I’ve been thinking a lot about competition, or competitiveness, of late. This is partly because I’ve embraced the inevitable and joined a bridge club, and partly because our beloved cat, Blackjack, keeps getting into fearsome fights.
You might remember that Blackjack had big trouble a while ago when a neighbourhood bully decided to sink a tooth deep into his skull. At the time, we thought he would be bald and battered for ever, but in unfeasibly quick time he was back to his handsome self and, after a phase of locking him in at night, the spat with whoever his furry foe was seemed to dissipate. Now it’s fisticuffs all over again and, as they say in the movie trailers, this time it’s serious.
TL has a theory that, if we withdraw Blackjack from the fray by keeping him inside, the interloper will take over the disputed territory and the situation will be even more dire when Blackjack’s cat flap is finally left open at night again. I think this is testosterone speaking, but I fully understand that it is testosterone, or at least catsosterone, fuelling the cat. On the other hand, I reason, if we bench him for a while at least he will be still capable of fighting. He currently has two huge bald spots – one on his leg, one on his tum – while his ears look as though they’ve been nibbled by mice. Maybe they have, maybe the mice are ferocious around here. I wouldn’t be surprised, in this postcode.
I’m quite tempted to get a cat cam, so we can actually see what’s going on – but not tempted enough to actually shell out for one. Plus it will be yet another piece of technology that I only half understand, with a whole bunch of downloading/uploading to do, like the most boring homework ever.
I suppose it might be worth the bother if I can then watch giant mice terrorising our cat. But he might find it doubly humiliating, poor darling.
And how does the bridge fit in with this, you may ask? Well, it’s sort of the same. Maybe even more so. But fun!