I was at the kitchen sink, looking out over the back garden from behind all of the pot plants on my kitchen windowsill. The work of a woman is never done - I was slaving away, cleaning the dishes and bemoaning my lot.

My view beyond the potted plants is the lawn, with one of the weeping willow trees at the end of the garden and beyond that, my neighbour's paddock and then the fields of the local farms. It makes doing the dishes less of a chore being able to look out over my little bit of heaven on earth.

High up in the weeping willow I have a bird feeder, full of peanuts. It's high enough up so the cats can't pounce and get a bird, but let it not be said that my cats, Marble in particular are feint-hearted.

A blue tit arrived on the feeder and was helping itself to the nuts therein. Marble was in the long grass at the base of the tree and he pounced up the trunk, landing a long way from the feeder, but he was making the effort. Now, this particular bird had its fair share of brain cells and just hopped further up the tree, out of harm's way and cr*pped on Marble's head. At this point I almost peed myself laughing.

At the same time as the blue tit let Marble know of what he thought of him, my voice boomed out through the kitchen window, "Marble! Get down! Leave that bird alone! You're a *bad* cat!" If there's one thing I can do, it is shout loudly. My Dad was a sergeant major in the army and I think I've inherited his vocal chords. Needless to say, the effect on the offending feline was instantaneous and Marble dropped like a stone from the tree trunk. He looked somewhat abashed and started looking around for the "hoomin from hell" who was berating him.

He couldn't see me. So he leapt up the tree trunk again.

"MARBLE! You BAD cat!" I yelled again.

This was too much for Marble who dropped like a stone once more. He was wide eyed, looking all around but he just could not see where the voice of his conscience was coming from. Hehehe!

He started to walk back to the tree.

"MARBLE!"

That was it, Marble stood still, unmoving. He still hadn't worked out where the voice was coming from. He slowly tucked his tail between his legs and slunk back round to the open back door and came in through the cat flap. Of course I said, "Poor boy! Did that nasty bird c*ap on you and not let you eat it?" To add insult to injury, I then bathed him free of bird sh*t.

Once he works out what really happened, he'll probably pee on my duvet.

Copyright © Helen Simmons
April 9, 2000