Category: Uncategorized

Thursday February 11th 2021

The doctor’s surgery at the end of the road, which is situated next door to a small but busy pharmacy, has been struggling with their intercom system. On Monday Queenie popped out for some analgesic and I trotted along behind, as I had a bit of separation anxiety from being locked up the week before and was staying close. When we got there, we were witness to the following:

Reception through intercom: Hello can I take your name?

Male patient who is hard of hearing: Say again?

Reception (Louder): Can I please have your name and date of birth?

Patient gives details, (Loudly)

Reception: Do you have any symptoms of Covid?

Patient: No, I’ve come about a rash.

Reception: Any symptoms of COVID?

Patient: No, It’s itchy at about six o’clock.

Reception: Your appointment is at six o’clock?

Patient: No the rash is down there (points).

Customers queuing outside pharmacy exchange glances and a pedestrian takes a detour from the pavement to the middle of the road, presumably to avoid catching it.

Reception: Do you have a cough or high temperature?

Patient (becoming exasperated): No, it’s a RASH, It’s down below, you know?

Reception: Do you live alone?

Patient: Well, I see my girlfriend on Wednesday’s and Fridays, for Scrabble or Twister. Normally on Friday it’s Bingo but what with the lockdown… 

Reception (Interrupting) : Come in! Just keep your mask on! 

Sound of buzzer as door is released.

Liam the antiques dealer from number 33 has been busy in his shed this week, despite the cold weather. He received a large box containing lava rock from his friend in Sicily. Last summer he purchased a quantity of Roman style pottery from a garden centre that was going out of business and he painted the lot with live yoghurt to speed up the ageing process. “Watch and learn, Merlot, my friend!” He announced, lowering his voice confidentially, fiddling around with a tube of superglue and applying some fragments of smashed up rock to the inside of the pots , “Today a cheap pot, tomorrow – a valuable artefact from Pompeii! Genius don’t you think?” I just looked at him in disbelief. “I’m only telling you, he said with a wink, because your’e a cat.” At that point I walked off in a huff to sort out a Valentine card for Marjorie. Did he really think cats have no morals? 

On a more positive note, Queenie and I have been sitting doing the Big Garden Birdwatch. I call it ‘doing a stock take’. She mumbled something about thank goodness I’m a rubbish hunter and heaven alone knows how I survived on the street. What’s the point, I thought, when it’s all in a sachet or tin and I have a housekeeper?  

Thursday 4th February 2021

When our eyes adjusted to the dark, we could see there was very little in the room except for a stainless steel table, some knives on a rack, a low stool, an old kettle, a jar of something and an empty mug. Under the table there was a large, cardboard box. Except for a couple of aprons hung on hooks on the wall, that was about it. Marjorie was crying, shivering and very apologetic. I gave her a quick, reassuring lick on the ear and went into the room that contained the large freezer to see if there was any way out but that too was in darkness except for the glow of a red light, and a fire door at the end that was firmly locked. I didn’t want to say anything to Marjorie but the shop would be closed now, until early on Tuesday and given the temperature, I wasn’t sure we’d last until then. I realised the priority was to make Marjorie warm. 

Back in the fish head room, I climbed under the table and stuck my head in the half open cardboard box, using my nose to open the sides. It was empty except for some polystyrene packing blocks. With Marjorie’s help we knocked it over and the blocks proved easy to scratch out. Looking at the aprons, I worked out I could probably unhook the nearest one, if I stood on the table and leaned out. A couple of times I fell to the floor but on the third attempt, claws extended, I launched myself at it and ended up swinging from the apron until, with a slight tearing sound, the tab gave way and I ended up in a heap under it, on the tiles below. We dragged it into the box and, within a few minutes we were cuddled up and warmer. Within a very short time, Marjorie was asleep but my mind was racing. By morning, I knew Queenie would be very worried. Miserably, I thought of her listening out for the sound of the cat flap and the empty space on her bed, where I always curl up until I wake her for breakfast or a head-rub.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, as the orange light from the small window turned to daylight and I could hear people in the car park. Blinking, I got out of the box, stretched and helped myself to a piece of fish. It reminded me of my former life, scavenging as a stray. I much prefer sachets of food in a bowl and even biscuits. Looking over, I could see Marjorie was still curled up with her paw over her eyes, so I wandered around feeling a bit hopeless. In the cold light of day, nothing had changed. Then suddenly, I wondered if the red light near the ceiling, was like the one we had at home, that set an alarm off if it detected a human in the room. I think Queenie called it a ‘motion sensor’. Marjorie and I were  clearly too small to set the alarm off but if we could somehow make ourselves bigger, we just might be able to attract some attention and escape.

