PeoplesPost

No, I'm not in a five star restaurant, ordering breakfast. And no, neither do I have a personal chef at home. That is me, offering breakfast to my early morning guest.

Not just any guest, mind, but Mr Big Daddy. King Kong. Tarzan's buddy. The alpha male of our local baboon colony.

We've become quite close, Big Daddy and I. He comes round every now and again, stopping by for breakfast and some friendly banter. And I was offered this exclusive pleasure again this week ? oh my shattered nerves.

As usual, I was having breakfast on my little stoepie, my one-eyed cat Toye by my side, basking in the early morning sun. Once done, I went inside through the sliding door to wash the dish, collect my handbag, cellphone, keys and lunch box and head off to work.

But as I turned around from the sink, my honoured guest was looming in the sliding door, approaching me very menacingly, demanding breakfast.

So I did what any normal, scared witless human being would do when faced with a hairy beast almost as big ? and probably heavier ? than I: I fled to the safety of my bedroom, firmly shutting the door behind me.

Now, last time Big Daddy came round, I waited for a few minutes (okay, about 15 minutes) until he was completely absorbed in the treasure cove that is my food cupboard, before surreptitiously slipping out of the room, not making eye contact or baring my teeth ? in fact, trying to appear invisible and failing miserably ? and out the sliding door. There I waited for him to finish plundering my cupboards before I could go in and do damage control.

But this time, I was not so lucky; I was held hostage for an hour. Big Daddy was having a picnic ? literally. Having unsuccessfully tried to open my (thankfully) old-fashioned fridge ? the door has a knob you have to depress while simultaneously pulling the door ? and not finding much interest in Toye's food, he took two packets of pasta and the Provita from the cupboard, together with my neatly packed lunch, and brought it over to where I was hiding.

He sat there, right outside my bedroom door, munching away on raw pasta. It is a truly frightening sound to hear those Jaws of Life (well, probably Death, more likely) crunch on the pasta like us mere mortals would eat crisps.

I could hear his rasping breath; I think he even burped once. Ew.

I sat crouched against my side of the door, holding the handle up with all my might, lest he try his luck. While arriving uninvited in my kitchen is one thing, I was certainly not sharing my bed with a stranger!

But then I started getting panicky: what if he decided to "use the bathroom" in my kitchen? What if he discovered my freezer ? cleverly disguised as a large, white coffee table with a table cloth over, hidden in the spare room ? and depleted my food stash? What if he got a whiff of me (I believe animals can smell fear, which I was reeking of, the way you reek of perfume when you go to the shops and sample every single perfume on offer) and started pounding on the door? What if he broke down the door? What if...

And with my cellphone inconveniently tucked in my handbag, on the kitchen counter, ready for work, I felt stuck between the Devil and the deep blue sea ? or rather, Big Daddy and the deep blue sea.

So I carefully stepped away from the door and walked on tip-toe to the window ? slowly, lest my trousers rustle ? to see if I could unscrew the burglar bars. I was clearly desperate. But alas, I had nothing to unscrew the burglar bars with anyway, so I went back to crouching by the door.

I could hear Big Daddy still chomping away. Toye came in through the window, took one look at the closed door, gave it the Evil Eye (well, the only eye) and fled.

Suddenly it became still; was it quiet before the storm? I waited a few more minutes, and sloooooowly opened the door a crack. My guest had gone, leaving me to foot the bill.