You know what I mean.
They just stand there staring and when the main actor looks a second time, usually before they are slaughtered in your typical Thursday evening suburban bloodbath, the creepy figure has gone only to suddenly emerge behind them holding a long knife etc etc
Anyway, I digress. Sleep deprivation as I say.
Last week, the night before I took on an early morning five-hour drive for a quick visit with the grandkids and do some building work at their homestead, I was kept awake by the well-known feline musical duo, the Scree Chees, who performed on the fence right outside my bedroom window.
These two cats have emerged from relative obscurity to take our cul-de-sac hit parade by storm with their high-pitched efforts winning a legion of fans, most of whom at some stage have thrown open a window in the wee small hours and yelled support. Though it may be abuse, I can't exactly tell in my befuddled state at 3am.
Sensibly I delayed my departure from home because of the tiredness and got to my destination a little later than intended, and because we were due somewhere, things were a bit rushed on my arrival and I simply tossed my bags into the hallway.
Now I don't know whether I put them on the favourite spot of the Cat of the Household, regally named Raja, or not. But I do know he peed all over them in annoyance.
Anyway.
The day over I collapsed into my guest bed late that night and was just drifting off into the land of match-winning tries in the World Cup final when all hell broke loose.
Long story short, a neighbour's cat had crept into the house through the cat door and was creeping round. Raja, to his credit, was stalking the invader. The showdown came at the foot of my bed.
The noise was long and loud. It was like a cartoon cloud with the occasional smash as something was knocked off the shelf.
I managed to work out where I was and get out of bed as the protagonists rolled out the door and into the hallway.
Then the family dog came for a quick look before deciding it was too much for him. Then the daughter-in-law woke up and came running. Then the baby woke up.
By this time I'd managed to scare the fighters down the hallway. They veered off into the bathroom where I managed to jump in behind them and shut the door.
Luckily a window was open and the invader, somehow, ran up the wall and out through it _ stopping at the top just long enough to give me one brief sneering I'll Get You look as he made good his escape.
The bathroom looked like a war zone but we left the cleanup till a more appropriate hour for rising was reached.
Unfortunately, the ruckus had upset Miss One's sleep pattern and she decided the day had already started and slumber, for anyone, was not an option.
When the sun came up we cleaned up proper. Picked up all the hair that had been shed in the scrap; swept up the broken bits of stuff, put all the shampoo bottles back on the shelf in the bathroom.
And after the building work was finished I headed home. Naturally I'd take it easy. Have a snooze on the way. And so I did. Turning the five-hour trip into a seven-hour haul.
Somewhere in the middle of the trip I pulled into a petrol station for a coffee reviver.
It was late. Very few people around. But as I emerged with the magic elixir there, sitting 10 yards from my car just watching me was a cat.
Spooky.
Two hours later I wearily climbed into bed at home. I'd been "under" for what felt like 10 minutes when the Scree Chees started belting out their latest hit.
The rest of the night was a bit of a blur to be honest. I know I got some sleep but it was fairly broken.
I know for sure I was in a deep trance when I got a dig in the ribs and I heard the words of the angel next to me say: "Cup of tea would be nice".
I shuffled to the kitchen, put the jug on, yawned, stretched and scratched where you scratch (ahem). Then I opened the lounge curtains.
And sitting there at the bottom of the driveway, just staring back at me, was a big black cat. When I rubbed my eyes and looked again he was gone.
I didn't dare turn round to see what was behind me.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to editor@whanganuichronicle.co.nz (Kevin Page in subject field).
