GOLDENEYES…

It almost had the makings of a James Bond mystery. Who was the elusive stranger? What was his mission?

It began when we noticed we had seen less of Sparky from next door than usual. Then, when she reappeared on Greeting Duty, rushing to meet the cars when we drove up, she had a large shaved area on her back at the base of her tail. She seemed OK apart from the indignity of the bald patch, though a little jumpy.

Then my husband said there had been a right rumpus in the kitchen that morning when our old ginger boy had read the riot act to a black cat that suddenly came in through the cat flap. My husband was actually quite proud of the old fellow for still having the machismo to repel a marauder at his age. Men.

A few days later our next-door neighbour - and Sparky's Mum - caught me as I was leaving our house, and she was coming back from the school run. She asked me if I had seen a black cat that had been making Sparky's life a misery. It was he who had inflicted the wound on her back, causing an abcess which had led to the vet and the fur shaving. Protective instincts aroused, we swore to see the evil black creature away.

Its favourite ploy was to lurk in the darkness by the garages at the bottom of our shared drive, and when Sparky would emerge from her cat flap at night (probably en route to our cat flap for a snack, if the truth be known), he would pounce. Now the little girl cat was getting very nervous and spent ages with her head poking through the flap from inside, peering outside trying to see if the coast was clear, before she would venture outside.

I had still yet to see this monster, and while I didn't think they were imagining it, I did think that it was just a passing philanderer trying his luck.

So, imagine my surprise a day or so later, when I swung my legs out of bed and found a strange black cat with its leg in the air, casually washing its bottom on the floor next to me! All I saw before I yelled, and it ran, was a pair of huge golden yellow eyes in a mass of thick black fur. I flew downstairs, past my two cats sitting in the living room with defensive looks of high dudgeon, and just caught site of a black hind paw disappearing through the cat flap. No sign of it when I looked out, but I noticed that both the cats' plates were licked clean. It had clearly scrounged breakfast and was looking for a warm place for a wash and nap. What cheek, I thought. Then I thought, fatally - suppose it was a sad stray who was starving and cold…? And of course, it should be clear by now that our house has a large illuminated, visible to cats only, sign that says (probably with a downward pointing finger, or paw) - "HERE HERE HERE -
LEFT - OVER FOOD, CAT NIP TOYS, EASILY CONNED HUMANS…."

I fought the urge to feel sorry for it, which got even easier a few days later when I was making the bed and heard clear sounds of a feline dispute. I flew downstairs, but found nothing. When I got back upstairs, I saw from the pincer formation of cats on the landing, and the yellow eyes disappearing under the bed in the spare room, that the row had been closer than I had thought. The intruder spent a nice day dozing under the bed, until my husband came back and we managed to chase it out. As it shot past me I got the clearest view so far, a young cat, presumably a chap, and a healthy. almost curly. coat.

So, probably not a stray, but maybe a young un-neutered lad attracted by the flighty little cat lady next-door - Sparky. Now, having found our house, he also likes the cat nip toys, food, warmth and all round feline comforts.

Thus, the situation now is clearly to make the food less available - cover the plates when they have finished. Make the rest of the house less welcoming - close the downstairs door when going out, or to bed. Exert all willpower to stop oneself from feeling sorry for it. Be stern.

But, last night when I went out to the kitchen, I disturbed it having a stealthy snack, and it was so rattled by my sudden appearance that it banged its head on the cat flap frame before it bounced back and managed to get out… aaahh.

Oh, Lord…………..

Thelma Mitchell © 2004