The Shepton Witch

Swing That Leg!

2010-03-06T16:33:00.002Z

Though today dawned bright and sunny, by the time I had eaten breakfast, mooched through the newspaper and groomed Phoebe (more about her later), it was cloudy and looking like rain.

I decided I'd try to sneak in a bit of tidying in the garden before the rain came, and donned my scruffy old gardening fleece, tied my hair in a pony-tail and pulled on pink gardening gloves. Crumbs, it was cold! Still, cold weather is a great incentive to get moving to warm up and I dug over the herb bed. This is the first time I have been able to raise my foot enough to park it on the shoulders of my garden fork for nearly two years. What joy! I dug till the bed looked loved and a shade more respectable than it had, pulled weeds and dead stems and felt very pleased with myself.

Not content with swinging my dodgy legs and hips on the herb bed, though they're proving to be rather good these days, I decided to dig up two self-set cotoneasters and re-home them where they were wanted. We have a large cotoneaster along the scullery wall and the birds love the berries in cold weather, so a few free plants, courtesy of Mother Nature, seemed like a good thing to nurture.

The cotoneasters settled into their new spots, I noticed that my pot of snowdrops was a bit strangled with sphagnum moss, so that got a tidy up, as did a few more pots that were sprouting bulbs and a profusion of baby weeds. By this time I was limping badly, but had a cold nose and happy heart. I decided I'd worry about the four, yes four, self set hollies another day.

While I was doing this, Kim raked off the devastation from the ex-lawn and it looks a lot better - no grass - but at least it's not all rubble-strewn and ugly. What a satisfying spell - I feel so happy when I have been in the garden, and to be able to dig is pure pleasure.

I have to have a hot shower now to loosen up my old limbs before heading off to exercise the grey cells in a Wine & Wisdom quiz, but I shall write all about the lovely Phoebe some time very soon.

A Break In The Rain

2010-02-28T11:01:00.002Z

Goodness, it's been wet lately - the ground everywhere is waterlogged and unable to soak up any more precipitation, so the roads turn into rivers whenever more rain falls.

Happily, yesterday morning cleared up from driving rain that make Kim look up ark building courses on the internet, to bright blue skies. What a delight. It has been so gloomy of late that clear skies and some watery sunshine were a real tonic and enough to persuade me to get out into the garden. Rubber clogs dusted off and my flowery Cath Kidston gardening gloves on, I ventured out into our soggy little patch.

Oh my, what neglect and devastation! Last summer I had paid for new turf to be laid on our little patch of lawn and had spent as much time as I could trying to make sure that there were perennials to come through this year. It had been a mixture of getting help and some pained attempts from me, but by the end of August, the garden was a riot of colour and looking loved.

Of course, having central heating installed was always going to make a mess, but careless workmen threw rubbish all over the lawn and left it there to kill off the grass, and all the other bits that had been tucked into corners were moved on to the grass or plonked on top of flower beds. I now had a sad patch of mud where there was once grass.

After some vigorous weeding and removal of dead foliage, some judicious pruning and a few yelps from me (my hip still hurts like hell when I bend over or kneel down) I had managed to make a difference. The grass is still a complete disaster zone and I shall probably have to get someone around to lay turf again, but at least the big flower bed looks like someone cares about it, rather than seeming like something from an abandoned building site.

It's just wonderful to see new ice plants poking through, a couple of crocuses opening and my little pot of snowdrops blooming. Best of all, my beloved hellebores are blooming a deep satiny burgundy colour and I treated myself to a hellebore niger which is now tucked into the bed close by.

My small success inspired me to want to go out there again today, but after heavy rain all night, it really is a mud bath - I may have to wait a while and do something else... still, I have a pile of sewing, a book binding to finish and loads more craft things, it's just a case of working out what to do next!

The Best Laid Plans...

2010-02-18T17:21:00.003Z

Ah hubris! There was I thinking that I'd have a whole day to myself, well from about 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. at least, and the chance to finally do some work and reconnect with my spirituality. I should have known better than to mention it or make plans.

I woke this morning before Kim to hear whimpering and man-flu noises emanating from under the duvet. Hmmm, so was the trip he had planned going ahead - no, it wasn't. Bang goes my quiet time.

The weather has reflected my mood well today; leaden, rainy and cold. I feel weary and worn down.

Experience Vs Faith

2010-02-16T11:23:00.002Z

The beginnings of a thought have been trying to bubble up to the surface of my consciousness over the past few days, but I can't quite get clarity. I figured that by writing down the snippets that have drifted up, it might help me to sharpen the focus.

I suppose part of it stems from the oft repeated phrase that you can't prove religion, which is why it's called faith. But there is more to it than just simple faith. Raised as a Catholic for a while, I was told to believe this and that, that the bible was 'the last word' and that I'd be damned to hell if I didn't conform. That's not an over-simplification; I spent three years in a Dominican convent and they weren't what you'd call liberal.

