The Commando

Cats, I used to tolerate them. But Israel has changed all that. I absolutely hate them and would not hesitate in making life as unpleasant for them as I could. If you’re an animal lover I’d stop reading now.

A few months ago I arrived home to be greeted by a strange aroma in my front garden. I couldn’t quite identify it but is smelled like extreme damp. Coincidentally and probably attracted by the prospect of damp, my plumber walked passed the house so I called him in for a consult.

“Sorry mate, it’s not the damp you were expecting, smells like you have a resident cat whose marked his territory.” “We’ll see about that”, I grumbled. No cat was using my garden as a toilet.

To combat the growing rat population in Palestine, the British introduced cats, and now they are a plague. Thanks to my fellow countrymen I have one of those cats’ grandchildren using my garden as a lavatory.

Armed with a hose I set up watch. The smell was getting to me but it was worth the wait. In he came, sliding under the gate and on to the grass, then suddenly whoosh, my hose let rip and the cat bolted, but like some war beaten veteran, I continued spraying until the cat was out of site. Then I sprayed the garden down until the smell had dissipated.

Next day the cat was back with a mate. Two soaked cats scampered out the garden. Meanwhile what I didn’t know was that a second platoon cats had set up a base camp in my back garden. I only found out when one of my kids stood in something unpleasant.

I cant cope I thought. I cant be in two places at once. But tried running from the front to the back spraying anything that moved.

Suddenly I was in Apocalypse Now. “You smell that? Do you smell that? Water, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that. I love the smell of water in the morning. You know, one time we had a garden bombed, for twelve hours. When it was all over I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' cat body. The smell, you know that water smell, the whole hill. Smelled like... victory. Someday this war's gonna end...” Yet for me it had just begun

My hose was my M16, a good cat is a wet cat, I mused. Then they appeared. Black, white and ginger. The whole gang. I had learned from last time and set up some traps. First I sprinkled pepper by the gate. Black was out of the race but white and ginger pushed on. Then there was the lemon juice, guaranteed to set any cat off. Ginger was off, just white, mean white. “Darling”, my wife called, “why have you painted your face green and black?” “If I don’t make it,” I replied “tell the kids I love them. I’m going in”.

“Do you feel lucky, punk…?” I mumbled. White looked up to receive a blast of icy water. As he turned to go, another blast. He wont be walking with his tail up for the next few days.

Then I heard a fight at the back. I quickly sprayed lemon juice and pepper mix over the garden and ran to the back. Hose plugged in, water ready, I edged my way along the wall and rounded the corner to see two cats going at each other like two women on stock day in Fox. “Ok Ladies, drink this”. A squirt of lemon juice followed by a blast of water. And that was that.

Then white was back, sliding along the back wall. Whoosh. “Have you had enough White”, I shouted “or do you want some more?”

White never came back, nor black or ginger. I get this vague satisfaction now when I see cat road kill.

They are all part of creation but exactly what roll they play has yet to be determined. My grass will recover, I suppose, but the cats won’t be back.

Who am I kidding?