Waking Marjorie up, with the gift of a cold fish head, I shared my plan. Together we pushed the small, aluminium stool a few metres into the refrigerator room. It was hard work but somehow, we managed to keep it, upright. Climbing onto the stool I counted to one and we both leapt as high as we could, waving our paws wildly at the sensor. To our immense relief, there was a loud wail as the alarm was activated. 

Fortunately I was home in time for Queenie and her twin brother, Stephen’s birthday on February 2nd which is something called Groundhog Day. North American legend states If the hog sees its own shadow, winter will persist for another six weeks. His name is Punxatawney Phil and he lives in Gobblers Knob…Hmm.

Thursday 28th January 2021

On Friday I got taken to the vets for my annual check up and vaccination. I have to admit, the lady vet and I are now getting on like a mouse on fire. I behaved impeccably and tolerated the squeezing of my abdomen, tooth check and the general root around, quite calmly. When I was handed back, the vet told Queenie I’d been very good and hadn’t bitten her once. Queenie beamed like a proud mother who’s son had just got straight A’s. When we got home, I got a treat, so it was all worth it. Later, as I wandered down a few gardens to see what was going on in some of the houses, I found out that Alfred had had his COVID Jab that morning and so, we sat in quiet companionship by the fire while we shared his lunch of fresh prawns and crackers. 

On Saturday morning, the police were called to Number 29 to investigate a break in. As it turned out, not an awful lot was taken, just a small amount of cash and a couple of Sheridan’s paintings but quite traumatised, he told the masked policeman that his works of art were “priceless”. Gary said to  his wife Laura that while he understood it was highly unpleasant being burgled, the paintings were hardly “priceless” as he had a label on them with the price! That probably fooled the burglar into thinking he’d got something valuable, so clearly the police shouldn’t be looking for an art connoisseur. Sheridan however was heard outside the house, demanding they were featured on Crimewatch. Meanwhile grateful for a distraction from the mundane, Fernanda settled down to write a poem about their ordeal. 

Marjorie and I decided to have a trot down to the fishmonger’s late on Saturday afternoon. Mr Pollock was busy in his shop, washing down the empty trays of delicious smelling fish that sent Marjorie into a virtual sensory coma. In the cold room at the back of the shop, he kept a large bucket of fish heads, to make stock, which proved irresistible to her. Before I could intervene, she crept in, seduced by the heady aroma. From outside the shop, I could see Mr Pollock taking the money from the till and pulling out his keys to lock up. Frantically, I looked for Marjorie to warn her but she was nowhere to be seen and I had no alternative but to slip in and find her. Distracted by his mobile, Mr Pollock had his back to the door and so I dashed to the rear of the shop and spotted Marjorie with her paw dangling in the tantalising bucket of fish heads. “Come on, we need to get out of here, he’s locking up!” I hissed but it was too late. I heard the sound of the door closing and suddenly the place was silent and in darkness, save for the orange glow from the street lamp through a tiny window about three metres above us and the hum of the walk-in refrigerator in the room beyond.  

Thursday January 21st 2021

Andrea Delacroix, Decaf Prize Winner for her debut novel ‘Just Sweeping Dust’ moved into Number 4, The Avenue, this week. She isn’t at all what I envisaged. Sporting long, grey curly hair and wearing battered Doc Martins and “comfy” trousers, she moved in, not with cats or a dog, but a large reptile called Rodney. Marjorie and I pressed our noses to the living room window eager to catch a glimpse of ‘Rodney’ and finally, after about an hour of deliveries of rather unusual furniture and ornaments, we were rewarded. Under Andrea’s supervision, her posh voice booming from behind her mask, the removal men carefully brought in a huge fish tank and gently put it on a stand. Inside was a large, frightening creature, about half a metre long from its crested head to the tip of its long tail. When it opened its mouth, you could see a very pink tongue and, as it blinked, large lash-less eyelids rose slowly up and down like shutters. “Let’s get away from here,” I said in a low voice to Marjorie, “In case he gets out!” With that, we both made a dive for cover under the nearest shrub, to compose ourselves. 

