Frederick Hates Cats, Too (an introduction of sorts)

 

Curiosity peaked.  Whoever lived there had kept a low, low profile. Never saw a shadow, regardless of the time of day.  I had even made a point of changing my routines in an effort to discover who the owner was.  The nightly constitutional proved disappointing.  Where do people disappear to?  Off to stare at the big, blue screen? 

The grass was perfectly manicured, landscaped beds produced vast quantities of tulips and daffodils in the Spring, roses throughout the Summer and there was no need for Jesus when it came to the vegetable patch.  Patch being a gross misnomer.  Cigar smoke and The American Songbook drifted in nightly.  Unlike the daily assault of grease emanating from the next door neighbour’s window; aromas of fresh chopped chive and baked bread found its way out of the courtyard.

It was pure chance encounter. He was chasing (or rather attacking) a trespassing cat when I first came upon him.  I had gone to the alley to confirm my suspicions about the noise.  Cats mean rats and the sudden appearance of two dead rats in the alley set panic amongst the neighbours.  The cat ran for one of its nine lives and was promptly followed by a rather large wooden spoon.  I took a tentative step to retrieve it.  What kind of pot needs such a large spoon?  The gate hadn’t latched and I decided it was now or never.  A few more steps. 

 

“Damn it woman, get your heels off the lawn!”