Sunday, 9 September 2012


It's been almost a year since we had pets. It'll be more than a year until we get one again(although I've recently found myself thinking that some tropical fish or a canary might not be too bad). Yet they have a way of finding me. Earlier this year our former neighbour's cat spent the majority of his time perched on the arm of our sofa.

And now there's Roger.

That picture's not Roger; I'm actually being pretty kind to him not putting a picture up. He likely wouldn't stay still for me to take it anyway. But Roger is like the picture. In the same way carob is like chocolate or decaf is like coffee. The same colour. Ish.

Roger is a stray says the intel on the street. He certainly acts like one, though I'll give him his due: I've never seen him getting into the rubbish on rubbish day.

His name is probably not Roger either. Heck, I'm not sure if he's a he or if I'm just gender-biased because I prefer male cats (they're 50% cheaper to get desexed, so what's not to like?). But Roger seems like a good enough name and it's not as if he responds to anything else.

I'm not the sort of person who runs around naming other peoples' animals - even if they have ditched them - but this little fellow has made a bit of an impression on me.

It wasn't the two minute staring competition we had when he realised I was watching him eat the bread I'd thrown on the lawn for the birds (he won).

And it wasn't that I caught him using my freshly planted carrot plot as a toileting facility (though I did, and I think it's been a performance repeated many a time, because it's been a month and only four seeds have sprouted).

And it's not that I've spotted him squeezing out from under the house through a hole the size of a tennis ball, or snoozing on the compost heap or being as cute as an ugly cat can be when he thinks he's alone under the clothes line. Or even that I can't get within ten feet of the ratbag.


It's for what he did to Mr. Me.

His nice, reliable car had been serviced and its engine flushed resulting in a mysterious leak in the radiator. Subsequently, every time before driving, the water had to be topped up until it was fixed.

It was night time, and a bit cold. The car had been in the driveway for about an hour and he innocently went out with a bottle of water and the keys. All was quiet.

Until the scream!

As he popped the bonnet, Roger readied himself for blast off, and the second Mr. Me lifted the latch, Roger was out like a bullet, and using Mr. Me's arm as a rebounder, hurtled over the fence, through my vegetable garden and away into the night. The only evidence that anything happened was scuff-marks in the celery and a curious neighbour poking her nose through the curtains.

That's when he won me. The cat has spunk. If only he'd learn to stay out of my carrot patch!

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photo supplied by Rjlerich

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