Out of curiosity, lots of people in The Avenue purchased a copy of ‘Just Sweeping Dust’. Jeff had already read it when it came out in the nineties and heralded it “an absolute masterpiece of literature”. Queenie, on the other hand, ran a bath and got as far as chapter four before she gave up. Marcus Briggs said he thought it had an interesting, if minimalist cover (a yard broom on a red background) and Dan, his boyfriend, said he struggled with the title as you can’t effectively sweep dust. To prove his point, he said he’d tried it once or twice when boxes of fresh produce were delivered to the supermarket and all you create is a cloud so you do really need either a wet cloth or sponge and a bucket. Queenie said it was a ‘metaphor’. Marjorie thought that was a four wheel drive car, so we’re really none the wiser. 

Lots of photographs of new arrival Marcus Rashford Beckham Maradona Smith, have been shared on social media, as friends and neighbours have been unable to visit the newborn son of Chantal and Matt at Number 20. All I can say is, you don’t need to see him to be able to hear him and on that basis, it’s better the litter was only one! Matt is apparently thrilled with his new son but frustrated he can’t go and wet his head with his pals at The Legless Goat, pub. Chantel told him he’d have to re-think endless sessions of drinking after lockdown and start working a bit harder to support his family. Matt replied that as baby Marcus Rashford is going to be entitled to free school meals the financial pressure was off him a bit, especially as he was tired with being woken up every time Chantal did a night feed. Chantal replied with what could have been mistaken for sleep-deprived-borderline-aggression – “Man up and *** grow a pear!” I’m not sure how fruit growing would improve manhood. In any case, I really don’t understand this human tradition of father hanging around after they get the woman pregnant. It clearly doesn’t work. As Toms, we’ve done our bit for the continuity of the species and it’s accepted we keep out of the way and not irritate mothers during what is clearly, a very busy and emotional time. 

Thursday 14th January 2021

On Thursday, Queenie was Zoom dancing with her friends. She told them her cousin had said one of her ancestors was so overweight, the family had to have the window taken out when she died, to remove her body. Queenie maintained, with that genetic heritage, small wonder she was finding it hard to shed the extra pounds. The way things were going it was a toss up between dieting and having bi-fold doors installed. 

Foxes are mating in my garden without permission! I’ve come to the conclusion they’re not very dignified animals, given the racket they’re making. On Saturday, Marjorie and I were out for a romantic stroll, looking for small rodents, under the light of the moon and the foxes must have woken new-born Marcus Rashford, at Number 20, because he then started wailing, in competition. It was extremely poor timing, given I was just about to sing a little love song to Marjorie, and feeling very miffed, we went home. 

Humans are doing that distanced queuing thing again, in masks. Animals don’t queue. If you want something, you simply stare the other out until they walk off in submission or just push in very rudely, like dogs or rhinos who, funnily enough, never need to queue.

Number 4 The Avenue, was finally sold, having remained empty and on the market for nearly a year. There’s a lot of excitement as the house has been purchased by quite a famous author, following a private, acrimonious split with her husband, which was serialised in several magazines. After weeks of tradesmen going in and out, it’s finally finished and she’s moving down from London, this week. Marjorie and I are wondering if she will have cats and if she does, we guessed they’d bound to be Persian or Siamese and called names like Arabella or Cuthbert. Obviously, we’re not going to like them. Even worse though, she might have one of those tiny dogs with bad legs that get carried around all the time, shouting profanities from the depths of an expensive handbag. 

Fortunately, Judith is feeling much better following her spell in hospital, which means Marjorie can leave home more often and we can spend more time together. Judith’s next door neighbours, who devote a lot of time trying to avoid getting into (lengthy) discussions about a broken panel in the fence or the scandalous behaviour of the bin men, told Marcus Briggs that staying indoors is a positive side to lockdown.

Meanwhile, to make life a little brighter, The Avenue has started a quiz night that meets on Zoom on Saturday and Wednesday evenings. Just before the last lockdown, Marcus from number 18 set Alfred from Number 16 up with Queenie’s old PC and managed to show him how to use Skype and Zoom. This has proven a great success as Alfred can now join in and he doesn’t feel so isolated. In fact, he’s so good at answering the questions, everyone wants him on their team. Marjorie and I are of course helpful on these evenings as we walk across Judith and Queenie’s lap top keyboards. As cats, of course we know the answers to everything!

