Frank McNally Goes Wild

When I saw a press release this week saying that Derek Mooney had been appointed “nature and wildlife executive across RTÉ”, my first impression was that this was a safari park management role. I imagined him driving around in a jeep, overseeing animal life in the teeming wilderness that is Montrose. Whereas in fact, apparently, the job is to do with programming. After years on an afternoon radio show, he’s being released back into the wild, or into the RTÉ offices, or both.

But the incident struck a chord because, in my own modest way, I too have become something of a nature and wildlife executive recently, albeit “across” a smaller organisation: my home.

The responsibilities crept up on me almost unnoticed. First, some years ago, our household inherited an elderly cat that had been in the communal ownership of the road but then chose us (without consultation) as suitable carers for his declining years.

The decline seemed precipitous at the time. In fact, I recall a vet telling us three Christmases ago that the cat wouldn’t see the new year: news that, for me, softened the cost of the drugs we had to buy him. But the old codger has rallied heroically since then, and now looks like he could have another decade in him yet.

In the meantime, we acquired a second cat – Pete Briquette – also by accident. In fact, I personally rescued him as a kitten from a bog road in Tipperary, after first nearly mistaking him for a piece of turf. He has since grown to adulthood. And that, more or less, is how I became a wildlife manager.

We didn’t just acquire two cats, it turned out: we also acquired an ecosystem. First there were the magpies that descended on the cat-food as soon as it was unattended. Then, at least in summer, there were the bluebottles. And then – worst of all – was the army of slugs that squelched into action every time you put food outside the door.

We also have a fox family nearby: not quite as cheeky as the magpies and slugs, but equally grateful for our unintended offerings.

The war against the slugs and bluebottles is ongoing. The foxes and magpies still visit on the sly. But my biggest responsibility these days is trying to keep the two cats apart. They fight all the time. Or rather Pete fights. The older cat, who has renounced all forms of violence in old age, as if preparing for reincarnation as a higher being, just snarls loudly until rescued.

At night now, we have to leave one of them in and put the other out. In practice, it tends to be Pete who gets exiled: he likes his nocturnal rambles anyway. Unfortunately, as we’re discovering painfully, he’s a creature of only half the night.

He gets homesick at about 4am, announcing his return loudly at the bedroom window-sill of whoever he thinks will crack first. I’ve tried to train myself to sleep through this.

Feline psychology

But he always persuades somebody to let him in. Then we have to hope he’ll be too tired to start a fight before morning. Or sometimes we put him and the old cat in separate rooms, not forgetting to ensure they both have access to the litter tray (a lesson also learned the hard way).

A few years ago, I knew nothing about feline psychology, and cared less. Now I’m becoming a reluctant expert. During droughts, for example, I have taken to disguising tap water as collected rainfall. The old cat will not knowingly drink water from the tap, presumably because of concerns over fluoride.

An occasional and welcome visitor to our garden, by the way, is a robin, for whose welfare I also feel responsible. I fear for him, to be honest. It’s probably be a toss-up as to whether Pete or the magpies get him first.

I haven’t seen Pete kill any winged animals yet. He does, however, stare at them with longing, while apparently doing bird impressions – miaowing in a strange, strangulated way – to lure them down. On such occasions, I warn him that if anything happens to the robin, he’s going back to the bog.

Sometimes, supervising our menagerie is a bit like one of those riddles about the fox, the chicken, and the bag of grain in the boat. At least there are no boats involved yet. Which reminds me, according to the RTÉ statement, Mooney’s new wildlife role will also involve responsibility for all developments “in the strand”. That must be Sandymount, presumably. But thank God we don’t have a beach where we live. I’m busy enough as it is. @FrankmcnallyIT