My darling Jabu

For once I can say I have had a more exciting time than you. While you were stroking puff adders in the bush, I was tracking tigers in Delmas. It all started with a monumental misunderstanding.

About a year ago, my dear friend Goosey Fernandes brought home a delightful kitty, Panjo, from the SPCA. Now I do not know much about cats other than for Moxxie, my hairless Brazilian pussy, but I did point out that Panjo seemed rather large for a domestic feline.

It turns out I was right as Panjo kept growing and growing until 17 months later he weighed 145 kilograms and looked remarkably similar to a tiger. Regardless, this unlikely pair became inseparable. Goosey would often tear-up and say to me, ‘Trinity, Panjo is the only pussy I’ve ever loved. He’s a kitten around the house, but a tiger in bed.’

Panjo and Goosey went everywhere together. I recall during one of my visits we were driving from his smallholding into Delmas to stock up on essential provisions at the bottle store when he was pulled over by a traffic officer. The man, after he had recovered from the shock of seeing Panjo between us, said, ‘You must take that thing to the zoo immediately.’

Well, it was a bit of a diversion to Pretoria, but we managed to get back just in time to make our purchase from the liquor store before heading home for a well-deserved sundowner. On the way we were again stopped by the same official. ‘Magtag!’ he exclaimed, ‘I thought I told you to take that thing to the zoo?’

‘You did,’ smiled Goosey. ‘Fantastic suggestion. Tomorrow I’m taking him to the movies.’

I sort of lost contact with Goosey after that because it became a bit tiring having him speak about pussy all the time. As fate would have it I had another encounter with a tiger soon after, which led to the monumental misunderstanding I alluded to earlier.

I was at Sun City at the same time a golf tournament was being staged. I was sitting on the verandah with my second or third chilli mojito when an awful commotion came from the course: ‘Tiger! Tiger! Tiger! I remembered something similar when staying in a village in India and was so thankful for the safety of the hotel deck that I ordered another drink.

Later I was playing roulette when a swarthy Asian gentleman sidled up. After losing heavily on a few spins of the wheel he purred into my ear that he was a golfer having trouble with swinging. He looked so forlorn that I went with him to his room to help him with his game. Passing him a club I took up stance behind him and whispered in his ear that the grip was everything in golf. Just then a security detachment burst in and escorted me from the room.

It appears the gentleman is quite well known and I have since become embroiled in the troubles he is having with his wife. Scurrilous tabloids, for whatever reason, have even dubbed me the Tiger Whisperer. It was the literal interpretation of this tag that had Goosey phoning me in an absolute state on Monday evening.

‘Trinity,’ he wailed. ‘You have to help me. I was driving through Delmas with Panjo on the back of my bakkie when I hit a pothole and he flew out. Now he’s gone walkabout in town and I’m at my wits end. He loves people, but if he has to go three days without food he might start loving them even more with gravy. You are the Tiger Whisperer and you have to help.’

I did not have the heart to disabuse him of my expertise so I immediately got into my pink Cadillac and headed east. When I arrived it was to find that he had also enlisted the services of a tracker known as Mad Mike and his slobbering Rottweiler, Brutus. That night and Tuesday we searched everywhere, following numerous leads. Then we struck it lucky on Wednesday morning when a call came in to say Panjo had been seen in a tree.

When we got there it was to find Panjo surveying the world from his lofty perch. Mad Mike, after assessing the situation, went to his truck and selected the necessary tools and loaded a shotgun. To me he said, ‘Now listen carefully. I’m going to climb the tree and knock Panjo out. When he hits the ground Brutus will run over and subdue Panjo by biting his testicles. He’ll hold on until I’m out the tree and able to get Panjo into the cage at the back of the vehicle. Under no circumstances are you to get involved, but I want you to take this shotgun just in case.’

‘In case of what?’ I stammered.

‘Oh, that’s in case Panjo knocks me out the tree. If that happens I want you shoot Brutus before I hit the ground.’

Mad Mike need not have worried as all went according to plan and Goosey was reunited with his beloved Panjo. The cat, who had grown a little tubby since I had last seen him, was none the worse for his ordeal. Goosey was so overjoyed that he invited the whole of Delmas to a party at the local hotel.

Given Panjo’s weight problem the celebration was quickly dubbed ‘Fat Cat’. There was even a band, The Tenderloins, for the affair. Have you heard of them? They really are quite good. They are fronted by a hugely talented duo – woodwork teacher Julius Malema and ex-soldier Siphiwe Nyanda. They really got us going with that Percy Sledge classic, Warm and tender love.

Love you tender