Thursday 7th January 2021

New Year’s Eve in the Avenue was an unusually quiet affair. Jeff the self-proclaimed residents’ events organiser from Number 29 was rendered redundant and in any case, he was still reeling from the failure of the carol concert at the Last Gasp Residential Home. Carol told Wendy he was moping around the house in slippers and long cardigan with a floppy fringe and round glasses writing monologues about middle aged women living in isolation. All that was missing, she said, was a Leeds accent and a homeless woman living in a battered van on their driveway and he would actually turn into Alan Bennett. 

Queenie received a phone call at midday on New Year’s Eve to say her mother, Lydia had been repatriated from Czechoslovakia. She called her from Dover in high spirits and a little the worse for wear as the barman on the ferry had taken pity on her and plied her with double vodkas. Apparently, she’d had a ‘lovely break’ but Suki, her betrothed wasn’t answering her mobile and she wasn’t sure where the camper van was parked. Finally, Queenie phoned her brother who agreed, through gritted teeth, to drive down and pick her up, before she ended up in more trouble. 

On Tuesday, Chantel from Number 20 gave birth to a baby boy, to be named after the footballer, Marcus Rashford. That sounded a bit of a mouthful to me, so perhaps they will just call him Rash or Ford for short?  She went into labour on Tuesday morning and within an hour, out he popped, without much warning, onto the bedroom carpet. I expected there to be at least six babies but disappointingly, there was only one, which must be considered a pretty poor litter by any standard. Perhaps that was just as well as Matt, the father, promptly fainted and by the time Chantel had managed to call an ambulance and bring Matt round, ‘Marcus Rashford’ was testing his lungs to full capacity. Martha from Number 23 donned a mask and came and cut the cord, helped Matt into bed and sat with Chantel and the baby, until a midwife arrived. 

Marjorie has been spending a bit more time with Judith, while she recovers from COVID. She told me she’s getting a little bit bored, as even the most patient cat can get fed up with back to back episodes of Vera and second hand two thousand piece jigsaws of thatched cottages, that end up right at the end, to have pieces missing. Marjorie wanted to know if I thought the virus, besides causing breathing difficulties, caused humans to endlessly crochet drink mats? Was that, she asked what they meant by ‘Long COVID’, as it was beginning to feel interminable? I said I didn’t think so but would Google it and check the symptoms, when Queenie was out. 

On New Year’s Day, we finally left the EU. On the plus side we have a bit more fish. I just hope it’s tuna…

Thursday 31st December 2020

This was the end of a strange year, by any cat standard. Christmas Day was quieter than usual. Under normal circumstances, we’d have had a toddler careering around the place and I’d have hidden away on the top of Queenie’s wardrobe. This year, it was just the two of us and very peaceful. It should have been four (Queenie’s soon to be step-mother, Suki and her mother Lydia) but on Christmas Eve, Queenie received a call from the British Consulate in Czech Republic to say Lydia had been discovered in the back of a truck without any ID and a compulsory ‘negative’ COVID test result. Allegedly, she and Suki had been feeding soup to the drivers of the backlog of trucks on the M20 in the port of Dover, when Lydia had started chatting to a “very lovely” young Bulgarian called Bogdan. He’d offered to show her round his cab and one thing led to another and the next thing she knew, she’d woken up to the sound of raised voices and foreign accents. For a moment she thought she was back picking cabbages in the fields of Lincolnshire, where she’d spent many happy weeks in 2005. However, moments later, she was pulled out of the cab by a man in uniform demanding her passport and was advised, in a very unwelcoming way, that she was in Czechoslovakia. She told Queenie, in a brief conversation with the border police, she’d obviously been the victim of human trafficking and could she get in touch with “that gorgeous George Clooney’s wife and get her on the case”?

Marjorie and I had a lovely few hours together on Christ-mouse Day.  We decided not to ‘do’ presents as most of the quality gifts in the garden had gone into hibernation for the winter or taken refuge in the bottom of the ponds, so there wasn’t much stock available in the Catch & Carry. We therefore left it to Queenie and Judith to indulge us with a load of faux fur toys that we pretty much ignored.   

Humans in the South of England went into lockdown again on ‘Boxing Day’. I’ve no idea why they call it that. I suspect it’s got something to do with everyone fighting each other having (ordinarily) been thrown together with their relatives for a whole day, the day before. Maybe it should be re-named Divorce Day? 

