by Jean Mason Davids (adapted for children)
I once lived in the most spectacular place you can imagine – right on the wild, windy cliffs of the Cape of Good Hope. From my little home I could look down, down, down onto the sea, where huge waves crashed against the rocks all day and all night.
Sometimes, if I listened carefully, I could hear the creak of an old shipwreck stuck below the cliffs. The air was full of sound: waves booming, seagulls calling, and even the pshhht! of Southern Right whales blowing fountains of spray into the air.
I had a calico cat who loved this noisy, busy place even more than I did. She would trot proudly along the rocky paths, her tail high in the air, as if she owned the whole cliffside.
But we had a neighbour. He was not a person. He was a cobra!
He was long and golden, with shining scales and eyes like yellow marbles. I called him King Tut. Every so often, when I came home, there he would be, waiting by the steps. He never chased me, and I never chased him. We simply nodded (in our own way) and kept to our sides of the path.
But my cat… well, she was not so polite.
One day I heard the strangest growling outside. I peeked through the window, and there she was – sashaying along the path with King Tut hanging over her shoulders like a scarf! His golden body wriggled and wriggled, but she held on with her sharp little teeth.
“Oh no!” I gasped.
Luckily, after a moment, my cat gave a huff, dropped him to the ground, and spat out some sand. King Tut slithered quickly away, unharmed but very cross.
From then on, I reminded my cat that neighbours come in all shapes and sizes. Some have wings, some have fins, and yes – some even have golden scales and hoods.
Life on the cliffs was wild and exciting, but it also taught me something important: if we respect the creatures around us, they’ll usually respect us too.
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