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It's all two by two stuff here at the moment. Spring has a weird effect on everything. The large peach and nectarine orchids in our Hawke's Bay area are smothered in blossom. The poplars at the back of our place are greening up and a massive magnolia nearby is a magnificent sight.
Ollie is in the last stages of spring fever. He lifts his head to watch the duck pairs flying overhead. You can almost see the thoughts running through his brain like a ticker tape - unfortunately he knows that duck pairs equal ducklings on the creek behind the poplars. Groups of sparrows are scrapping in courting frenzies on the lawn. The cat waits silently nearby. He knows that some besotted sparrow will soon forget all it knows about security and fly directly into his mouth. A thrush has taken to singing her head off from the top of the Jacaranda tree. Her mate listens and performs intricate aerial gymnastics. The cat climbs the tree but can't make it to the top-most branch. Ollie tries to break up a couple of blackbirds who are having an amorous session in the rose garden - no luck.
But wait. Ollie has spied two small dogs who are 'at it' on the footpath in front of the driveway. He can't stand it. Discretion is flung out of the window. The cat tears down the driveway and flings himself onto the passionate pair. Coitus interrupted. The dogs yelp hysterically, rip themselves apart and scarper in opposite directions. Disappointment from the cat - he really thought he was on to something.
The cat stalks gloomily down the drive towards the kitchen. Then I see him look up and get that light bulb flash of awareness. Ted is up his short ladder in the kitchen, painting the top-most cupboard. There is nothing I can do - it all happens so quickly. The cat tears into the kitchen, jumps onto the kitchen bench and eyes the considerable distance between the bench and Ted's shoulder. It was two by two stuff. "No", I shout from the doorway. "Don't do it Ollie."
It is no use. The cat flings himself through the air and lands neatly on Ted's shoulder. He kisses Ted's ear. Ted manages to balance in the air for a full five seconds. Tin of paint in one hand and a paint-brush in the other he is every bit the dying ballerina in Swan Lake. But the cat swinging on his neck is too much for any ballerina. Ted crashes to ground in slow motion, paint flying everywhere and the cat riding him grimly. Coitus Interrupted.
Editor's note:
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