Security and the defecation of my cat

WE are living in a steel trap.

We must be. Two years ago September 11 happened and we tightened security. Then Bali happened and we tightened security. Since then we have been warned of further security threats and we have tightened security.

Security is so tight now that our cat can’t scrape a hole in the flower beds without the neighbours narrowing their eyes and reaching for the phone.

My wife says they’re ringing me to complain but I reckon they’re ringing the security forces.

I had a call a while back from someone wanting to know when the Townsville Show was on. They had a foreign accent. I told them, but as I hung up I wondered whether I should tell the police about it.

Ridiculous, of course. Thousands of people must ring thousands of other people and ask similar questions. Some of them are bound to have foreign accents!

And anyway, the show went off without a hitch. Without a terrorist hitch anyway.

Of course, I’d have felt a complete prat if it had turned into a smoking crater during lunch.

So maybe security is tighter… I mean, if I can be suspicious of a perfectly innocent phone call and the defecation of my cat then I must be thinking about it.

I want to believe it’s ridiculous, but I’m not sure any more.

I’m ashamed to admit I don’t think I want security to be any tighter. If we squeeze much harder we’ll all choke to death of tightened security and the terrorists will be laughing all the way to the chemical weapons factory.

I suppose they’ll consider that just as effective as poisoning water supplies or plunging big chunks of America into darkness.

I just wish we could deal with it without over reacting. America has only been plunged into darkness at night, after all. The light comes on in the mornings without any help from us. Naturally, you wouldn’t want sick people to suffer. But it’s not the end of the world. Not unless you’re really sick.

And why would you all swarm out onto the streets where there are rogue lamp posts and kerbs that creep into your path at the wrong moment and dogs’ doings hidden in the darkness under your feet?

Why not stay at home where you know how the furniture is arranged and you can find the cutlery drawer with your eyes closed?

And where you no longer have to put up with the infernal row from the fridge and the washing machine?

Someone will say I should take it all more seriously.

Oh but I am! I’m fighting back. I am going to laugh at it all. That’s what they did in subways in London when Hitler was dropping bombs on their homes. They sang and they laughed.

And you’d rather I laughed than sang, believe me.

The only thing that bothers me is that if they really are tightening security every five minutes it won’t be long before I can’t do those things either.

My wife says she never thought she’d be grateful to a terrorist.