Neighbours, a wise theme tune tune once sang. Everybody needs good ones it maintained. It would then go on to proclaim unto us, with much harmonious fortitude that, with just a little understanding, we could find the perfect blend. Then Harold Bishop left and it became shit. Then he came back and it got even worse. Then, realising that it had fallen from being one of the top soaps in the Country to a ghastly, unwatchable disaster, Neighbours did the only decent thing it could have under the circumstances; it moved to Channel 5 where it would never be seen again by anyone. (Unless it was put on in place of House by mistake)
The trouble is, oh wise and omnipresent theme song, that I have strived, and in some cases, even believed I had achieved that fabled "perfect blend" with my geographical peers. It's just that I could now be likened to a small child beavering away to build the most elaborate sand castle on the beach, knowing the tide will soon come to undo my work. To tear it down as if it had never been. And it's coming in all too often lately. To the point where I no longer see the purpose in taking my bucket and spade to begin with.
My journey from being the fresh faced, smiling,wide-eyed new neighbour to the pessimistic curmudgeon who types these words you read, is a long one spanning five years. Here is one such highlight which, I promise, won't take you five years to read.(Unless anyone who went to my High School is reading this, in which case, it's a grim possibility)
Cat's the way (uh-huh, uh-huh) I like it
Several months upon moving into my bare shell of a rented property here in Scotland, my wife (then heavily pregnant girlfriend at the time) suggested that we should get a kitten. With me working every hour the kind management staff at Dixons could write on a rota, and our daughter at this point still several months away, I eventually conceded a kitten would make a good house mate for Shell in my hours of absence. A wife devoid of loneliness is a happy one I reasoned. It also did me good to think, that with a cat to interact with, she wouldn't need to hold the window cleaner back, taking him in for lengthy chats while I was out pushing consumer electronics.
Little more than a year into the cat's life cycle we began to have real problems with the old lady two doors to our left, feeding our fluffiest family member on a sometimes more than daily basis. The feeding I feel on reflection, we could have handled and for a long time did, yet things began to escalate as she started to keep the cat in overnight. At times, weeks would roll past when the cat had spent more time living at Cassà De Los Geriatric than it's own abode. When it became very clear that the 'ignore it and hope for the best approach' had failed me, I decided it was time to stick my nose in and break an old lady's heart with my rightful claim to possession. However, as I stood in the hall, gleefully straightening the brim of my special old person heartbreaking hat, ready to cross the threshold of my front door, it struck me; There was a much gentler way to hit this objectionable feline fancying on the head for good.
Reluctantly, passing Shell my esoteric headgear with an instruction to return it to the glass display case for another day, I made my way to the antiquated pussy plunderer's front door where it opened as I approached. It seemed old Wrinkly McCatsnatch had taken this exact moment to have to hurriedly be somewhere else to fall in line with a prior engagement. As I made a short walk with her, I explained that a recent trip to the vet had revealed my cat suffered from a rare medical condition and any deviation from a newly prescribed diet could cause it to die of bowel obstruction. Taking a moment to reflect on this information, the last piece of my masterplan slotted into place as she told me she would do her bit to ensure the cat's diet consisted of nothing but my (imaginary) medically prescribed, kitty cuisine. And then, all was well in the pet-related part of my world. Till the next day, less than twenty-four hours after I'd dropped the medical bombshell to my elderly adversary, while making my way to the car, I saw her beckoning my cat into her house with a large bowl of food.
Six months elapsed and it started to become apparent that we were fighting a losing battle. With the medical condition card played out no less than three more times in the form of a gentle reminder, it became apparent that our incontinent inconveniencier either didn't believe us, or simply didn't care. At this stage we were lucky if a week would elapse wherein the cat would pay us a visit much less stay overnight and when it did stay overnight, it would very kindly leave us the memento of a hot steaming shit behind the couch to clean up. From this it was only rational to deduce, that the old lady had bought the cat a litter tray so that she could keep it in for many days in succession, conditioning the cat into believing it lived with her, not us. The whole time the cat had been with us however, it had refused to use a litter tray, favouring the great outdoors (and in particular the part of it that contained my next door neighbours garden) as her own personal toilet. It became clear that the only decent thing to do now, would be to relinquish ownership of our family pet fully and hope that every so often we'd get the pleasure of seeing her pass by our front garden every once in a while. But seriously, when has doing the decent thing ever been fun?
One visit to the local listing site Gumtree was all it took before we found our ex-pet a brand new, and most importantly, geographically distant home, some fifty miles or so from where we presently reside. Things couldn't have played out any smoother as after arranging an end of week collection our cat swung by, and was subsequently nabbed from, our back garden the next again day. She was then kept in overnight and, as was now par for course, left us a steaming brown welcome gift to our new day, as we descended the staircase the next again morning. Early that afternoon the keen adopters of our once proud house pet arrived to take her away, by sheer dumb luck and happy coincidence, while our oldest neighbour was out of her house. For the real pay off I had to wait five long days, when, as I made my way back from the car I was confronted by a familiar, wrinkly face.
"Haven't seen the cat around for a while" She began. "Has she been with you by any chance?" She asked, almost as if I had some explaining to do if that was indeed the case.
The words almost danced with triumph as they made their way from my tongue to her ears, dripping with false empathy:
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I thought you might have guessed. Remember when I told you about that digestive condition Lenne had? I had to take her to the vet last week, absolutely floored with pain she was. Turns out she's managed to get food from somewhere that falls outwith her dietary needs and she was in such a bad way - That the vet had to put her down."
After telling me how sorry she was to hear the news she made an about turn and headed back into her house, hands up to her face as the grief set in with the realisation that she was a premeditated reckless cat killer. I too made my way back to the house. Removing my hat as I passed through the front door, I then made my way to the cloak room where I returned it to it's stand, in the glass case, and closed the door.
"That'll do hat. That'll do."
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