The Cat's Out of the Bag

In which The Author cannot be trusted with small animals

Rhian has gone away this weekend, on a journey into unknown territory. She's spending a couple of days in Poole, Dorset – a place that neither of us have visited before. As the official transport planner, I'd already established the train as the only practical means of making the journey (see A Dip in the Poole in my blog about public transport). Rhian booked the tickets a couple of weeks ago. It fits around her work shifts, so she's not using any holiday. It's also a rugby weekend, so Rhian will be deep in enemy territory by the time the match kicks off tomorrow. A plan was coming together.

That left only one problem: Alvin.

Alvin is a cat which Rhian acquired about a year ago. He's small, black, lively, and a bloody nuisance. He managed to go walkabout when he was still quite young. He turned up on the Heads of the Valleys Road between Hirwaun and Merthyr Tydfil. Some people driving along spotted him, decided he was a stray, and took him to their house in Rhymney. Alvin and Rhian were eventually reunited through social media, but the mystery is still how he got to Baverstocks in the first place. Our theory is that he climbed into a box outside a house in Trecynon, was picked up in the morning along with the rest of the recycling, and escaped when the refuse lorry reached Bryn Pica, halfway to Merthyr.

I lost count of the number of times he claimed to want to go outside on Xmas night, while Rhian and I were trying to watch a film. He was even worse a few weeks back, when we were (again) trying to watch a film. I've never liked cats anyway, and Alvin has done little to change my opinion. Somehow Rhian has decided that I'd be the perfect person to feed him while she was away. I know I live literally around the corner, but I was sure there must be someone better suited to cat-sitting. Someone who likes cats, for instance.

I've mentioned this problem to a number of my friends, and they've all said much the same thing: 'A cat will last three days without food.' Rhian was horrified when I told her that. I think she thought I was actually serious. Half-serious, maybe.

Last week Rhian managed to convince Rebecca, the former Goth barmaid (who's also Rhian's cousin), to call in twice a day and feed the cat. It was all settled, except that yesterday Rhian couldn't get hold of Rebecca to give her the spare house key. She texted me instead, asking me if I could meet her after work and take the key to pass on to Rebecca. I took the key home last night, and that should have been the end of the story.

This morning, Rhian and I had the following exchange over Facebook Messenger. I knew she was catching the 1122 train from Aberdare, so I left it until then to get in touch.

Me: Remember you're catching the Portsmouth Harbour train (probably platform 1 or 2) and changing at Southampton Central. Beyond Salisbury you're on your own, so if you get stuck you'll have to talk to an English person. Have a great weekend!

Rhian: Lol ok thanks

Me: From Southampton, some trains terminate at Poole while the rest run semi-fast to Weymouth. Make sure the Weymouth train actually stops at Poole before you get on it.

Rhian: Ok I will that would be my luck getting on wrong train

Me: I know, that's why I'm looking at the live departure boards now.

Rhian: You are a great friend

Me: Not that great. I came out without your key, so I'll have to go back for it (or feed the beast myself later on).

Black Ops

In which The Author reads someone into the programme

It's my friend Lindsey's birthday on 15 February, which is an easy date to remember, of course. It's a milestone birthday, too, so we've decided to make it an occasion to remember.

I was in Jac's a fortnight or so when Lindsey rang Barrie, asking if he could put the karaoke gear up for the night. We've been trying to relaunch the karaoke there since Xmas anyway. The War Against the Machines escalated over the holidays. Since the gang has been busy redecorating the place as well, we haven't really tried to pick up where we left off.

Lindsey's birthday could be the incentive we all need to make Jac's the place to be on a Thursday night. Not only have we got a proper stage, professional gear, and a sound system to die for, but the beer is reasonably priced and Barrie and Amanda don't allow idiots to spoil everyone's fun.

The karaoke scene in Aberdare has been dwindling for ages. The Lighthouse still staggers on (somehow), but everyone agrees that it's been pretty feeble since Tara decided to call it a day. Some of the regulars have started going to the Bush, but the more mature among us won't be seen dead in there. Those of us who have been into Jac's have agreed that, if we start it up again, they'll make it their regular haunt.

Lindsey invited me to her birthday party about a fortnight ago, and mentioned that she'd spoken to Barrie. I told her I'd been in the bar when she rang, and suggested that we make it into a proper relaunch party. I've mentioned it to Philvis and Clare, Huntley, Martin, Adrian, Tina and Bethan, and Lindsey's invited some of her gang from her semi-regular karaoke nights as well.

You'll have noticed that there's one name missing from the list: Chazza.

The Incredible Vanishing Girl has reappeared during the last week. She was in town early on Thursday evening; I saw her as I was heading towards Iceland. As usual, we blanked each other. But I did feel a bit guilty about not inviting her to Jac's. We had a nice little gang in the Lighthouse until just over a year ago – and there's no doubt that Chazza would make the most of Barrrie's gear.

She came into the Cambrian on Friday night for Jocelyn's karaoke, but the day before the first international, most people's minds were on rugby. She sang one song, but I caught the 9.30 bus home so I don't know if she stuck around afterwards.

She was there last night, too. Philvis and I were waiting for the singer to arrive, chatting at the end of the bar. Chazza was sitting on her own, just scrolling through her phone. I felt rather sorry for her, in fact. I asked Jenny for a piece of paper, and scribbled a quick note. I wrote down the date of Lindsey's birthday, the venue, the time, and added 'Getting the old gang back together'.

Then I asked Philvis if he'd go across and slip her the note. She was putting her coat on when he gave her the message. She looked a bit confused, then spotted me at the end of the bar. She raised her eyebrows, pointed to herself, and mouthed 'From you?'

I just nodded slowly. I didn't speak, or acknowledge her in any other way. Then I returned to the conversation and didn't look up when she left by the side door.

It occurred to me afterwards where I'd borrowed that particular slow nod from. If you're a fan of NCIS, you'd recognise it as well. It's the look that Leon Vance gives to Leroy Jethro Gibbs every so often. It sends a particular message: 'I know what you're up to behind my back, Gibbs. Just get on with it. If this black op you're planning all goes to shit, don't you bring your mess back to my office.'

Will it all go to shit a week on Thursday? Stay tuned for the next episode, boys and girls …