Tabatha-Cat decided that she wanted to risk her life today and, by default, mine too.
She’s as blind as a
bat thing that can’t see when it comes to seeing things close up – she can never find her treat-biscuits when they’re immediately in front of her nose [obviously her sense of smell could be somewhat limited too] – but if she’s outside and it’s dark she may as well have slipped some contacts in.
She spends her days roaming around the neighbourhood. At least, I like to think that she does that. In reality she probably either sits on the bins/wall all day watching the world and his dog [of which there are many in FlatHickTown] go by, or curls up under a bush and sleeps. And then washes. And then sleeps again. And maybe drinks some dirty rain water from a dirty rain water puddle, even though I’ve lovingly ensured that she has fresh tap water to enjoy.
At about four-thirty some little alarm clock inside Tabatha’s head/belly/paw buzzes and she makes her way to a good vantage point and begins to watch for me. She sees me from a great distance [or what I consider to be a great distance in cat terms] despite the darkness of the winter nights.
And then she runs towards me.
We live on a corner. It’s not a busy corner [in fact it’s a really quiet corner, usually], but cars sometimes have a tendency to whizz round it at a fair old rate. I am on the other side of the road to Tabatha. I am always on the other side of the road; even if I crossed the road further up, I would still be on the other side of the road, because of the corner.
She usually gets to the edge of the pavement and then pauses. It’s a brief pause, a matter of nano-seconds, but it’s a definite pause. And then she runs into the road. She knows it’s a road. She knows that Big Metal Things whizz along it. She’s not a stupid cat. Not often, anyway.
Today she paused briefly, for a nano-second. Then, as she was about to put one paw into the road, she spied lights. And heard sound. Oh my God, thought I. But the car saw her. And bless the car! Tabatha hadn’t left the pavement, but the car stopped. Tabatha looked at me on the other side of the road. Then she looked at the car. Then she looked at me again. Then she started to put one paw in the road. At this exact moment the car started moving again. She pulled back. The car, which had barely moved an inch, stopped again. This happened again. It was like some crazy dance, with them the participants and me the spectator. Or maybe a mating-ritual of sorts … cat and car – not a good couple.
There was only one thing for it. I had to risk my own life so that Tabatha would be safe. So I ran across the road, scolded Tabatha and waved grateful thanks to the car for not knocking down my cat. Or me.
She’s a nincompoop.
And Torchwood was really fandangly.
please God bless my little nincompoop xxx Elsabeth