As usual, the cats woke us this morning. But this time, it wasn’t for breakfast.

The neighbours on the hill have a vineyard that’s just starting to come into fruit, so they’ve hooked up a series of gas-powered devices to scare away birds. Every few minutes, an explosion issues from the hill. It started at about 6.30 this morning.

We live on the highway, so the noise doesn’t bother me too much. The goats, on the other hand, are probably used to small-calibre gunfire by now, but the louder, early-morning gas explosions spooked the hell out of them. One got loose and found its way to our kitchen window. (It probably doesn’t know how much Mim and I like the taste of goat meat…)

So Timmy decided to park his voluminous arse on our heads and meow loudly: “Guys, you gotta see this! This is the weirdest shit ever!”

To a cat, goats must be the equivalent of the people in the Mars or TDK ads. I’m pretty sure this is the first time our cats have seen one. From a cat’s perspective, goats have weird, curly fur, spikes sticking out of their heads, and their eyes—their eyes!—are twisted through 90 degrees from what they should be. Let me tell you, if you really want to screw with a cat’s head, there’s nothing better than introducing it to a goat.

Mim managed to corral the goat once more and mend the fence, but the cats are still running around the house in some kind of surreal daze. Perhaps if I can find the catnip, I can dope them up and convince them it was a vision of heaven; then, I’ll have my own little army of furry, four-footed Hashshashin