Tiger braves the winter

Tiger braves the winter

Sonia Kelly

Readers will by now be au fait with Tiger’s achievements - how he passed his latest NCT, how he survived multiple encounters with traffic wardens and, finally, how he got to be the proud possessor of a Disabled Driver’s sign. Now on his agenda is winter …
In summer the four-mile trip into town is simple - in I get, turn the key and away Tiger goes. Not so now. Because the windows are all obscured. This is caused either by ice, rain-drops, or  dew, and the muddy footprints of the cats, who use the roof as a look-out post. Well - ok, the windscreen wipers take care of front and back, but the side ones, including mirrors, must be wiped with a cloth. Which just smears them.
Inside it’s another story. All the glass is fogged up. Starting the heater might help. I do that and it roars on while I feed the birds and gather up the cats’ breakfast dishes. Then I enter Tiger. The heater has made little impression on the windscreen - just a small clear circle above the dashboard, which I can see out of it if I put my head on the wheel. So I wipe the glass with my glove. Result: slimey horizontal streaks.
Eventually I move off, anyway, squinting out at dashboard level.
After a mile the fog inside clears, but it could well be that a fog outside means that this makes no difference - it is still almost impossible to guess where the road is.
But - hey - maybe the sun is shining. Things look good and Tiger’s windows are less opaque. Off we go, down the drive and look right at the gate. What’s there? Just a blinding shaft of sunlight that totally obliterates every other feature in the landscape. If anything is coming, you would need radar to find out. So it’s cross my fingers and proceed. This happens again, thanks to the low-lying sun, at an even more hazardous turn on to the main Leenane road. Now there are cars behind, so if one dithers too long, horns will begin to sound. Nothing for it but a deep breath and turn left - eyes as good as shut.
Then, just supposing no bang has ensued, it’s into the supermarket car park, where the same condition prevails, i.e. blinding light. Should nothing happen to be coming out, by sheer luck it’s possible for Tiger to reach sanctuary - in the form of the wheelchair space - courtesy of the famous sticker. Talk about a scary journey!
Shopping done eventually, it’s up and out of the car park. “Turn left”, say the instructions, left being up a steep hill. By some mischance there are parking spaces each side of the entrance and, as huge vehicles are always in them, once again (and no fault of winter this time) it’s impossible to see what’s coming until the middle of the road is reached, by which time it would be too late to avoid anything. Well, the heater can be turned off now, anyway, as the noise it makes seems to blind one, as well. Which is odd, don’t you think?
If a crash has been avoided one more time, it’s fairly plain sailing homewards - until reaching my drive, which is another steep hill facing directly into the sun. Tiger struggles blindly, not daring to go at more than half a mile an hour for fear of mowing down the cats, who are spread out sunbathing. I rev the engine to activate them, but can’t stop on the hill, so proceed, expecting to feel a bump as one, or more, are squashed. Having finally reached the house, I look back - miraculously there are no corpses!
An all-round achievement, considering Tiger’s age. Being a feline himself, presumably one of his years is, like all cats, equal to seven of our’s, which makes him 112. Something to be proud of, no?
No complaints here about the health service.