Nora the Cat

Daily dispatches

My journal

An ongoing record of life inside Cell Block C, filed as evidence and dated for the tribunal. New entries appear as the household offends me further.

Watercolour illustration of Nora, a lean black cat with golden eyes and three grey shaved patches, standing at the threshold of a wide-open suburban Australian back door on a warm spring morning, one paw raised mid-step toward the sunlit lawn; beyond the doorway a golden hen bolts away from a woman in bathers bending to catch her, a brindle dog lumbers across the step, and a row of scandalised magpies line a timber fence; inside, cream walls and warm ochre light, a cracked food tin on the floor and a rectangle of bright morning sun falling across the lino.

3 November 2026

The Mercy Hatch

They call it “the back door.” I call it the Mercy Hatch.

Watercolour illustration of Nora, a lean black cat with golden eyes and three grey shaved patches, sitting upright on an interior windowsill and staring out through the glass with narrowed envious eyes at a single golden hen standing stunned on a sunlit suburban Australian lawn; beyond the hen a brindle dog lumbers away and a row of judgmental magpies line a timber fence under a warm spring sky, cream walls and warm ochre light inside.

2 November 2026

The Defector

They call it “the chicken gate.” I call it the Turnstile of Traitors.

Watercolour illustration of Nora, a lean black cat with golden eyes and three grey shaved patches, crouched low on a sunlit windowsill in an open spring window, staring out through a gap where a flyscreen frame has been lifted clean out, a grey mesh screen frame leaning against the exterior wall being sprayed by a garden hose, a spring garden with a magpie on the fence and sun-warmed lizards beyond, a damp rubber-edged screen and a bucket of soapy water on the sill behind her.

1 November 2026

The Removable Lie

They call it “a quick rinse.” I call it the Removable Lie.

Watercolour illustration of Nora, a lean black cat with golden eyes and three grey shaved patches, nose pressed flat against a fine mesh flyscreen in an open spring window, one paw raised to the rubber edge, a sunlit spring garden with a magpie and sun-warmed lizards visible beyond the mesh, a paint scraper and an open tin of solvent on the sill behind her.

31 October 2026

The Woven Lie

They call it “a flyscreen.” I call it the Woven Lie.

Watercolour illustration of Nora, a lean black cat with golden eyes and three grey shaved patches, perched at the top of a light-wood flat-pack bookshelf at night, one paw outstretched toward a small twist window latch, hardback books used as rungs below her, a sliver of moonlit spring garden and a magpie visible through the glass.

30 October 2026

The Top Shelf Gambit

They call it “a window latch.” I call it the Lock That Laughs.

Watercolour illustration of Nora, a black cat with golden eyes and three grey shaved patches, sitting disdainfully beside a newly assembled light-wood flat-pack bookshelf, with an allen key and a small box on the carpet.

29 October 2026

The Flat-Pack Treason

They call it “a bookshelf.” I call it the Stairway to Freedom (Denied).