There is a cat burglar in our neighbourhood. Last night, he broke into our flat. Fortunately, Joanne was able to scare him out of our house.

I would guess that we live in a house that was built around 1920 or so. It was built using that marvel of British engineering, the wooden sash window. Ninety years on, a smooth operating precise fitting unit it is not. The ones that haven’t been painted shut can be persuaded to open all of about eight inches if correctly wobbled in their frames. They are also devoid of that other marvel of engineering the screen.

The windows have been open most of the time including at night as we have been in the midst of a heat wave. What that means is that it is about the same temperature as we are used to in Toronto, just not quite as humid.

This morning, Jo informed me that in the middle of the night she had heard the blinds rattling and for some reason, knew what was happening. I heard nothing of the sort and had no problem sleeping through the entire incident. Joanne, however, sprang into action.

She fearlessly leapt from bed, ready to employ her perfect karate if required. She went in to our front room to find the neighbour’s black cat standing on our dining room table. I can only imagine the stand off between the two. The cat knew he had been caught red-pawed and immediately beat a hasty retreat.

I can draw the following conclusions from this incident:
1) We are sleeping with the windows shut.
2) We will not be unlocking the cat flap on our door.
3) I am no longer head of security.
4) Those police on horse back do little to deter a first-story feline.