Olive oil
from our adopted Olive tree.
This quarter, Spring, we received one of each of: chilli, lemon and rosemary.
We had fresh bread, olives, artichokes, road tested courgettes (surely you mean roasted courgettes - ed) and some Italian Jam (eh? Ham perhaps, damn this timy (sic) keyboard - ed) with a bottle of Cote De Rhine (the German version - vino ed)
A lovely way to spend Saturday afternoon, post morning Haircut (you cannot call me tufty anymore - ed).
The hoovering was also completed with few incidents, the cat, as usual picking up cat litter in his paws and resprinkling it around the house.
The Cat
What I don't understand (Quadratic equations to name but one - science ed); and that is many many things; but in particular just how he (the cat is named Beau as in Beau Geste (sp ?)) manages to place pieces of the nicely named, "Kitty Litter", the exact places where my bare feet are going to end up.
Actually it is not "KItty Litter" but "Bio Catlet" or somesuch eco friendly dried out polystyrene like manky stuff - fit only for the absorption of cat pee and poop.
Beau must have some kind cat sixth sense, to go along with his nine lives to be able to place it in the most annoying and irritating places.
Sadly, the poor old cat has been losing his marbles over the last year, due to what the vet calls, Senility (or as I call it, about time - ed). I haven't seen a downside to this as yet (you horrible anti-catist monster - ed ) as he was a most vicious creature when I first moved in with Bridget .
The Incident
I was alone in the house, coping manfully with the solitude of a quiet night in (OK OK there were dancing girls and champagne - but a quiet night in as far as I was concerned.)
Bridget was out for the evening with her Curry Buddy (tm), Charles.
At this point time, there were two cats, the black hell beast, Beau, also known as Scarey Cat and The Scaredy Cat, real name: Oscar, they were litter brothers.
Oscar, sadly no longer with us, but buried/planted in the garden with a lovely small headstone stating, "Oscar Lies Here" - something he did a lot of in life and seemingly in death too, but that's cats for you.
Both cats had been neutered a long time before I arrived. In fact, Bridget appears to have convinced her mother, (my Mother-in-law), to take them to be "seen to", so it was not Bridget's fault that this had happened to them (super smart - ed).
They always treat Jo, (still my Mother-in-law), in a special way when she visits, (in my warped mind - it is a kind of questioning stance where the meow of recognition, leads to the miaow of "Where are my balls" - ed).
Whereas the cats have always treated Bridget, as the lady who comforted them, in their moment of nadgerless need.
Cats eh!
Anyhow, back to the story, where was I... as yes, quiet night in....
I was sitting on our aged sofa (a case of so far so good - rotten pun ed), and Beau came up and gave me a look, not The Look (tm), that I get from Bridget (see the post A Pressing Problem for context on this look - ed).
I acknowledged him with a terse, "Whaddya want, pussy cat?",
I feel strong and manly when I do this, as its a wonderful put down to a macho cat; both putting him in his place, and hoping to create in my mind the picture of a kind normal fluffy cat in my head.
Strangely, it never seems to work.
As usual, the black hell beast, tried to intimidate me, with one of those cat things where he opened his mouth and did a yawn so big, you could feel yourself being drawn into that black bottomless pit at the back of his mouth; a mouth edged with fearsome blades (teeth - clarity ed) and then releasing the yawn.
The sound of the jaw and head snapping back together with a fearsome ,"Clack", is a not a pleasant noise. If there had been any small children about they would have run for the hills (but probably not fast enough to escape the black hell beast - betting ed)
"Ah", I thought, "Maybe I should have used, Monsieur Pussy Cat", however the die was cast and the incident was about to occur.
Caught Cat
Our old sofa cover was not very cat friendly as it had lots of places where a cat could entangle his claws and get itself stuck.
Beau, stood up on his back legs, and stretched, it always surprises me how long a stretching cat can become, they are like snakes (are you sure you mean snakes - wildlife ed) and put his claws out and gripped the side of the sofa. Then he released his stretch, retracted his body back towards the ground.
Not for the first time, but the first time with me, at home unsupervised, a claw (cats - red in tooth and claw - ed) was caught in the sofa material, so he was left with three legs and paws on the floor and one left attached to the sofa. He tried to free it and failed.
Naturally, I laughed, which on reflection was the incorrect response.
The cat (this is a corrected typo - originally was, "the car miaowed" - which is a darn sight funnier than the corrected spelling - comic ed) miaowed; I stopped laughing, and after a few moments I realised this was a plaintive cry for help (not knowing cat speak this is my best guess. On reflection it was the cat simply saying, "Got you where I want you - now you are going to try and help and I will 'ave you - ed)
I watched him struggle for a few moments more before I was overcome with the need to, "Do Something About It". Surely, if I just left him to it, he would rip his way free, but that would potentially damage the sofa cover more than it had already been damaged (Oscar was prone - much of the time, but he liked to use it as a cat scratching post - cat ed).
But what if Beau didn't manage to free himself?
