Bobby Gatto moves to Brunswick

One day Bobby Gatto came to live with me again. Bobby is my cat. He had been living with my daughter and her two gigantic dogs so his life was not always peaceful. However I was anxious that he might not adapt to the urban environment, having been a suburban cat who lords over vast expanses of gardens and peaceful neighbourhood streets.

I was wrong. 

It did not take him long to understand that we are on the first floor and he has to go down the steps at the back. He does not mind the expanse of concrete, he likes the tin roof over the carports and he walks over the dense choko vine into the neighbouring yards like a bird treading on lilypads. I have seen him climb the ancient almond tree next door. He has befriended the people living downstairs, and no doubt other neighbours. After the heavy rains, he brought us offerings of captured rats, not all dead.

He loves his cat door that Vince had installed in the back room window. He loves that he has human company most of the day and most evenings. He loves sprawling in front of the old radiant gas heater. But he gets annoyed with me when I do not open the front door for him and let him out that way to explore. That way leads to busy Brunswick road, not a place for a cat. One day, I fear, his curiosity will take him there. I hope his street smarts will bring him scuttling back to the backyard.