Christchurch

It's a beautiful Sunday in Christchurch. The sun is shining and there's not much wind. I can see my father on a step-ladder trimming a tree into the shape of a torpedo. It's probably not the best time to be standing on the fifth step of a ladder practicing torpedo topiary. On the radio Murray Deaker is asking people where they were on Tuesday at 12:51pm before asking them what's to be done about the state of New Zealand cricket. Occasionally an Iroquois helicopter flies over and sometimes you hear the odd siren fading into the distance.

Mum and dad just took the Honda to a petrol station in Harewood. There was a sign outside that said petrol purchases were limited to $4.00 with a smiley face at the end. They thought this was a strange amount but decided $4.00 worth of gas was better than none. You had to prepay before pumping and the attendant explained that the petrol ration was actually $40.00. The smiley face was the final zero with a smiley face drawn inside to cheer people up. The extra $36 worth of petrol cheered my parents up no end.

Last Sunday was a beautiful day in Christchurch as well. This time last Sunday I was in Hagley Park setting up for our 2pm matinee of The Complete History of World Rugby Abridged. There were already people there and soon more arrived with their chairs, rugs, small children, small dogs, chilly bins and baskets. They popped their Lindauer corks, cracked open bottles of Marlborough Sav Blanc and sipped Steiny Pure. Crackers were covered with cheese and faces were covered with sunscreen. Fish and chips were unwrapped while children queued up for Tip Top ice-creams from Bill and his wife who are there every year fundraising for something. We went to the hospital cafe and I got some roast chicken and veges for lunch.

On the Friday night some idiots had tipped over all the port-a-loos, tried to wreck one of the City Council flag stands and done their best to uproot a tree but only succeeded in bending it over. By Sunday more port-a-loos had been delivered, the Christchurch City Council flag was flying high and someone from the gardens had replanted and straightened the tree. The old port-a-loos were still there and now vertical thanks to the combined strength of our two security men but were cordoned off by yellow tape to keep people out for their own safety.

By 2pm there would have been well over 500 people there. It was a glorious sight. They all stood up and sang our revamped Rugby National Anthem with us, laughed as Andie appeared as Buck Shelford's testicle and clapped along with our Village People medley. Many of the younger children seated out to the sides could see behind the set and got more enjoyment out of watching us change costumes. Between shows Rikki and I went to the Dux to grab some salad and watch the start of the New Zealand verses Kenya cricket match. The Dux courtyard was full of people downing pitchers of piss. We didn't stay long because Kenya were scoring at about 1.7 runs an over and returned to the park, grabbed a free Trumpet from Bill and played cricket behind the stage.

That evening another 500 people appeared. It was a cooler night but they were prepared and had plenty of blankets and red wine to get through. The Liquid Velvet coffee van did a roaring trade and it was probably the best show of the season so far. The weather forecast for the next week wasn't great but had been getting better and the final Sunday was looking fine.

Which it is. It's just gone 2pm. Who knows how many people would have come to Hagley Park today. Maybe a 1000? The Crusaders would have played the Hurricanes in Wellington yesterday so plenty of people would be talking about the result with Murray Deaker. The Arts Centre would be filled with people eating souvlakis. The Dux would be filled with people drinking Nor-wester. The Art Gallery would be filled with people looking at art.

The Caledonian Hall where I saw Faith No More for my first ever concert would still be standing.  The flats with their immaculate flower boxes in the ANZ Bank Chambers on the corner of Litchfield and High which I had often admired with envious eyes would still exist. The Cathedral would still have a spire.

And at least 146 people would still be with us.

A Shoulder to Purr On

I've always liked most cats and most cats seem to like me. I think it's because they know I'm allergic to them. When I was young I only had to walk into a room where a cat had thought about going and my eyes would swell up and start running as if I was watching the bit in Heathrow airport from Love Actually over and over again. They seem drawn to those who can't stop themselves from touching them even though they know they shouldn't. Every stroke is immensely pleasurable, hopefully for both parties, but deep down you know you'll forget to wash your hands and end up in the shower feeling guilty.

Thankfully I can now walk into a room where not only a cat has thought about walking but has actually walked and walk out unswelled and unscathed. In my 36th year I finally became a cat-owner and experienced the infuriating delight of their unfathomable nature. Many people say cats are aloof and solitary and countless stand-up routines and books have been based on the difference between cats and dogs with mostly unfunny results. It's a bit of a waste of time and paper though. Cats are not aloof and solitary and dogs are not loyal and subservient because cats are cats and dogs are dogs and neither know what those words mean.

Here's a photo of me with a kitten on my shoulder with only my glasses to protect my eyes from allergenic mayhem.

This kitten is not my cat. My cat is much bigger and has never sat on my shoulder, even when she was a kitten. I didn't even know my cat when she was as small as this kitten and this kitten is much smaller than any kitten should be at this kitten's age. The reason this particular kitten is so small is because he cannot pooh.

The one spot of luck this kitten had was ending up at a vet where Potpinto's partner Astroyore worked. While most would have left him to die of unnatural causes, she took him home to nurse along with his sibling runt who was much bigger than he was. I first met him a few weeks ago when I visited to get my dongle with a video of one of our runs of The Complete History of World Rugby Abridged.

I smelt him before I saw him. He was completely blocked up and the size of a small pencil case. His tiny bottom was distended and coated with a Cadbury like layer of liquid seepage. He was a backed up black and white fur ball with two of the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen and I instantly adored him.

The minuteness of him was astonishing. I wasn't sure how old he was but he was only half the size of his sibling runt. I was about to pick him up when he climbed up the leg of my jeans and continued over my imitation Christ's College blazer to make himself comfortable on my shoulder like a feline pirate's parrot. Astroyore told me that a lot of kittens like to sit on shoulders and nuzzle your ear or nose however they soon get bored and jump off. What made this wee fella different was by the time he had made it to your shoulder he was too exhausted to get off again so would settle down and if left undisturbed go to sleep in your clavicle. For such a small pooh laden mite he had a remarkably loud purr and seemed to like nothing better than to bury his muzzle in your ear and lull you with his happy throaty cackle and rattle.

I don't know why but he just loved being close to your face. He would walk back and forth along the back of your neck and sometimes settle between your shoulder blades like a tiny acupuncturist with only his purr to give you clues about which way he was facing. If you worked out where his head was you knew his lethal anus was facing the other way, just waiting to shower the back of your ear with kitty cream egg goodness. This was a risk worth taking. This was one cool cat. One very cool very sick cat.

His unofficial name was Poohbum, his official name was Malone and he died around 6am on Tuesday, February 8th. The night before he died I went round to get my dongle and Astroyore gave him to me to cuddle wrapped up in a towel to save me from leakage. He wasn't in a good way and didn't purr once. I stroked his bony tummy and he whined. Then he climbed up my jacket with great difficulty and sat on my shoulder in silence. I hope he was happy he had made it to the top. Astroyore stayed up all night with him but there was nothing to be done and in the morning he went into a coma and died on the way to the vet.

God knows how many kittens die every day. Bad people throw bags of them into rivers. Thankfully there are people like Astroyore and Potpinto who give a few a chance to beat the odds. I hope Malone enjoyed sitting on my shoulder as much as I did. In retrospect the one thing that would have made me happier is if he had shit on my shoulder...but he was much too classy for that.