Numbers 1 to 98.


Numbers 1 to 98 and a few houses on the next street too.
The cats know far more than you can ever guess.

The cats on this street live mostly at the better end and the safe middle of the street. The bad end, the dodgy end belongs to the dogs, the bad dogs, the dodgy dogs.
The sort of dogs who do not like cats.

The cats move happily,freely, confidently between numbers 1 and 78, leaving the bad end,the dodgy end to those who belong there and generally consider that they have the best of it.

The garden walls are conveniently low and for those of a less leaping disposition, the older,the kittens making their first forays into the world of cat and those who have over indulged in kitty kibble and scrambled eggs and have become too heavy to leap easily even these walls, well,there are trellises and well placed garden furniture and in an emergency, a plaintif miaow will, although it is a little embarrassing, encourage one of the humans to reach down and give a helping hand.

The cats on this street and at the last count there were 32 of them, are a sociable bunch
Mi cat flap Es si cat flap they say expansively, secure in the knowledge that bowls will always be re-filled and they have mostly managed to train the humans in hand feeding at the table and the importance of leaving plates and dishes at convenient heights and turning a blind eye to a wandering paw, a delicate lick of a almost empty cereal bowl, a quick taste, just to check for quality, of course, of a Sunday roast, a midweek takeaway.

So, the cats like to pop in on each other, quick push at the cat flap, nod to the actual feline resident and then onto the sofa, the cat bed or somewhere else warm, soft and toasty.

The cats curl up with cats that are not their relatives, have little need to fight over the small back gardens, prefer to seek out the warmest, sunniest spots and bask together, knowing full well what attractive additions they make to the already attractive gardens in the good end and the safe middle of this street.

The cats are generally attentive to all the humans whose homes they visit, they writhe around legs, pat knees with paws whose claws are carefully sheathed and sometimes, when they are sure that there is an appreciative audience, they bounce after a butterfly, careful to never catch it, careful to show only their soft and fluffy side.

Sometimes a new cat moves onto the street and then there are brief skirmishes, yowls in the night, even a scratched face, a lightly damaged ear, but the resident cats are persuasive, patient and things normally work themselves out and the new cat settles in and within weeks finds himself, often to his own amazement, sit quietly as a kitten pushes itself through HIS cat flap, sashays across HIS kitchen and then buries its face in HIS cat bowl.
He finds himself making a move which is the feline equivalent of a shrug as he heads out to visit 3 doors down where the humans have just arrived home with far too large a portion of fish and chips than they can possibly eat before it is too cold to still be tasty.

The cats know everything that goes on, they know every grubby secret, all the little, and not so little, secrets that the humans think are so important.

But,because they are cats,albeit sociable and evolved cats, they occupy themselves with the big issues of the day and therefore, quite frankly, they just don’t give a damm.

About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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