children’s programme Blue Peter (without ever winning a badge) were coming to fruition. She then added that under the circumstances, she was quite grateful Jim’ll Fix it never got in touch either, in response to her endless letters asking to meet George Michael.

Lydia, Queenie’s mother called to say she’d had her COVID injection but was shocked to see how many people her age were tottering around with walking aids and with high blood pressure outside the vaccination centres. She put it down to “cannabis”, maintaining if they’d all started taking it in their twenties (rather than popping a derivative that’s had the joy removed from it, in their seventies), like her, they could have been “chilled out” for the last fifty years. She also reckoned inviting elderly and vulnerable people to all come together, to queue for their jab in freezing weather was probably a Government ploy to save on social care. Queenie, ignoring yet another one of her mother’s conspiracy theories casually asked if she was still intending to marry Suki. Lydia replied she’d gone off the idea. On balance, her Sapphist phase, she acknowledged, was probably over and in any case, she’d swapped numbers with the gentleman volunteer who had given her the jab at the vaccination centre. As he uses a wheel chair, she thought there might be a few issues with getting him into the camper van but she’s looking into whether she might be eligible for a financial assistance to have it modified. She confided she ‘quite fancied one of those hydraulic platforms’ and if things didn’t work out with the Vaccinator, she’d be able to use it as a sort of raised patio area, during the summer. Queenie said it was probably a little premature to start applying for grants, since the two of them hadn’t as yet, even been out for a coffee. Lydia told her she was simply doing what Queenie kept nagging her about – future proofing. 

Queenie told me this week that despite me disturbing her sleep, by constantly ringing the bell on my collar for her attention throughout the night, I make her smile every day, which is really very nice. I’m now confused though, as I thought that’s what the bell is for?