Way out West (incorporating Way up North)

tiny noises

I was listening to Start the Week on the radio this morning, and one of the worthy panellists commented on the power of little sounds when heard in relative silence. This reminded me of an incident of a few years ago when I was cat-sitting for the AP. She had gone on her holidays, and I had been left in charge of her ill-tempered and wilful abyssinian.

This creature is not generally allowed to go out at will, although she spends most of her time in the garden given half a chance, coming in only to feed, or to deposit another of the endless supply of small frogs that are the only prey slow and stupid enough for her to catch. Naturally, given the opportunity, as soon as the AP was safely deposited at Kings Cross, she took it on the lam, vanished into the middle distance, and refused to come back in. Occasional sightings reassured me that she wasn't heading North, and more importantly, the sound of her bell was and is quite characteristic and readily discernable.

As she wasn't actually catchable, I decided to let her have a night out, my bed is at garden level, and I can hear most of what goes on outside, if I choose to. Next day matters did not improve, she was still lurking in the middle distance, and had shown no interest in food either. By the end of the day I was beginning to get more concerned; several times I'd nearly caught her, but for a stout creature resembling a pyjama case she has very good accelleration. Once again I gave up, and let her stay out, but in the wee small hours I heard her bell tinkling, and decided to have another go at getting her in and wandered down the garden to try and spot her.

I should perhaps explain that in West London actual silence is very rare, there is always a background noise made up of traffic hum, sounds of the tube and the railways, punctuated occasionally by a distant emergency siren and hysterical fox (in film, this constant noise is referred to, and recorded as 'the wild track' and used to underlay the soundtrack so as to give it an auditory consistancy).

At four o'clock on a late summer morning, for some reason, all was still and silent, and I settled down on an old log to listen for the blasted cat. At first I could hear nothing but the sound of my own heart, but after a few minutes I started to hear a faint rustling, punctuated with little gasps, I flashed my torch around, and all became still and silent once more. As soon as I turned it off, and sat still, the noises started up again.
I was beginning to get quite intrigued, forgetting about the cat, I moved onto the grass, and realised that the sounds were happening all around me. As the soft grey light of the early morning slowly built up around me, I was gradually able to make out what was going on, the rustling noises were being made by earth worms struggling with bits of decaying leaf, and the little gasps were the sound of their bodies retracting into the ground in a panic at some imaginary enemy.

As for the cat, I managed to trap her the next day, and she spent the rest of the holidays incarcerated and furious. To give you an example of her evil nature, her favourite inaccessible bolthole turned out to be behind a damaged ventilation grate in the area outside my bedroom window, about six feet from my sleeping body, small wonder I thought I could hear her in my dreams.

posted by Lampy @ 12/19/2005 09:53:00 am