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Katastrophe

Katastrophe’s favourite spot in the house was the wide windowsill in the she human’s bedroom. It received the morning sun, and was the perfect place for a cat to snooze on; and as it faced the backyard, it enabled her to maintain a watchful eye over her territory, especially the most common invaders – those chirrupy, cawing, warbling, koo koo kooing, whistling, flitting, flapping, flighty – and just plain all round annoying flying creatures.

As a younger cat, she could spend up to half an hour of her time stalking one of these pests, and when with great cunning she made her surprise leap at them, they would quickly flap their wing things and whiz up into the air – and whoosh – gone!

The feathered fuckers!

The barking dog next door was bad enough, pissing against almost anything he could cock his leg at when he sneaked into the yard through the gap in the fence. And sleeping on the bedroom windowsill was just about impossible while the humans did their mating dance thing when the she human was on heat – seemingly every Sunday morning. If they could only see themselves!

But the birds were the worst because they were everywhere everyday. Perched on the spouting, the trees, on the fence, pecking the grass – absolutely EVERYBLOODYWHERE!

They wouldn’t last long in her sharp deadly claws that was for sure – if only she could get one.

But for the moment, Kat was happily at peace on the windowsill, enjoying a lovely nap in the cosy warmth of the sunshine. All was well in Catsworld.

Until BANG! Something struck the glass.

She jumped up to see what it was, but seeing nothing, quickly shot out through the catdoor to investigate further. As she neared the garden bed beneath her window, there was indeed something, something lurking in the overgrown ivy.

Stealthily, she made her way closer to take a better look, and sure enough, under the hydrangeas was one of the flying creatures – a green and red and yellow one. She had never been this close to a bird before, and well within striking distance, yet it hadn’t flown away. It just stood there, unsteady like, looking kind of stunned.

Instinctively needing to kill her listed enemies, she ran her claws out to MAX and ran at it to grab it in her paws before it whooshed up and away. But the bird didn’t fly anywhere, instead making a shaky run for it through the fish-ferns that grew beside the paling fence.

Maybe it can’t fly away, thought Kat, in which case it was going to be an excellent teasing game of Bye Bye Birdie. She drove it down to the corner where the fence met the side gate, trapping it there.

Although very fearful, it had recovered somewhat, and now appeared alert to its peril.

Kat moved in for the kill – and bugger me dead if at that very same moment the feathered fucker starts it’s flippity-flapping again, and just manages to get airborne high enough to fly over the top of Kat’s head, and lands about a metre away on the grass. Kat wheels around and runs at it again, and the same thing happens, back up in the air, a bit higher this time, landing further away on top of the laundry basket.

Pissed off by now, Kat goes back on her haunches, feigning disinterest for thirty seconds or so, before suddenly making her gold medal dash to catch this smart arse and show it who the hell’s in charge around here. But by the time she makes the basket, the bloody thing has managed to fly up in fits and starts high enough to reach the safety of the hills hoist, where it finally lands between the tea towels and some footy socks.

Out of bloody reach.

And that was it, the shows over, end of match. And the winner is … the Rainbow Lorikeet!

Returning to her windowsill, still warm in the sun, Kat stretched everything stretchable out, lay back down, and went back to napping. She’d had a gutful of the feathered creatures for one day, adding ‘still evasive’ to her growing list of annoyances.

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The Ungulate of Doom

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Catastrophe

3 Comments

  1. Mark P

    Mark P

    I’ve had the next-door neighbour’s cat sitting in my backyard all day, just looking into our house. Staring, non-stop. I’m now getting the idea that it’s plotting, just watching the window and waiting for something to run into it and get an easy feed.

    • Denis Scullin

      Denis Scullin

      Or perhaps waiting for SOMEONE to run into and get an easy feed. To leap up at YOU to rip YOUR throat out! Better than another can of bloody Whiskers probably. Watch your back mate!!!

      Hey Mark, when am I going to find out what happened next at that library? Are there other spirits about? Do the ghost story books play themselves out overnight?
      What?
      Denis.

      • Mark P

        Mark P

        I’m under no illusions, I know cats don’t actually like anybody.

        As for the next chapter, I have an idea. I’ll just finish up Old Photograph and then there’ll be a special bonus Denis edition chapter.

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