NAKED CITY: THE WOOLLY LOO PANTHER

You might have read a report in this publication recently about the exploding stray cat population of inner Sydney. There’s even a sympathetic group that looks after them in the Redfern Waterloo area, catching them, having them desexed and then eventually releasing them back to the hood. It’s one way of preventing endless litters of kittens, many of whom would eventually be captured and euthanised by the Council.

Down in the mean streets of Woolloomooloo there’s also a substantial colony of strays and ferals, cats that is, many of whom have taken up residence in overrun community gardens and the labyrinth of back alleys. Like the homeless men who sleep under the railway bridge in Walla Mulla Park they are largely ignored by the Council bureaucrats, however there is one feisty feline who has instilled both fear and loathing into the hearts of local residents.

The Lithgow area might have its mysterious, sometimes sighted ‘panther,’ but the Loo has its own massive jet black tom – a creature so stealthlike and elusive that he has been branded ‘The Woolly Loo Panther.’ Unlike his Lithgow counterpart the Woolly is almost never seen by day, although he was recently snapped stalking a group of sunbaking German backpackers atop the grassy expanse that covers the Domain Car Park. It’s at night, in the wee small hours, that this fearsome beast unleashes his fury upon the hapless residents of the Loo.

It generally begins with a ear piercing caterwaul, that can be heard at least one or two blocks away, as Big Woolly slinks his passage through the back lanes and alleys. The banshee like wail soon jolts terrified small children from their beds and sends pensioners scurrying under theirs. If by chance the enormous sabre-toothed mouser decides to pause directly underneath your bedroom window, you are in for a night of sheer horror as no manner of shooing, well aimed missiles or even a bucket of ice cold water will send the randy monster scurrying.

Confront him directly with a broom or golf club and you are in for the fright of your life as rather than retreat like the usual neighbourhood moggy he charges with all the ferocity of a rampaging rhino. Big Woolly is clearly the first of a new breed of urban feral monsters, an environmental mutant, transformed by a diet of discarded fast food, Council rat baits and a pile of vomit marinated in Red Bull and vodka.

Despite all that is formidable about this snarling green-eyed brute, nobody we spoke to in the Loo would be happy to see him tracked down and disposed of by the Council cat catchers. There’s also the horrible fear that if Barry O’Farrell has his way, shooters will be deployed from our National Parks to conduct a nocturnal safari along Cathedral Street with a bounty placed on its imposing head.

Clearly Big Woolly should be allowed to live out his remaining years, roaming free and begrudgingly respected amidst the creeping gentrification of Woolloomooloo. When he finally expires, paws up in a Go Get parking spot, his body should be consigned to the nearby Australian Museum, swiftly taxidermied and put on permanent display, a potent reminder that one day the so called ferals – rats, cats, roaches, pigeons, cockatoos and ibis – might well become the creatures that eat Sydney!