Lesley Barker, Thursday 10 May 2012
Hello Fraser Family, and welcome back!
Just a note to say how much Rachel and I enjoyed your little joke with the bolted gate.
I turned up on the first day after your departure keen to do a good job, armed with the key and all the feline knowledge that I had gleaned over the years (from the back of cereal packets, mainly, as I am violently allergic to cats, as you know) - only to find that the wretched gate wouldn’t open. You had said that you would wedge it shut with a brick, which I found without difficulty – but a cursory fingertip inspection revealed the full extent of your security measures, which certainly would have deterred any burglar under six foot as no-one else would be able to reach the bolt, which indeed proved to be the case… I suspect you had also super-glued it, which I have to say I feel was a tad unnecessary.
Well I wasn’t born yesterday (far from it, sadly…) so I used my initiative and stood on the brick you had so helpfully supplied to jam the gate shut. I could just about reach the bolt then, but couldn’t shift it.
In the end I had to call for reinforcements, and Rachel duly turned up. Well we were technically on our way to the Wine Bar anyway, so it wasn’t a million miles out of her way. Now she is a big, strong girl, but your fortifications were beyond her considerable capabilities also.
Next we decided to ‘up the anti’ by climbing on the dustbin. As we were both wearing our going-out outfits and had kitten heels on (curiously appropriate, now I come to think of it), you can understand that this was not a step to be undertaken lightly. However, the mantle of responsibility weighed heavily on my shaking shoulders and to make matters worse we could see that poor, hungry little kitty looking at us rather balefully through the gap in the fence. (Not a big enough gap, regrettably).
Using the little bio-bin as a ‘step’, and with Rachel holding tightly on to the big bin, I gingerly clambered on top. I wrestled manfully with the gate while the sweet smell of success grew tantalisingly stronger, but STILL couldn’t move that wretched bolt.
At this stage we were seriously considering going back home for some WD40 (technical term – hope you are impressed) not to mention that we were in serious need of a drink by this time. Anyway, after much huffing and puffing, a little bit of bad language and quite a dangerous wobble, it eventually gave up the fight, and we were in!
How we laughed.
Next time please ask someone else to feed your cat.
This entry to Time & Leisure’s short story competition was written by Lesley Barker