Pretty much all our neighbours are retired. This is what happens when you move out of Proper London. You might think, therefore, that our neighbourhood cats would rejoice in names such as Tigs or maybe Boots.
But no. When we arrived with our own sizeable feline (who goes by proud name of Vincent Noir) he was immediately forced into battle with the local menace, Johnny Voodoo.
And if that wasn't enough, the cul-de-sac is also patrolled by a pair of fiends known (by Jackie at number 4) as The Black Marauders.
We originally thought there was merely the one Black Marauder (which would be enough for any neighbourhood) until we had a cat flap fitted and Nick opened the back door to chase off the latest beast attempting to gain unlawful access. It's possibly an insight into our lives that he immediately assumed he'd acquired double vision when, out of the gloom, twin Black Marauders stared balefully back at him.
I live in the fear of the day they all put aside their differences and form a gang to terrorise the leafy streets of Staines upon Thames. Thankfully, at the moment they seem quite happy to sit under bushes and growl at each other with just the occasional sortie via enemy cat flaps.
(The observant may have spotted that my drawing also includes Aragog's Bush. This is where the spiders live. Abandon hope all ye who enter there.)
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