Housesitting... with a noisy cat

The sticky thing you roll over your clothes to remove cat fur. It’s in a handy place that no-one can find.

It feels strange to rummage through other peoples’ stuff – but we’re house sitting, not trespassing.

I don’t think it’s something people always did, not in Britain anyway. Years ago if a neighbour went on holiday you might be asked to ‘mind the house’ for them. It usually meant popping round twice a day.

At night to close the curtains, and in the morning to open them lest someone realised the homeowners were away and ransacked the house. The old curtain trick was all it took to keep things ticking over while you were in the Costa del Sol. Well it’s different here; everyone in Auckland seems to swap houses over the summer.

It’s a wonder we can track each other down with all this moving around. No-one wants to leave their house home alone while they go on holiday, so they recruit friends to sit in the house and keep it company.

The house we’re sitting in comes with a cat; a cat with a noisy bell on its collar that’s been sent to test me.

Night one: Cat Olympics. The monster was jumping on the bed; off the bed; sprinting in and out of the bathroom and kitchen; long jumping into the kitty litter; and at one point biting me on the ankle on my way back from the toilet.

I’ve re-read the homeowners’ instructions and I can’t find where I went wrong. Not fed the cat enough? Fed it too much? Not brushed fur adequately?

Who knows. The cunning feline curled up in bed with me when the sun came up this morning as if to say, “Right, that’s me for the day, I’ve had a busy night.” It was hard not to enjoy his company despite my usual indifference to cats, and my exhaustion.

So we’re living here for two weeks, 40 minutes north of Auckland on the Whangaparaoa Peninsula, and the views are hijacking my time.

Whangaparaoa is a Maori name meaning ‘Bay of Whales’.

So I’m hoping for a sighting some time soon. Today would be a good time for the ocean’s finest to present themselves; call it nature’s birthday present. I turned 34 today and I’ve been in New Zealand long enough to deserve to see a whale without having to go out on a charter boat with a hundred people.

Be careful what you wish for – breaking news says 90 whales have just stranded on a beach in the South Island.

When I said I’d like to see the whales present themselves for my birthday, this isn’t what I had in mind. I feel terrible; it’s like I conjured it up myself. Summer in NZ: another day, another whale rescue. And something to fill the hot nights with worry.

I don’t know if it’s the birthday or the heat at the moment but when I do sleep – between cat moments that is – I have dreams that wake me up in a sweat with a feeling so residual it sends me hurtling back to things that happened years ago.

It’s with a huge wave of relief I eventually sense the stirring of the man of the house, and one of his middle-of-the-night wisecracks to snap me out of it.

These nightmares don’t happen often but the same ones do recur with faithful regularity every year or so.

My dreams don’t play out the amazing moments of happiness that my life has been full of. It’s the one or two tough times that haunt me. Throwback feelings. Significant moments from the past imprinted on my consciousness with indelible ink.

It’s hard to shake the bad dream hangover for the rest of the day and it’s disconcerting for two reasons.

Number 1: I’m not the least bit tolerant of the intrusion into what is otherwise one of my favourite pastimes - sleep. Number 2: I like bygones to be bygones. I’m a NOW person, trying to focus on the present and indulge neither the past nor the future.

Still, I have to admire the power of neurons to retain excruciating moments from one’s life in such fine detail.

To shake off the nocturnal nerves I’m hitting the beach for a birthday swim. There’s something about the ocean that washes away enduring worries. If God was part of the landscape he’d be the water.

A swim in New Zealand waters is like a religious experience for me - 30 seconds in the deep blue and I’m lying face up thanking God for everything in my life that’s so good.

So while I throw on the togs (aka swimming costume) and slap on some factor 50 to fend off the searing sun, hopefully someone else will fire up the barbie and chill the wine – mine’s a bubbles.

Not a bad birthday for a winter baby.

Until next time, from the land of the long white cloud, all my love.

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