That is NOT Lui. Not my cat. Whose ? – a matter of conjecture …
Yesterday morning …
At the unspeakable hour I am always dragged from my bed by the cat who IS Lui – the close vicinity of 5 am – I let him out the side sliding door into the yard and went into the kitchen to turn on The Coffee Machine. Waited for all the processes of heating and grinding and pulling the shot and making the milk red-hot, and finished. Suddenly realized Lui hadn’t come back in.
Wandered casually out and around the back part of my yard, to find Lui and him up there ^ in that photo squaring off at the end of the pathway. The second he ^ spotted me he went up the 12′ metal fence as if it was a set of stairs: truly, it was amazing ! Lui, my totally beloved 12½-y-o mog, hissed and spat and growled at me from the depths of his gut. Wouldn’t let me near him. I went back inside with my coffee and drank it morosely.
Eventually Lui came back in, behaving as if nothing had happened: jumped up onto my lap and purred, the little bugger. I punished him by hugging him very tightly.
Last night …
Went to bed around 9:30, as you do… Awoken by the sound of Lui mucking about in the vertical blind over the side door. Knew instantly what must be going on, and yes, there he ^ was, the great bastard – sitting in my little pot-planted yard, driving Lui insane. I waved my arms almost as if trying to stop a taxi from roaring past me in the driveway, and he ^ climbed leisurely up the wooden fence and sat on top of the gate. No faces I made at him had any effect. I couldn’t just go back to bed and leave him there: I had to make sure he had GONE. So I was obliged to open the sliding door; and Lui erupted out under my feet. He ^ turned and walked swiftly back along the top of the dividing fence and disappeared.
I went to where Lui was hissing and spitting and growling under my standing planter and tried to speak calmly to him. Being an extremely stupid person sometimes, I put out my hand to him; and he let fly with a right uppercut. I screamed really loudly because he had two claws wedged in my hand, and managed eventually to detach the latter from the former. Then I went back inside and applied bandaids. Lui came back in within a surprisingly short time, and once again I was in the company of Dr Jekyll. (Btw, my scream appeared to have awoken nobody. Just goes to show that it’s no more safe living within the grounds of an aged care facility than it is living outside one.)
I’d been over to Belmont to my optometrist, run into H ! and had a pie-and-cuppa and she drove me all the way home, the kind love !; and then I did my usual in this fuckin horrible weather and got into my nighty and dressing-gown. Him up there ^ then strolled casually past my front window, causing frothing rage. Jumped up without giving a moment’s thought to my attire, grabbed my phone and leaped out the front door in hopes of seeing him ^ ‘go home’.
He never did; but he walked rapidly – can’t call it ‘running’ – from the Units to Bella Chara* and into some bushes there. Need I add that not only appeared around a corner an admin bloke whom I really like and admire, looking every inch the professional businessman; but very shortly our duo was augmented by a car driving up that contained the CEO, who is a woman I admire enormously and like commensurately. There we were, the three of us, chatting in friendly fashion about this bloody cat: Alwin in super winter coat, Joy in her car but without doubt as well-dressed as she always is, and me in my nighty and dressing-gown AND UGG BOOTS.
I could’ve died.
So there are two more disadvantages re living in MACS: (1) this goddam cat that will be making Lui’s and my life a misery unless we can trap him and make the Council take him to a cat thingy; and (2) the fact that if I’ve done my usual towards the end of the day in terms of ‘dress’, I am not to go outside no matter what.
*The part of MACS that’s for people who can’t be totally independent but aren’t so helpless as to need actual aged care
It’s my address.
I kinda knew it would cause problems, but I didn’t realize how they would point up our national postal service as being … well, unbelievable, really. Nor how they’d show just how appallingly unsatisfactory is our taxi service.
The whole complex has the address of 100 Weddell Road; and admin says that for mail I simply preface that with my unit number and a slash (forward, not the … ahh … bladder-relieving kind !). But being an old fart and not having a car, I do a lot of shopping on-line, and need to have stuff delivered. So will Australia Post deliver to my door, as I have always understood is their byword ? – they will not.
Their database is one used by many on-line suppliers – like, a whole big lot of them. And when I tried to get that database to change my address from my previous one, it would let me add nothing but 100 Weddell Road. And having exchanged several emails with bloody AusPost and also several phone-calls, I now know that the reason for this is that “if we allowed everyone there to add their unit number, they’d all expect to have their mail delivered to their door !” Right: we all would. There are EIGHT units. :\
As for the taxis – that’s a horse of a different colour. The driveway to MACS goes off to the right from Weddell Road, and at the very beginning of this driveway is a big “MACS” sign clearly identifying this very spot as the taxi pick-up/drop-off point. Since my address is given as [unit no]/100 Weddell Road, the drivers just roar down the driveway into the distance, heading for the main entrance – scarcely within coo-ee of me. I have to be waiting on the corner and just about jumping under their wheels to stop them passing me: waving like a windmill is apparently not enough.
As the weather is and has been for weeks inclement-to-put-it-mildly, standing outside to collect my taxi is not fun. Even less fun would be going all the way up to the main entrance. I am a hag-ridden, exhausted, irritated person.
Yeah yeah – so what else is new ?!