Of black cats and tennis balls.


Remind me if I have told you this one before. For you see I am getting old and forgetful, as the years pass by.

A while back, I was in my bedroom putting on some spackfilla while Mrs. Spark lay on my bed chatting away. I glanced out of the window and smiled. There was an adorable baby bunny, white in colour, having his breakfast of grass and let’s face it, weeds. It was a perfect day. I motioned to Mrs. Spark to come and join me in witnessing the gorgeous scene. As she was about to get up, something caught my eye. A black flash.

It was my cat Chuy.

Now I am not known for my elegance, speed, lithe-ness or athleticism but something awoke in this tired bod. There was a belly in my fire and the other way around as well. Adrenaline flooded my veins and I took flight.


I burst out of the front door, almost stumbling on a tennis ball. I picked up that ball and ran at that cat, who by now how poor bunny by the ears. He took off, I chased him and with the precision of a carefully considered David Warner type aim, I pegged that ball at Chuy, who gave me a look of disdain before dropping the bunny and taking off for the hills. The bunny, who was probably wondering what the fuck just happened, was a bit stunned. So I scooped him up and made sure he was not packing a severed artery. Which indeed he was not.

I carried him right down into the back corner of our heavily planted out garden and released him, where he scampered under the potting shed. Re-read that sentence please. It doesn’t really belong on this blog. Alas it is true.

The end.

Now THAT story came to the front of my cerebral vortex cortex last night. Black cats and tennis balls.

Chuy and I were lying on the couch watching the ABC like every other Australian does on a Monday night. All of I sudden I felt his body tense up and just like that, he sprung from the couch and ran into the kitchen. I heard some noises I had never heard before. It was vicious and loud. Could it be the return of Voldemort?

I went to explore. Indeed there was Voldemort in my kitchen.

(Voldemort is the neighbourhood bully. He is responsible for many vet bills. He is very, very unpleasant. He has entered via the cat flap which I had forgotten to lock.)

Voldemort looks exactly like Chuy. A black, short-haired domestic, although he is slightly larger. A few months ago, I did a letterbox drop along with another school mum, whose cat was also being bullied and harassed. I hadn’t seen him for a while. But there he was. In my kitchen. IN MY KITCHEN!

There was a tennis ball on the bench. My kids play a lot of tennis. I picked it up. Voldemort must have sensed some shit was about to go down and took his leave. I was again filled with adrenaline and I chased him up the side of the house and out the gate. I stopped. I couldn’t see much but then I heard his menacing growl. That little fucker was still there. So I charged into the darkness, did I mention I was sans bra? I hollered like the dudes from Braveheart.


I pegged the ball in the direction of the howl. I am pretty sure I heard a connection, because then I heard a hasty retreat.

Then I spent the next 30 minutes trying to find Chuy, who had also taken advantage of the open door and had fucked off as well. I knew if I left him out there would be another huge vet bill in the morning. So, as a last resort, I had to open a can of Fancy Feast, which is a sound that erases his memory, and he came running in. I locked the cat flap and went to bed thinking “I am far too old for this shit.”

Have you ever had an unwanted intruder at your place?