Cat About Town

Ruth Walker has been in touch with a poem and says: “A much-loved cat, Hamish, used to wander around St Andrews. There is even a statue of him in the town.”

At first light the noise begins. Engines rev as hard hat men

coax their tractors out on to the road, then, full throttle

roar their way bumpily up to town. More commotion:

cement mixers roll, gravel is shovelled, saws spit and fizz

as Caithness slabs are trimmed to fit our ancient pavements.

Up there, where workmen stand beneath the streets tapping

away at ancient history, life stirs uneasily.

Girls balance polystyrene cups, heels teetering on greasy cobbles.

Youths stagger home to unmade beds. A baker’s van draws up beside

a shop whose awning is already spread, trays of loaves are carried in

to the cheerful hum of a row of girls in pinafores and boaters.

Soon bus loads of children trip out to a timpani of wheelie bins being emptied into dumper trucks. Aloof, a solitary cat raises one paw as he debates the course of today’s itinerary. A demi-blonde provides his answer by unlocking the door

to “Dynamic Hair” ladies’ and gentlemen’s hairdressing salon.

In streaks Hamish to take his nap amongst cans of spray

and hooded dryers first wolfing down a proffered snack

before curling up on his favourite chair, transmogrifying

into a forgotten hat, a fancy wig or a woollen mat – yet, unknown to the public, here sleeps a warrior, slayer of rats, a

veritable Grendel who tolerates now

the noise of shampooing and everyday banter.

He is no run-of-the-mill chap known only to friends.

His fame opens doors to unexpected places.

He sits in shop windows and, by his own solitary endeavour, has awarded himself a runabout ticket and won the freedom of Fife for ever and ever!

“Snowdrops, the first signs of spring,” says Arthur Bruce of Almondbank, Perth, who sent in the photograph.

The staff of a watchmaker’s shop around 1903. Read more at the top of the left-hand column.