At first glance I can’t see why the brown cat is sitting motionless at the end of the veg bed, fluffed up like a teddy bear.
There’s tension in the air; the female pheasants have left off preening and pecking and they’re just standing there, looking startled and anxious, although that’s pretty much their normal look.
We seem to be getting all the movie cliches you’d get in a western shootout as the tension builds: the Clint Eastwood stare from the bristling cat, the gaggle of townsfolk, we’ve even got the ineffectual sheriff, looking on from a safe vantage point as the cock pheasant watches from the top of the hedge.
Finally the greenhorn – in this case the athletic-looking tabby that’s trying to muscle in on the brown cat’s territory – emerges from under the hedge, trying to look as cool and unconcerned as it can under the circumstances.
Just one more movie cliche: the victor walked away in slow motion, pacing confidently along the top of the timber at the edge of the veg bed. It reminded me of the opening titles of Walk on the Wild Side. I’ve never seen the movie, but the titles, with Elmer Bernstien’s sassy score, are rightly celebrated. It features an alley cat patrolling its territory in slow motion.