A new cat has moved into the neighbourhood. No idea where it lives, but it does sport a responsible birds-beware bell which Jake can hear from two storeys up, across the street and 50 metres away, and while in the midst of a snoring-deep, tummy-pointed-to-the-ceiling, chirping-in-his-dreams kind of nap.
Before I even hear what amounts to a faint and distant tinkle—and I’m sitting right beside the window—he’s leapt into serious Not that bloody cat again! mode, shot past me and has his nose pressed up against the screen, sending out Stay off my driveway if you know what’s good for you, bucko vibes.
Or maybe he’s just admiring the bling?