'Life is a cabaret, old chum ... come to the cabaret' sings Liza Minnelli (78 today) ... the man on the radio talks of St Patrick and the Taoiseach and his trip to America bearing the usual bowl of shamrock ... the traffic lady talks of collisions, traffic jams and roundabouts and interchanges that may or may not be named after someone.
Not sure whether Lady Clemence and Augustus G Busterson are discussing such things. More likely to be pondering the various nighttime comings and goings.
Having fitted a camera out front, now I can see some of what they see.
There's a new cat, Fermata (small, fluffy, light ginger, plenty of cattitude) on the block that figures their shed is the local bistro. In they pop for biscuits and (ahem) lively banter. Not that Busterson has the finest table manner ... no showing of the menu, no offering of the cat gravy 'wine' list ... just protestations through the cat flap about taking liberties.
A fox came for a couple of nights. Circled around Clemence, but neither passed any remarks to the other. Foxy just wanted what most nighttime visitors want i.e. to be seated, shown the menu and bring me my order of cat food and make it snappy!
A local collie dog came and helped itself to one of the trays of food. Comical to watch the assessment of what was on offer and the decision to take the whole thing to consume elsewhere at leisure. I think I know who the dog belongs to and their predecessor did the same thing. A fine tradition to carry on, especially my finding and picking up of the discarded trays on the following day's walk.
There's a fine collection of crazy moths, bats and spiders also claiming their 5 minutes of camera fame, looking like glowing aliens taking to the stage. Bravo! And Encore!
So ... Come to the nighttime creature cabaret ... pull up a chair and be entertained ... but bring your own food and drink as there's not much left on the menu ;-)
