Tom and Jerry

Make that Thomasina. The church cat is no stranger to the maternity ward and at least two litters of kittens have scampered around the environs of the parish house. She must be particularly well fed, because her ample, rounded belly caused me to tell our priest that she looked rather pregnant. His reaction was an alarmed, ‘No, no it isn’t possible. She’s been operated.’ But he did hazard a furtive second glance in passing. Time will tell!

She was sitting in the church compound next to a tiny black mouse. They were eyeing each other, sizing up the situation; no aggression was indicated but there was a certain feeling of suspense in the air. The mouse moved, and the cat bounded after it, but playfully. They both sat down and faced each other. The cat patted the mouse on its nose and then looked at it. The mouse for its part began to look a little puzzled – was it intended to be breakfast or not? It could have made a break for it - there are ample bushes and ground holes in the church garden - but it seemed drawn to this unusual feline. And so they sat in silent communion (or mutual admiration?). I had no clue to the mouse’s gender; perhaps they were sisters under the skin? Or, perhaps, this was the local version of the lion and the lamb!

And to add to the general feeling of bonhomie, it is rather appropriate that my present listening is a duet by Placido Domingo and John Denver – Perhaps Love. The voices are beautiful, heartfelt, soulful (I could go on, but I won’t) and the lyrics complement my thoughts:

Perhaps love is like a resting place
A shelter from the storm
It exists to give you comfort
It is there to keep you warm
And in those times of trouble
When you are most alone
The memory of love will bring you home

Perhaps love is like a window
Perhaps an open door
It invites you to come closer
It wants to show you more
And even if you lose yourself
And don't know what to do
The memory of love will see you through

Oh, love to some is like a cloud
To some as strong as steel
For some a way of living
For some a way to feel
And some say love is holding on
And some say letting go
And some say love is everything
And some say they don't know….

Cats

Take note. We have been invaded!

I am a dog lover. Ask anyone who has been owned by a dog and they will tell you that they possess you body and heart. Dog lovers are as distinct from cat lovers as dogs are from cats. My neighbour is a cat lover with a vengeance and every sighting of, or interaction with, a cat is faithfully reported.

Feral cats have been part of our surroundings from way back when. I know because our dogs delighted in chasing them or barking them up a tree. We have been dog-less for many years and I ceased to notice the cats, until now.

Every morning at seven thirty, there is moggie roll call. This morning, I counted thirteen. A cat coven? They come in one by one: some from over the wall, some spring from ledges off the building and others amble in off the road. Breakfast is the gleanings of the meat handed out in generous measure from Olympia – the restaurant. Sated, the cats disperse. Some to languidly snooze, others to whatever business they need to transact. The younger ones play.

Then there are the bank cats. They drape themselves on the steps leading to the ATM, on the parapets holding the lamps and sometimes on the sofa intended for the elderly. They are indifferent to the customers coming and going but they love the watchman. Occasionally, they infiltrate the bank but do not stay long.

Overlooked by our bedroom window is an office complex. Here too, cats have made a home, a playground, a maternity hospital and a crèche. We are, at different times, treated to the sounds of importunate males, cautionary mothers and hungry kittens. The other night, we were serenaded by a feline four part harmony in true Walt Disney fashion. And as they sang to the soon to be obscured moon, our neighbour also aping Walt Disney quenched their chorus with a well aimed bucket of water. So much for budding quartets.

The church, too, has its customary cat. Ours is a traditional structure replete with belfry (but no bats), steeples and mice. So, the cat completes the picture. It is well fed and content, occasionally choosing to nap in the porch or on well cushioned kneeler depending on the weather and the temperature. The church, outside service times, is dimly lit, cool and cavernous, a haven to those in need of peace – human and cat alike.

Finally, there is the orange tom who befriends my cat-loving neighbour, in exchange for a saucer of milk. He also visits every doormat and bestows fur and fleas without discrimination.

And so the encounter with cats has become a part of the daily ritual. The invasion is complete.