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“There he is, the Mauler of Maryhill Road” my neighbour spoke quietly. We both stared at a big fat ginger tom cat with dirty socks on each leg, flinty eyes and a split ear that waved in the wind. “He cruises the car park at night servicing the hormonally charged female felines and fights with other cats, it’s like a scene from West Side story down there at midnight”
I could only imagine the dance scenes with cats running wild between the cars under the fuzzy moonlight of the west end of Glasgow. But recently we did have an influx of cats that didn’t seem to belong to the people in the flats around here. They hung out near the bins and sometimes one or two sat on our car bonnet after the engine had been turned off and enjoyed some lasting heat. I had spotted two black and white cats that seem to enjoy sitting near the Aga Shop and had a haughty look on their face, like they were lending to the countryfide image by hanging about a posh shop. On the opposite side of the road there was an angry looking skinny cat who hissed at you as you passed the Asian vegetable store. I imagine he had issues and hated people in general.
I look across the car park and spotted Big Tom, he looked over as if he knew we were talking about him.
The big cat came over to me; he head butted my shins, his giant solid head cracking off the bone demanding attention. I am sure he winked at me, I was being flirted on by a big fat man cat and it was strange to say the least. He stared at me, expecting me to bend down and rub his bulging cheeks, I could hear his purring and he actually strutted in front of me, showed me his balls then came back and glared at me for attention. I stood there looking at him, and then I heard a high pitched scream and the sound of sandals clacking on the ground. It turns out the women from Afghanistan who love picnics in the garden of number 90 hate and fear cats! I didn’t know this but by the screaming, burqa flapping and jangled arm waving, head holding and foot stamping I now know those women don’t like cats. Big Tom stood his ground he had been here for years and owned a harem of lady cats and a bunch of squealy women weren’t going to shove him off his well earned patch. That cat looked racist and sneered at them through slitty sneaky eyes, licked his lips and strutted towards them.
Big Tom merely walked over to the big brown car that belonged to the women and nutted the wheel trims with his hard head and slinked towards the screaming group who were now lifting babies and toddlers away from the big ginger cat who had no fear and was clearly coming to eat them all.
“he won’t hurt you, he is just a cat” I tried to reason, but Big Tom didn’t need a lawyer to represent his intentions, he was about to duck beneath the flapping cover of a burqa and slink around the ankles of a poor woman who was now pinned to the wooden fence of number 90’s garden. She stood silently but with a scream on her face as she clutched the wooden posts for stability.
The old horrid man who writes notes about the exclusivity of the number 90 garden watched on with glee, he hated the Afghanistan women and their penchant for sitting in the garden and was egging on the fat cat by sniggering and nodding vigorously. I began to think he was in cahoots and could control the cat by his evil mind powers. Then the cat meowed loudly.
At that moment a wee brown faced cute boy with big chocolate button eyes, dipped out behind his mum, bent under her black burqa and picked up the giant cat. He walked over to the grass and put big Tom down and walked back to the women who cheered and clapped their small hero. The cat sat on the grass, spotted a stupid sparrow and immediately leapt on the dumb bird and sat punching it with a fat paw. It was the circle of life. Big Tom now stalks the far end of the car park, you can hear him at night grabbing female cats and pulling them into the bushes for some cat screaming sex, it doesn’t sound like fun, but then how weird would I be if I enjoyed the noise? Circle of life indeed.
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