A couple of years later, I gave up on Christianity and I'm still un-learning guilt - I don't suppose I was ever cut out for orthodox religion, as I've never been very good at conformity or doing what I'm told. So, having embraced the Pagan way and become a Witch, is it all about faith? I'd say no. In running the Whitewicca.com forum, I often see people writing about faith in very much the same way that a Christian would write about it; many of us came from that background, so perhaps it's no surprise. Paganism, to me, seems to be much more based on experience than taking a set of concepts and deciding to believe in them.

Another thing contributing to these bubbling thoughts is that I have been having what a Christian would call 'a crisis of faith' though it's not as extreme as that. I've had little opportunity or privacy to do any ritual in the past couple of years and it's caused a problem. While I lived on my own, it was easy and the experience of circle, the energy and the altered state reinforced the concepts I embraced making it an experiential belief system that worked for me. Of late, each time I have tried to arrange a short time on my own to do ritual, or even meditate, something seems to happen to prevent it. I've also been challenged by my previous inability to get out of the house and go elsewhere - once upon a time I had a place in the woods that served as my open air circle, but it's been over three years since I could get there. The last year, getting up and down the three steps at the front of my house would reduce me to tears.

So, here I am, amid the hurly-burly of daily life, but feeling that there is no spiritual dimension to it. What I believed in, and did so because I felt it, whether through healing, ritual or any other experience, isn't there any more - I feel detached and saddened that this has happened. I hope that, as I can now get about better, that I shall be able to once again get in touch with those feelings, but for now, they seem like a distant dream.

Valentine's Day

2010-02-15T00:01:00.002Z

Hmmm, there I was, fast asleep and sawing off logs like the very best of lumberjacks, when I was dragged into consciousness by the doorbell. Yes, it was before 8.30 a.m. and the bloody doorbell was ringing - what the hell...???

My beloved had arranged for a dozen red roses to be delivered for Valentine's Day and the delivery man must have picked ours as the first delivery. As I opened the door, clad in my oh-so-sexy fluffy dressing gown and disheveled hair, I was greeted with a cheery "Sorry love, sort of spoils the treat, doesn't it? Have some flowers... but get out of bed for them!" and off he went chuckling at my groggy attempt at a riposte.

Ah, a dozen red roses - they are utterly gorgeous. Kim was the first man ever to give me flowers way back in 1976 and it was a huge bunch of red roses for Valentine's Day - and I still love him and the flowers. It was the start of a lovely day.

We went for a walk around the village - no great route-march, but enough to keep the new joints working and to give me pink cheeks. We then opted for a relaxing day away from our computers. We spend far too long in front of these machines (she says, sitting in front of one now) and it was so lovely to have a day when thy didn't rule our schedule or take precedence. I think we need more days like today.

And now, it's the end of a wonderful weekend, I'm sleepy and ready to face the new week refreshed and feeling incredibly positive. I bid you a happy week to come and as much love and contentment as I feel.

A Spring In My Step

2010-02-11T18:40:00.002Z

Cor! It's bloomin' freezing this week. Boots, the chunky monkey of the two cats has been waking from his slumbers to snuggle up to me - just to get warmed up, I'm sure.

Amidst this chilling gloom and leaden skies, there has been some brightness... no, not some, I should say considerable. After my first teach for a year and a quarter, I came storming back and was reminded of how much I enjoy the whole thing. The challenge of breaking down barriers, both of attitude and communication, the thrill of seeing people smile when they learn something and know it will be useful to them, and the whole buzz of having to think on my feet and work so hard. Better still, when the scores came in (we get scored on the American GPA system) I got a straight 4, which is the best one can get. Result. So, I get paid to do something that feels like good fun (it is hard work, but the enjoyment is greater) and I get confirmation that my instincts about the student's enjoyment were correct.

As if that weren't reward enough, Kim, the silly old softie, treated me to a present. He told me it was for getting through the teach so well, but I have decided it's my Valentine's present is it is very RED. My old suitcase was a nightmare to close, with lots of silly clips to align and it often reduced me to a gibbering wreck. Not any more - I'm the proud owner of a very, very bright cherry red samsonite suitcase. Oooh, it's just gorgeous! I don't suppose anyone else gets so excited over luggage, but having something that works and is pretty is so delightful. I like red. I have a leather holdall that I brought back from Tunisia and that's bright red too. Not much chance of missing my things on an airport carousel.

Lots of other things have gone well this week - somehow my life feels like it's turning around and getting better and better each day. Moving normally again is such a blessing. Never will I take for granted the simple things like being able to walk, to bend over without pain, the possibility of dancing again, and so many other things. Cripes... What happened to the curmudgeonly old me...?!!

I'm Still Standing

2010-02-04T16:35:00.003Z

And I never thought I would be...

I'm in London teaching this week; it's the first time I have taught for a year and a quarter. The hiatus was caused by my hip replacement operations and I have to admit that coming back was a bit nerve-racking. Apart from anything else, I pander to my body clock with the hours that I work at home, often rising later than most but working much later too. Six in the morning is not an hour I'm familiar with these days, but it's necessary when I'm teaching. After a full and gruelling day yesterday, I limped back to the hotel, feeling footsore but pleased I'd been on my feet all day without pain or mishap. Within minutes of eating, I was overcome with huge yawns and leaden eyes; it made revision hard work.

