Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Hazards in the house

I often have the feeling that They don't know how much danger They are in, living in what seems to be a pretty, suburban houselet. I am smaller than Them, and my eyesight is considerably finer (every time Tom goes out he asks Jess where his keys/mobile phone/wallet/business cards/vioin are, and she has no more clue than he has).

Therefore I am closer to the action they miss. For example:

There's a fox that comes into our back garden in the summer. As soon as the sun rises above a certain height and pleasant sunny patches appear under the pergola, there he is, sunning himself like a bloody dog, lying on his back with his paws up as if he owns the place. They purr over the way he and I 'tolerate' one another, but you won't catch me within ten feet of that thing. You want a fox in your garden? Did anybody ask me? They were afraid he'd try to eat me (as if! those animals know all about claws) - but reflect, I pray, upon what else I have to put up with from foxes. They carry fleas. They spray horrible scents on MY terriroty. And they raid the leftovers in the recycling bin before I can. None of this is acceptable.

Then there's the hole in the wall. In the bathroom, behind the loo. There's a mouse in there. I know there is. You want mice in your house? OK, I bring them in as gifts, but generally they are dead by then. Should I detect an untreated mouse alive and kicking in my own house, there'd be serious trouble. I'm not going to allow VERMIN to attack my bag of Science Plan Cat Food. Mice. Ugh. Everything has its place. And so, although I've not caught him yet, I stand sentry by the hole in the wall, motionless, waiting. Sooner or later, that mouse will emerge. And I will be there to get him. You wait and see. For now, all I hear is: "What are you doing in the bathroom, you silly pussycat?" Grrr.

Birds are another case in point. You don't want them in the house either. Not that they normally come in, but some day they might. The more of them I can put them off before they try to, the better. Can you imagine the mess? Feathers everywhere. All that tweeting. Droppings (we cats are extremely particular about such matters, but birds just do it anywhere). Birds, too, have a place, and it is outside, in the air. I am considered brutal should I kill one, but I promise, there is a reason.

There is always a reason. It's just that you have to be a cat to understand it. Humans never understand anything: they're too busy thinking.