A tree and a cat face technical progess

WHO WOULD think that one tree could cause so many problems – especially to a cat?

Amongst my mini-zoo of cats, a dog, fish and turtles, I also have a pet tree. Yes.

This tree has a special place in my heart. It first joined us many years ago when we lived in a flat. Starting out as a seed wafted on the wind or maybe even brought by a bird, the seed immediately made a home for itself in a flowerpot on the patio, kicking out the resident plants and growing into a very pretty bush. A few years later, the bush had grown into a tree, a small one with a few leaves.

I took the tree with us when we moved into the townhouse a few years ago. It was so tall that I had to place it outside the gate, where it sprouted upward and outward in all directions.

By now, the gardeners amongst you would recognise the tree. It’s a Ficus benjamina, the weeping fig tree. Native to south and southeast Asia and Australia, it is also, according to the internet, the official tree of Bangkok.

Well, Bangkok has good taste. The tree is glorious, a welcoming cascade of green leaves throughout the year.

It can also reach 30 metres tall, a big problem in a small soi. Every year or so, I trim it, so that it won’t become involved with the electric wires.

The tree is dangerous for another reason: its roots spread all over the place, digging under tiles and walls. Every three months or so, I cut the roots, since cutting them doesn’t affect the tree.

Now the tree is causing an unexpected problem. As I wrote last week, the people on my little soi have installed closed-circuit TVs to discourage burglars. As soon as the cameras are up and running, I receive a request.

“Your tree is too big,” I’m told. “It’s blocking the view of the other houses. It must be cut back.”

Well, I complain about uncontrolled aggressive dogs on the soi. In fairness, I need to control my tree.

At first, my neighbours help, but they can’t reach all the branches. Then the ladies who help me with my house and animals tell me self-confidently, they can finish the cutting.

Alas, my lovely tree ends up without a leaf on any of its branches. It looks positively naked. In addition, we discover another knot of roots as big as my hand. These need to be removed too.

These roots are so huge it takes a long time to chop them away.

How is a cat involved? In the midst of all the noise, one of the cats has a nervous breakdown. Poor Thep, the soi cat, has spent the night inside the house, where he’s been avoiding the heat.

Thep is frightened of everyone except me. If anyone enters the house when he’s inside, he must escape. It doesn’t matter how gentle a person is, Thep is terrified.

Now, he’s doing his best to remove himself from all the noise and strangers, but his way is blocked. He runs to the second-floor patio and hangs on the screen, moaning hopelessly.

Finally, I carry him outside to the soi, but, still confused, he sits in the middle of the street crying sadly before he runs under a parked car.

It takes a few days before he drops by for a meal again.

Everything takes time. Last night he finally stayed inside, perhaps sensing the coming rainstorm.

My poor fig tree, looking so barren, welcomes the rain. This morning, I see leaves have begun to sprout out of its empty stumps.

Neither cats nor trees care much about CCTVs.