Local Fuzzies

I don't always take an international approach in my wildlife interests. Sure, I deliver seminal treatise at international fora concerning pandas, elephants and ibis, but sometimes I like to bring it back - local school styly. As the great naturalist and wildlife molester David Attenborough once said, "Think global, drink local." I think it was him anyway.


The animals in my area are an endless source of amusement, apart from the Noisy Miners which are making my life hell, but I have already addressed that in Miner Disturbance so I won't re-hash.


The dead bats on the power lines are always fairly amusing. Emergency Contact likes to rate them by how angry the expression on their faces are, combined with with how fuzzy and orange their fur is. It's a complicated set of formula, and I don't pretend to understand the whole thing, but you know she's admiring a particularly good one when you hear, "Ooooooooo. He died angry."


On that theme, we are both admirers of two cats that we pass on the way to the train station, Missus Angry Head and The Gonk. I don't actually think they're their real names, because that's what EC calls them and I don't think she asked. But they have got their names because they absolutely deserve them.


I want to know who it was who first set out to breed a Persian, but then said, "Yeah, look, it's as fluffy as hell, but can we get the head looking a bit more pissed off?" Missus Angry Head makes Winston Churchill look like he was permanently on happy gas by comparison. She has been made no happier by the arrival of her little chum, The Gonk.


The Gonk looks like he is a careful blend of Nermal, a tennis ball and a Tribble. He's almost spherical, static charge fluffy, and with a perplexed and surprised, wide-eyed look on his fuzzy round head. They make us happy.


Actually, if you are into random fuzzies in the street, my area is an absolute goldmine. We live opposite a big big park which runs from Mascot to the Olympic Park, so there's all manner of beastie roaming around out there. One bloke has told me he's even seen a fox quite regularly come out around dusk. I'm not going to pretend I think that's no good, and that the animal should be caught and done away with. I used to see a fox quite regularly up on Mona Vale Road and I liked it. They're cute and interesting and the odd fox is not going to do much more damage than a lot of people's badly behaved domestic cats. Except Missus Angry Head and The Gonk. I know them. They wouldn't be bad.


We have a collection of semi-wild, semi-domesticated cats that live under the cars out the front. They hang around in a criminal little group, and I have named them the Local Band of Ruffians. When you round the corner at night and the headlights hit a certain spot under one of the cars, you will see about 15 pairs of eyes reflecting back at you. You just know they're up to no good. I was wondering how so many of them got to be a clique until I witnessed our local version of 'Crazy Cat Lady'. She's indulging her madness bit by bit, rather than going for the whole urine soaked nightmare in the home.


Every day, this woman drives down to the park, from I don't know how far away, and feeds all the cats. I think she's really hit a good place with her problem. She's still hoarding wildlife, but it's not going to take men in bio-hazard suits to clean out her deceased estate.