Originally published in The Clifton Courier, March 10, 2022

It’s always a good idea to give someone a spare key to your house. 

Now, I’ve had my key-related dramas before and I’ve documented some of them here in this column. 

There was the time I was out jogging and my keys fell out of my unzipped pocket, resulting in a frantic retracing of my steps. There was also the time not too long ago when I went out for a jog and realised I’d locked myself out a millisecond after the door lock clicked behind me. 

These things happen. 

So I’ve given out copies of my house key to a few people. Each of my sisters has one. My curly-haired friend has one. My tall friend has one. I’m pretty sure my parents have one… or, if not, they need to remind me to give them one. 

I have back-ups on back-ups on back-ups. 

It’s comforting to know that, if I do find myself locked out of my house, I can call on the Keepers of my Keys to come to my rescue. 

It gives me real peace of mind.

But it’s about more than getting access to my home.

I like that, if I go missing, one of them will be able to pop in to free me from the pile of old newspaper I was trapped under. I love that, if one of them is coming to my place for a visit and I’m running late, they can let themselves in and make themselves a cup of tea. I like that they could surprise me by sneaking in to do my laundry, mop my floors and leave a scented candle just for something nice to do (if so, please use the disinfectant rinse to get rid of the dank sweat smell from my clothes, pay special attention to the area around the bin and, please note that I prefer floral scents). 

So there are a whole bunch of keys out there that can open my front door.

But when I had someone stay with me for a few nights, I realised that I didn’t have a single spare key to give them. I’d given them all out. So I had few more keys cut. 

I got two to give to guests and one more just-in-case key. I put little ribbons around them and stashed them in a safe place. 

I felt very smug about this. 

Then, the other day, I went out for a jog. 

Now, before you go thinking “doesn’t she every learn?!” I will have you know that I did separate my house-key key ring – which is a bright yellow clog and a bright green bottle opener, which I’d selected to make them easy to spot should I ever drop my house key again – from my car keys and put it in my pocket. Which I zipped up. And I even felt for the key ring in my shorts as I was stepping out the door. I felt my pocket for said key ring when I out on my jog just to make sure it was still there. 

And it was still there when I got home and walked back up to my front door. 

I unzipped my securely zipped-up pocket and pulled out the key ring.

And then I realised. 

My key wasn’t on my key ring. 

I had unwittingly put my house key on a different ring in my bundle of key rings. Ironically, having more keys cut left me without a key. 

I had the little yellow clog. I had the green bottle opener. But didn’t have my house key. I’d have been all set if I were trying to assist a fairy who had lost a shoe and needed a beer opened, but unfortunately I wasn’t trying to assist a fairy who had lost a shoe and needed a beer opened – I was trying to get into my house.

And not only was I very thirsty and really hot, I also had a wedding I was supposed to be getting ready for. 

I thought about who to call. My little sister had recently had a birthday, so my Brisbane-based sister was in Toowoomba feeding her cake, along with my other sister and my parents. So they were no good. 

My curly-haired friend lives on the other side of town and was possibly at work.

But my tall friend lives 15 minutes away.

So I thought I’d start with her and, if she wasn’t around, I’d work my way back down the list. Thankfully, she was not only free at the time, but she was planning on popping by to pick up some stuff she’d left here. 

The system works!

Originally published by The Clifton Courier, March 3, 2022

I think the cat next door has it in for me. 

Straight off the bat I need to make a declaration: I’m not a cat person. I mean, I like that they’ve got this witchy vibe about them and I also appreciate that most cats seem to have other things going on in their lives so they’re not particularly clingy pets who need your attention all the time. 

But as much as I loved Aristocats as a little girl, I’m just not into cats. 

I recently stayed with some friends who had two cats, which turned me off opting into the world of felines forever. There’s the kitty litter issue. The stench of their food. And, just to really drive the message home, I witnessed one of them vomiting up a hairball on the kitchen floor.

Can you imagine coming home from a real stinker of a day at work, finally taking off your shoes for the day and walking into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea only to trod on a slimy mound of cat hair?! Not only is that extremely gross, but it’s also a major hazard. You could slip and hit your head and, look, I’m not saying cats are terrible people, but they certainly wouldn’t call the ambulance for you, you know? 

I just don’t want to deal with any of that and I certainly don’t want to deal with that within the confines of my home.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not polite to cats when I encounter them. And I’m always polite to the cat next door. 

I’m fairly certain one of my neighbours took in the cat belonging to the fellow who lived here before me after he relocated to New Zealand. I’m assuming said cat is the one I keep encountering because of the way it keeps looking expectedly into my front door.

So I’m extra considerate towards this cat.

I mean, that’s pretty rough. You live with someone and build a life together and then, one day, they just up and leave the country without you. Sure, it sounds like the responsible thing to do on old mate’s part, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t sting. 

So when the cat first tentatively approached me as I sat on the doorstep tying my sneakers before a walk, I was gentle. It kept looking past me and into the house. Maybe I’m projecting, but I’m pretty sure it was looking for old mate.

And it broke my heart a little – I may not be a cat person, but I’m also not made of stone! I said words to the effect of “Aw geez, he’s not here anymore mate”, and outstretched my hand to offer it the option of having a pat while not invading its personal space. But the cat just left. 

This kept happening until, one evening, I let the cat in to have a look around. It went into every room. It even looked in the wardrobes. It seemed to understand. 

After that, the cat has allowed me to pat it a few times. Sometimes, it rubs up on my ankles as I’m hearing out down the driveway. I mean, we wouldn’t go out of our way to see each other, but when we did, we were friendly to each other. 

I thought this meant the car was warming to me. 

But now I’m not so sure. 

When I noticed mulch around my newly-planted lavender bushes was displaced in cat-sized patches, I just assumed the cat just liked to sleep in my front garden to feel close to his former owner. 

When I heard the cat clawing at my doormat, I thought it was just because the mat really does lend itself to sharpening claws and I didn’t mind so much because it’s not really damaging the mat. 

But then, the other morning, I noticed a cat poo sitting right in front of my front door.

And I’m finding it very hard to shake the feeling that it was… deposited there on purpose as a message directed at me. But that’s just my imagination running away with me, right?