What if Bridget came back in a couple of hours time and he was still stuck? She would ask why I hadn't helped, and that would lead to Awkward Questions in the house (You do realise you are not in parliament, you know - political ed).
I considered an emergency house exit, that is to leave the house, perhaps go the local pub and drink beer until after Bridget came back. In that way I could not be blamed for leaving the cat in this situation as I could say that it must have happened after I left (but that would be a lie - ed)
The Outcome
So, after waiting for as long as I dared, the cat making more and more plaintive wails (sucking me in to help him - ed), I leant over the sofa and did what I had seen Bridget doing, that is to lift up his paw, and stroke it to make the claw retract and so free himself...
Like a flash, Beau was free and I was in striking distance.
There was a "Claw, claw, bite", attack, but I was quicker than he thought and rolled away across to the far end of the sofa, Beau followed with a leap on to the sofa followed by an unfriendly hiss (is there ever a friendly hiss from a cat? - ed).
"I was just trying to help you, you daft moggie", I shouted, looking for something to protect myself with (sadly there were no small children to hand - safety ed). Beau looked at me and got ready to spring. I waited for his move, and then leapt for the door hoping to be able to close it behind me.
However, the other cat, fat Oscar, was blocking the door so I couldn't close it behind me.
I needed a weapon so ran for the kitchen. A mistake as there is one was in and one way out and I had headed in through the in door, and when I wanted to leave it would be the outdoor and it would have become Cat Territory.
In our kitchen, we have a small wall of knives (much like our favourite shop in Guildford, which has an entire wall of knives. This is a tough shop to get out of, as the knives glisten and wink at you from behind the triple protected glass, enticing you to free them from their wireless tagged prison of constraints and let them roam wide and free amongst the killing fields of London.)
What is it about kitchenware shops; you go in looking for some cling film and are transported to what seems a kind of techno-kitchen-heaven (kitchen porn - ed) where all these shiny (David likes shiny things - ed) that you simply need to have, even though you hadn't realised that they even existed.
Who knew you needed a Kumquat peeler, I didn't even know what one was (for the unenlightened it is a kind of knife used to peel with consumate ease the thing (fruit) called a Kumquat) . I felt an extreme urge to buy it because it was drop dead gorgeous, luckily on that particular day (now known as the Kumquat Peeler Incident (KPI) in our house (and yes we do have a large number of incident days in our house, all written in, The Great Book of Incidents (subtitled: Davey has lost his trolley....again) ) ......
[ At this point the Editorial Control Board have stepped in and ended this particular witter as the number of open and closing braces is causing a Brace Apocalypse Event. Square braces have been introduced to protect you, the reader, from any further harm. Issued under the guidance of EU Regulation DGXII 2016 483 Section 2. Protection of miners (sic) from overuse of thoughtless braces.]
On a slight aside (SLIGHT aside - the trolley of life is rapidly is moving towards the cliff on inanity - ed), KPI, is now a well known business acronym suggesting many businesses have had similar problems with Kumquats.
Back on the narrative track
I decided against the tastiest knife, Sheffield Steel, brewed in the UK by Danes (are you really sure you have the correct advert - ed) as using a knife seemed liked potential overkill... an eviscerated cat and copious amount of blood would be very hard to explain let alone clean up.
Where the cats are concerned, I am not sure that I could expect Bridget to be reasonable and calm. I could try and convince her about a life and death struggle but that would mean me probably having to lie.. and that is something I have failed to master in my many (many, many - ed) years on this planet.
Lurking, and ducking behind the immaculate stainless steel, 30 litre bin (yes, it had been in the shop, large, shiney, metallic how could I have resisted it - I hadn't - spend spend spend ed), trying hide from my sight at the far end of the kitchen (When I say far end of the kitchen I mean about 3 steps away. It is L-shaped and not very big. Not even big enough to swing a cat by tail - hmm, now there's a thought - ed), was the Broom of Salvation.
The cat sensing my hesitancy over the next step, swiped me with an extended paw, claws glittering with sharpness... I leapt with a scream, tossed the bin to one side and grasped the broom tightly to me.
"You're not getting away from me this time", I chided (yes I was talking to the broom, I had had Trouble with it before - ed)
The broom shivered in my hands, pulling this way and that as it tried to fight being placed between me and the black hell beast (if you haven't been following... pay attention.... talking about the cat - ed)
I turned to face the cat. The broom, though twisting in my hands, was wrestled into submission and the soft brush end (made from the finest baby dolphin hair, or was it the hair of baby badgers? - not a clue ed) was pointed towards the cat.
The cat stopped, immediately on the lino floor, claws digging in, as it held its position just outside of broom waving range. The marks in the kitchen floor would take some explaining, but that could be dealt with later, my life was at stake.
Beau eyed me warily as we both took a breath to evaluate the situation.
I was not sure how to proceed. Should I invoke The Breath to lower the ferocity of the moment and bring calm, quiet and understanding back into play. Unluckily for me, Bridget was out and all the household sanity with her.
With a cry of, "En garde M'sieur Pussy Cat", battle was enjoined.
