It’s just after 2am and Noel is standing barefoot in the garden, wearing only his skimpy boxers and a grimace as he throws a snowball. Badly. His target has long since scarpered, but Fat Tabby’s days of dining at our expense are over. And we know where he lives.
After the last debacle when Fat Tabby was discovered bothering Socks Akers on his own turf, Noel set up a spy camera to get hard evidence. Using his techie skills and what looked like the inside of a toilet roll and sticky-back plastic, he rigged up a motion-capture camera, pointing it at the food.
The next day, there was all the evidence we needed. Fat Tabby strutting around like he owned the place, an immediate order was placed for a magic catflap that only lets in cats who have the password, which is handily printed on the ID chips on their necks. Unfortunately there was a day, a whole day, to wait before it arrived. Remember when it took weeks for parcels to arrive? No, me neither.
So in that one day, the unthinkable happened, though in hindsight it was totally predictable. Fat Tabby had found an easily accessible source of food and warmth, why wouldn’t he come back again and again and again? Just before 2am and there was such a howling and yowling and carrying on, it was so loud it even woke me. Noel was downstairs like a flash, definitely a PB. Not wanting to miss out on the action, I watched from the window. There was Fat Tabby legging it down the snowy path pursued by scantily-clad Noel, with a snowball. Socks was lurking in the doorway, I think Socks he laughing.
The next day we were telling our cleaners, the Lovely Laughing Ladies, about thieving Fat Tabby and the come-uppance he was going to get, except that we didn’t know where he came from. When they saw the photo, they recognised him immediately, he was Albert from number 3. The LLLs know him as a devious feline, who hides among the teddy bears on the children’s bed and leaps out, claws swiping, paws waving, then sneaks away, snickering like Dick Dastardly’s evil sidekick, Muttley.
Albert. We know who you are. We know where you live. Be afraid, be very afraid. And stay away from Socks Akers. You have been warned.