Al-Cat-raz

I feel I know my neighbours, even though I don’t know them. I don’t even know their names. The neighbours in one of the gardens at right angles to ours spend alot of time outside in their garden, as you do. There are three generations living in the house, grandparents (granddad and his second wife), parents (daughter of granddad and her Irish/American husband) and grandchild. Space is at a minimum thus the garden is like another room. The elders spend time in their hot tub. And before you ask, I cannot tell if there is attire worn and if there is, bikini or ‘costume’, Speedos or leopard skin thong, is just TMI. On any given Friday or Saturday night the unmistakable sound of a can of bear being opened can be heard over the bubbles of the tub. And sometimes during the day, when mum and dad are gone to work and grandchild is at preschool, they relish the privacy and they crank it up, put the bubbles on max and he sings away to his wife. A great voice to boot. The other day they were all out in the garden, as we were, and I could not help but eavesdrop as granddad enlightens his grandson as to the various cats buried in the garden. He comes to the final one, let’s call him Tabby.  I was introduced to said cat just the once before his demise, in strange circumstances, but I cannot recall his name. It was 11.30 of a mid week night and I was up potterin away on the laptop in the sittingroom, Billy no-mates. Kids asleep, not a sound. In fact it’s noisier at home in Galway with the cattle mooing and the foxes screeching at night. The door bell rings. Here, it’s questionable as to whether or not you phone someone after 9.00 don’t mind ring the doorbell at such an hour, so I was intrigued and scared shitless. There was a full on should-I-shouldn’t-I-answer-it in my head. Could be a head the ball with a machete in one hand and my P45 in another, could be just someone looking for help. Ah sure, what the hell, I’ll answer it. I could see through the frosted glass that indeed it was a man, and as I had turned on the hall light, I now could be seen also. So I had to commit and gingerly opened the door after I blessed meself. Lo and behold it was singing hot tub neighbour, with a flashlight. 'Ah how ya, it's only yourself' I said relieved. He was so embarrassed and so apologetic. Here’s the thing. He has, how do I say it, well...a gammy eye, so one looks east and the other looks west and let’s just say, it was bit awkward. I just stared at his forehead. He was sorry to be botherin me and for waking me and would I mind if he had a look in our garden as he reckoned their tabby had climbed over the fence and got stuck in our bushes. No problem, and I walked him through the hall and out into the garden. The cat had a stroke, he recounted, and could get a little perplexed. It’s the medication you see. I fought to restrain the giggles as a serious of questions and images flashed through my head. ‘Can you account for his last movements, sir, can you describe what he looks like, sir, has he gone missin’ on ye before, sir!’. An artist’s impression of a large fluffy cartoon cat, eyes fixed with stars and tweety birds floating and fluttering around his head, sprang to mind. So here we were in our garden, almost midnight, like wardens with search lights, looking for tabby who has done an Alcatraz over the fence. His missus is in the tub. He’s whispering loudly over to her, ‘which direction did he climb ova’, love’, ‘Well, I don’t knoowwww, swee’ha’!’, clearly upset and half cut. We trampled through the shrubs and sure enough, we shone the lights on this poor orange mass of fur, huddled in a ball, all at sea. He was carried home, with loving care and there were more apologies again for the disruption. Sadly, yon cat was not to be for this world for very much longer, I think it knocked the wind out of his sails. The adventure was all just too much for him, Ga’ help us.