Miss Buster, Black Cat
Buster, Secret Agent Cat
Miss Buster arrived as a sweet little black kitten at the end of 2014. Now she's a beautiful, laid-back, friendly cat. She sits on laps, smooches on beds, and loves to stretch out in the sun. Don't let all this lolling around fool you. Miss Buster leads a double life. Miss Buster is a spy!
Under the cover of greenery, Secret Agent Buster slinks and sneaks around the garden, watching from some secret vantage point, posing as a branch of a tree or an old black gumboot. Only the flick of that long black tail will give her away.
I'll be sitting on a seat, reading, or maybe writing a list. Suddenly up will pop Buster, landing delicately on my lap, from out of nowhere. Or I'll be walking the dogs, with a couple of other cats in obvious attendance. I just know Buster will be tailing us, keeping just out of sight. If I stop and call her she won't break her cover and come out in the open to say hello.
Buster the Cat on the Pergola
Buster the spy, agent Double 'O' X, black as midnight, stealthy and silent, never makes a sound. Not a miaow, or a squeak, no cat-chirps and certainly no growls or howls. Even her purr is pianissimo. She's a Cat of Complete Mystery, disappearing for hours on her secret business. Where does she go? I don't know. What does she do, apart from slink around being mysterious? I've no idea. It's a secret.
And Buster keeps her secret life close to her furry black chest. Oh, there's just a little whorl of white, under the chin, and another tiny white bit in a very private place. Shhhh.... Don't tell anyone!
Buster the Black Cat
But then when the evenings are cold and the log-burner's going, or when chicken tenderloins or premium topside mince are on the menu, Miss Buster will glide through the kitchen door. No hurry, mind you - there'll be plenty of time for a languid stretch and a pat or two.
Taking photographs of a Secret Agent Cat has inherent difficulties. Now you see her, now you don't. Here's a typical scenario. I'm working by the water race cleaning up one of the dog paths. It's not a place I'd be found in often, it's secluded and rather out of the way. Suddenly, Buster's black face pops out from a Hebe. I grab the camera which is hanging on a tree branch. But she has disappeared. I call her, but I never sight her again during that gardening session.
Aha! 1500 hours. Mother still gardening. Dog-Path Garden. Over and Out.