(Under Weasley’s Deck, Wednesday 02 July 2025, 5:35pm)
After a rather long hiatus (due in part to climate changes and my own internal “issues”), I am pleased to report that the Mindful Meetings have resumed. The first was held last Wednesday night underneath the deck at my house. I swept up the leaves with my tail in preparation.
We began with our usual settling-in ritual: a few deep breaths, a brief paw cleanse (optional), and a minute of silence in memory of our dear friends Ron and Squeak, who both crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year. Ron, the crazy nutcase. Squeak, the grounded music-lover. They are missed.
The usual suspects were present—Serafina, Hypo, Smokey O’Neill, Cookie, and Spooke (who arrived fashionably late with a slightly crooked ear). We also welcomed several new members, including:
Mr Darcy, a stately grey tabby from Purau, arrived with Cookie, who also lives there. He has a rather nefarious background in legal matters (although I suspect his legal experience is limited to basic conveyancing).
A neighbour of mine who is a fairly new arrival to Diamond Harbour. He’s a black cat with a tail so fluffy that even I am envious, but his name is so indecipherable that I’ve taken to calling him Beddy Bye Boos. I once caught him sneaking into the kitchen through my cat door and helping himself to my bowl of salmon supreme, but he seems to have mellowed. I think he has a medical issue, so I’m trying to be empathetic as he’s possibly on medication.
Kona, a sleek, slightly lost-looking Burmese from Charteris Bay, who spent the first half of the meeting orienting herself in relation to the Peninsula whilst eating a bowl of chicken snacks.
After pleasantries and the exchange of tail flicks, Serafina suggested we begin with a Speaking Paw round: “What do you appreciate most about living in Diamond Harbour?”
Hypo, ever the poet, launched into a monologue about salt breezes, seabird cries, the scent of wild catnip wafting from ditches, wind chimes and a bit of poetic rambling about how the native bush speaks in riddles if you’re quiet enough to listen. She finished with a soft sigh and stared meaningfully at a pile of wet leaves that I must’ve missed during my clean-up.
Mr Darcy immediately shifted the mood. “Where, exactly,” he said, “does Purau end and Diamond Harbour begin? Legally speaking.” A few cats nodded politely. I sighed. He launched into a spirited explanation involving historical boundaries, council bylaws, and the urgent need for clearer signage. This prompted an interlude where I had to explain (again) that although I technically live in Church Bay, my heart and social life reside firmly in Diamond Harbour. My big brother Winston, who literally lives about three macrocarpa hedges away, claims Church Bay as his own and insists on treating me like some sort of out-of-town guest.
Kona looked mildly panicked at this and began licking her tail. She’s still recovering from getting lost a few weeks ago and ending up at a garage sale on the outskirts of Teddington.
That was Spooke’s cue. “The Diamond Harbour Facebook page,” they/them began, “is a marvel of modern communication. Lost pets, suspicious characters, and wandering livestock—all covered. It is run by an elite group of admins who meet regularly at the pub to drink pints of craft beer and discuss policy.”
Hypo looked intrigued. “Do they do imperial pints?” she whispered mysteriously.
Mr Darcy tried to steer things back to property disputes, but Smokey O’Neill raised his paw and launched into a proud retelling of the feline arm of the Volunteer Fire Brigade’s latest triumph. “Seventeen cats, safely evacuated from a house fire. Rats had chewed through the electrical wiring and a koala had to be called in at short notice to sort out the mess. Rodent-initiated fire scenarios are now part of the training modules. And our isolation protocols are second to none. Naps are scheduled every two hours, non-negotiable. I think we have the koala to thank for this initiative.”
There were murmurs of admiration, although I personally had doubts about the probability of seventeen cats being in the house at the same time. Even Mr Darcy looked impressed—he was apparently once part of the Brigade but left under mysterious circumstances involving a catnip incident and a ladder.
Serafina attempted to refocus the group by reminding everyone of the Diamond Harbour Cat Rescue Group’s core goals. She recited them with the solemnity of a mission statement:
- Rescue and rehabilitation
- Responsible adoptions
- TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return) programmes
- Public education
- Emergency assistance
Mr Darcy was quick to offer his services, promising free legal advice in exchange for premium kibble and quality catnip. I made a mental note to secure my treat cupboard.
At this point, Beddy Bye Boos yawned theatrically and slinked off. I seriously doubled he was going home to bed and suspected he intended circling back through my cat door to polish off the last of my fancy catnip chews. I’ll check later.
Cookie, ever the optimist, attempted to start our Comfort Chorus—the signature group purring ritual. But the mood had shifted and no one was in the mood for purring. Hypo was still drifting on ocean metaphors, Spooke was typing a comment via their owner’s iPad, and Kona was nervously scanning for signage and checking her location on Google Maps.
In the end, the meeting dissolved into a chaotic series of yowls and tail flicks. Strictly speaking, a rule breach, but nobody cared.
We’ll try again next week. Same time, same deck. I’ll double-bolt the cat door and hope for the best.
Twinks from Koromiko was very disappointed to miss this cat culturally centered event, his mother would not let him out the door. He is considering requesting legal advice from Mr Darcy
I don’t think Mr Darcy has much wiggle room in his busy schedule at the moment – plus his advice can be slightly dodgy.