feral cats, three-rubber spearguns and bush omelets. a recipe.
Concrete roof tiles .. buggered.
Too much rain, too much onshore wind – the copings are done for, the shoulders and ridges are beyond repair – gaps in the tiles all over, battens probably rotten, sarking ripped away by rats – gutters full of rust and dirt.
Meet Frank, the local roofing specialist – he’s up there on the roof now and every word he says is another $1,000 onto the cost of this de-commissioned wreck bought cheap off whatsisname who had to leave for Bali forever in a big hurry six months ago. Baggage one pair of trousers, soiled.
Byron Bay, civilisation’s low-tide mark.
Here’s your hat and what’s your hurry.
Frank is a man of few words, he’s just back from Tasmania. Bit of a diver is Frank, abalones and spearfishing. Cooks his own lunch onsite.
‘Freezing down there. ‘ he says, ‘ Antarctica. Bloke had to winch a ten-foot log onto the fire and get up every two hours to keep it burning.’
Frank is frying up a couple of pieces of chopped bacon.
‘ Heard this low growl about 2 am and looked out of the tent, saw a bloody feral cat sitting by the fire – big sly bastard. Looked at me and looked away.’
Bacon done he takes it off and breaks three eggs into the pan. Puts it back onto the heat.
‘ Slipped over to the ute and grabbed the speargun, big three-rubber job but all I had was a crab prong at the spear-end.’
Scrambles up the eggs a little and adds back the bacon. Tosses them together slowly.
‘ Got a bead on the cat and let it go, got him smack in the shoulder and he took off like a wounded buffalo – ripped the gun out of my hands, I had to step onto the cord or lose the lot.’
Drops in some black pepper and chili flakes, a little salt.
‘ It was like holding back a train, I had to jam a tent peg over the cord to stop him. Banged it in with my foot and grabbed a shovel out of the back of the ute. Then I started dragging him back to the fire. What a racket!
Takes the pan away from the hotplate and sprinkles a handful of parmesan cheese over the top of the mixture. Puts it back on. Wiggles the egg base loose.
‘ Never mind that he’s got three barbed prongs buried in his shoulder, getting him close enough to dong him took about fifteen minutes – and even then he didn’t stop fighting until I’d near chopped his head off with the shovel-blade.’
Takes the pan away again and puts it under a hot grill.
‘ I weighed him on the fish-weights – he came in at about 30 kgs, and that’s without his head. That got footballed into the creek. The bastard! ‘
Browns up the top and then slides it onto his plate.
Nice one Pete. My guess is that we will soon have a post on how to prepare feral cats… With chili flakes of course.
All you need to do to get a bit of cooked cat over here is try the local chinese chicken takeway – in China they serve it sprinkled with honeyed cockroach wings – deep fried for that extra crunch ..
I am sorely offended by the animal abuse you speak of. We should all love our animals. And savor their taste.
Except for those damn sea turtles. Fuck your intestinal track right up, they will.
I don’t know whether to laugh or laugh…
steady Jo, this is a serious topic
So tender, so Frank.
Frank got bitten on the face by a snake under a house in New Zealand, every year on the anniversary of the bite the wound erupts –
He ripped his ear off getting out – we are having lunch together tomorrow – Frank is not a happy lad on the booze.
I just sit on the porch meeting people and writing their stories – or my stories.
I never knew a girl named Patti, but I loved a dark-haired girl named Patricia – in 1962
Snakes in NZ????
Just don’t let Shearer onto the untapped potential of cooking domesticated cats or he’ll give up his road kill program.