The broom was waved, the cat lunged beneath it, swatting at my exposed ankles (for a Day of Summer had been declared on the morning weather forecast and so the Shorts of Embarrassment were clad about my waist; bare, pasty white legs, on their annual summer exposure; left unprotected by the usual denim armour). First blood to the cat.
He had a set of of four razor claws and an enormous mouth of pin sharp needles (yes yes, sharp teeth, we really get it - ed), whilst I had a non pointy stick with an end covered with fur from a badgers arse.
I could see where things were going, and they weren't going in my favour.
Retreat
"Time for a strategic withdrawal", was my second thought of the day (my first thought had gotten me into this situation, so yah boo sucks to that one - ed)
Brushing the cat to one side (ha ha - comic ed) I ran for the stairs and rushed for the safety of a room that had a door that would close (few and far between in our old house - accommodation ed).
The cat paused momentarily, before following me, chuckling quietly to himself as he prepared for the final killing blows.
For a brief moment I thought the cat wouldn't follow me up the stairs, but he was smart and smart cats know how to use stairs (and stares - I shudder at the very thought of being stared at by a cat, what are they thinking? Probably, "Feed me human or I will feed on you" - ed),
Now, if he'd (the cat) been a dalek I would have had a chance. Dalek or black hell beast of a cat? I'd go for the dalek every time and more importantly it is alleged that daleks can't do stairs (though they can do scary stares - ed)
My pulse raced, as well as the rest of my body.
It pays to have all of your body parts racing in the same direction at the same time. When they aren't, it is called, dancing - but that was not on the agenda at this moment. What was on the agenda was safety and maybe bandages to staunch the blood flow.
I went for the back bedroom (there was a choice of two, the front bedroom to the left at the top of the stairs or the back bedroom to the right) because if there was door closure failure, at least the back bedroom had a cupboard that could come to my rescue (sadly International Rescue were not available due to it being International Puppetry Day - alternative history ed).
I turned neatly on my heels (I thought you were running for your life, not dancing - strictly ed), and pushed the door into the face of the onrushing cat.
The mellow tones of the voice in the door, struck fear into my pounding heart,
"Door closure failure, door closure failure, this is a door closure failure situation",
came the disastrous tones out of the door in-built speaker, in its infuriatingly calm voice. (Our doors, supplied by Sirius Cybernetics (HHGTTG reference), were prone to emitting this at the most inconvenient times.).
This was definitely the most inconvenient of times.
I had no choice, the cupboard was to be my refuge (it used to contain the boiler but thankfully that was moved to the attic prior to my arrival - ed), or blood, pain and death.
The choice was Simples (thanks for that - insurance ed).
The cupboard was empty but not for long. I bundled and folded myself into it with consummate grace and finesse (are you sure? - truth ed). Well OK, I forced my way in and grabbed the handle and pulled the door shut behind me.
Thankfully it closed without a hitch (doing a knot under pressure is generally beyond me - scout ed) and the bright light of a Summer's day went out and I was plunged into darkness, as black as the fur
on the hell beast and entered the dark deep the heart of The Cupboard.
The Denoument
For one long terrible, terrible moment I thought that the cat had climbed in with me, but it was just Oscar (aka Scaredy cat), who had been sleeping curled up at the back of the cupboard, dreaming of his hard life of food, rest, food, sleep and some more food with a large side order of snooze - his weight had maxed out at 17lbs, he was a Weighty Cat as well as a Scaredy Cat.
During that long terrible moment there was a small sphincter failure. "Damn", I thought, "It's brown trousers time". The wait until Bridget came home was going to be not only hot, in the dark but with a particularly unpleasant odour in a very enclosed space.
Luckily for me Oscar was a friendly (I use that word advisedly, as a friendly cat is simply one who hasn't turned on you yet - ed), cat to spend time with and as I wasn't going to open the cupboard door until Bridget was back and there was nothing else to do but play with him and wait.
We waited.
We waited some more.
Oscar took to this like a duck to water. Sleeping curled up in the dark and warmth suited him down to the ground.
Luckily for me, it was only 2 1/2 hours before Bridget came home and tempted the black hell beast away from the cupboard door, probably having to sacrifice a small bird or two to entice him away.
After an immediate change of trousers (straight into a bag and then into the outside bin) and a lengthy hot shower, my mood improved no end; and opening a few windows improved the smell in the house enormously.
I was just glad that Bridget wasn't away overnight!
Bridget, bless her, never asked for a full explanation of what had happened.
Admittedly, there were a few tricky moments when she uttered the magic words,
"It is safe to come out now",
rather than the expected and more questioning words,
"What are you doing in the cupboard?"
My luck held and I was simply offered a kaleidoscope of looks, including but not only:
- The Pursed Lips (tm),
- The Raised Eyebrow (tm) and
- The Look (tm),
which I fended off with my usual, "Look Over There (tm)" technique. She acquiesced gracefully to my shifting of the delicate subject as she is enormously understanding, and the matter was thankfully dropped.
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So the story had less Olive and more Cat, but that is the way that things go.
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