On Boxing Day night, the West and South of England was hit by storm Bella. I went out with a tortoiseshell with that name a few times and I’m well aware of the havoc they can wreak in a very short space of time. This Bella swept noisily through, with gusts of wind in excess of 80 miles per hour and severe flooding. Gary and Liam went out in the afternoon and persuaded Gideon to bring his sleeping pod Jonah, into Gary’s workshop, where they would both be safe. The next morning, Gary’s wife Laura cooked Gideon a lovely breakfast that he shared with me, before going for his daily swim in the freezing cold sea, which he told me was very good for his constitution. I would have liked to have told him that his bacon rind and a nice bit of sausage (without ketchup) was just purrfect for mine!

I’d like to wish all my readers a very happy & healthy New Year! Merlot xx

Thursday 17th December 2020

Queenie purchased a Christmas tree-with-a-root on Saturday. Her plan was to plant it in the back garden, after Christmas. It was bigger than last year and Marcus from Number 18 helped her indoors with it, groaning at the weight, from behind his mask. When it was unwrapped, It looked like a good climbing tree, with nice, evenly spaced branches. Once in situ, she spent a couple of hours hanging things off it with one hand, while having a conversation with her friend Michelle while holding her mobile, with the other. Marjorie and I watched from the back of the armchair and agreed if Queenie had been concentrating harder, the tree could have looked better. So, when she went out for a walk with an ‘internet friend’ who was a definite contender post-lockdown, as he presented as ‘sane, solvent, smart and single’, we took all the baubles off the tree to give her a second run at decorating it properly, when she got home. When she arrived back, in a bad mood, to find all the decorations scattered around the flat and the tree at a jaunty angle, she wasn’t best pleased so we made a swift exit through the cat flap and went to see Oliver and Amelia at Number 36. 

As it happened, they were busy making their own decorations under the guidance of their mother, Saffron. Their ‘tree’ was fashioned from a town ‘litter pick’ which according to Saffron, would concentrate the mind about waste, whenever the family looked at it. Dad, Luke went ‘for a run’ to escape the craft morning and tuck into a crafty ‘Full English’ breakfast, fashioned from saturated fats, at a backstreet cafe, where he was unlikely to be recognised. Marjorie and I were allowed to sit at the table and watch the painting of plastic bottles and fixing of reclaimed fishing net to make baubles from discarded Special Brew cans and empty cigarette packets. As our input was not required, we departed and went to share Alfred’s lunch at Number 16. 

Earlier in the week, Jeff called Saffron and enlisted Oliver and Amelia to help with the forthcoming TARTS (The Avenue Residents’ Theatre Society) performance in the garden at The Last Gasp Residential Home. He thought if he had a couple of decoy children dressed as elves, ‘waving sweetly’ to the elderly residents, it might distract from the truly atrocious singing from the handful of tone-deaf choir members. Perhaps predictably, the plan didn’t work. On Tuesday the six performed Silent Night to the sound of an elderly man shouting at a nurse that elves were in the garden stealing from the shed. This was accompanied by a lady resident relentlessly getting out of her seat, attempting to close the patio windows to the residents’ lounge while complaining the racket outside was stopping her watching Eastenders. 

On Sunday, Judith came home from hospital. Wendy (Number 27) did a shop for her and Martha, Hector’s wife cooked a Caribbean version of casserole. Marjorie and I felt sad we wouldn’t be living together any more but were comforted in the knowledge that we could see each other whenever we wanted. Judith and Queenie agreed both cat flaps would be programmed to allow us to go in and out of our respective houses so we could hang out together. I was therefore shoved through Marjorie’s cat flap to allow it to read my ‘chip’. I learned to tolerate this indignity when I first arrived at Queenie’s. I’d used cat flaps before I ended up homeless but I’ve never really liked them. I prefer to have doors opened for me when I ask and to this end, I did put ‘Full-time Commissionaire’ on my Christmas list. When Judith saw Marjorie, she cried with joy which made me feel emotional and suddenly a bit anxious how I’d be if Queenie wasn’t around, so I turned nonchalantly away and helped myself to a festive biscuit from Marjorie’s food bowl. 

Thank you so much for reading my diary. Have a lovely, safe Christmas and I hope you’ll visit me again in the New Year! Love Merlot xx

Merlot 12 Days of Christmas – Day 10! Just click on the picture…