I woke this morning before the alarm- a first for as long as I can remember. Though my eyes were rather puffy, I felt sprightly and ached so much less than I normally do when I get up - so perhaps a hard day in the classroom was just what I needed. Best of all, I have a really delightful bunch of students, so the "work" doesn't feel like work at all! Where else would I get a captive audience where I can prattle on about my favourite subject... and get paid for it?

This is such a milestone for me. Not only being able to stand and walk about all day, but that I'm back 'in harness' doing something I love. My life is so good and I'm grateful for it.

Happiness

2010-01-29T17:03:00.002Z

It's Friday, it's 5 p.m. and I'm warm indoors with my beasties, what more could I want?

Bertie has been keeping me company on the desk all day...

While Boots has been sleeping in Kim's study, until he was transported into mine, with no effort on his part!

Where he proceeded to have a pre-prandial wash.

I had noticed how glossy their fur had become since they moved in with us, but seeing the reflections and gloss in the pictures reassures me that we must be doing something right. They don't seem to be making any effort to escape!

Wishing everyone as cheerful and peaceful a weekend as I'm having.

Cold Spell Coming?

2010-01-27T13:19:00.002Z

During the last cold spell we had a number of fieldfares in our tiny garden. They are birds I have not encountered before and we were rather thrilled to have these Scandinavian visitors amongst the usual local birds. As soon as the cold abated and the temperatures rose above freezing during the day, the fieldfares disappeared.

We felt privileged to have seen these lovely birds, even though they duffed up the local blackbirds in the food queue! Today, I noticed a fieldfare sitting on the back wall, beak pointing upwards at 45 degrees, as usual and my first thought was, "Oh, more snow on the way!" I don't know if it's true, as I have managed to not see a weather report for days on end, but I'll bet the birds are as accurate as the Meteorological Office! We shall see - I'm off to the BBC weather site now...

Wet Friday

2010-01-22T15:22:00.002Z

We had our oil for the heating system delivered today - I had been getting quite concerned as the levels had been dropping lower and lower, while the delivery seemed to take forever. Phew! The new heating system isn't up to much - we paid a hefty sum and I can't say that I've felt particularly warm since it was turned on; I never thought I would miss my filthy old rayburn.

It's so wet and gloomy. I rained all night and it's still wet, soggy and misting as I type - the light is on and still the room feels drab and grey. I far prefer the very crisp cold days that we had during the very cold weather. The Blues Brothers are feeling the weather too, they are both curled up, one on the desk and another on the chair beside me, with their heads tucked into their tails, snoring quietly.

I'm supposed to be driving to Lincolnshire tomorrow to visit my son, but I can't say that I'm feeling very keen to go; I'd love to see him, but a five hour drive in this weather is about as tempting as root canal dentistry - I may delay the trip to another weekend.

The worst bit is that I'm not feeling very lively and so haven't managed to get a single job finished today - I must apply myself as I hate going to bed without feeling that I've achieved something during the day.

Still Standing

2010-01-21T12:51:00.002Z

I suddenly realised, after looking at NetNewsWire, that I hadn't written anything here for ages - so long that my blog had faded out to a 'derelict' colour. And what a lot has happened in the interim.

After disovering that I could walk without sticks, I'm now walking well, swinging my hips for the first time in years and though I can't go great distances, as I'm anaemic and get puffed out very quickly, it's wonderful to be back in the land of the two-legged.

I'm due to teach in London at the beginning of February; the first time in well over a year. I'm a bit nervous and currently bunking off my revision to write this - still, it will be nice to get back into the classroom and into harness.

What else? The furry Blues Brothers are up to all sorts of tricks. I'm sure that Bert thinks he's a dog; We discovered that you can throw a cat treat and Bert will scamper after it like a little retriever, often flipping his rear over his head in the scrabble to get at the treat. Boots retains some dignity, though not at night time - his other name is Smooshy Cat and it's because he crawls into bed and smooshes up to ones shoulder, resting his head on the pillow and his chin on my shoulder with a paw draped across my chest to keep me in place. I wouldn't mind, but the purring often turns into loud snoring and that's a bit disconcerting!

The house is still in horrible disarray with the dining room still serving as the garden shed and general dumping ground - not great for entertaining, I can tell you. The scullery is coming on and just needs worktops to finish it off. The removal of the old ceiling in the scullery has opened it up to be a lovely bright room and the beams give it a bit of character. The new downstairs lavatory is just a few tiles away from being finished. I got the grout yesterday and will stick the tiles up this week and make a blind for the window - it looks rather nice - all new and bright and shiny. The decorator restored our Victorian door, which originally had an ugly lump of hardboard in the place of the centre pane - it is now glazed, rubbed down and looking rather smart.

There's still lots to do. I have to tile the floor of what is now the new back hallway, formerly the passage in front of the coal-hole and the old coal-hole is now a nice, bright boiler and tool room. There's plastering of the hallway and new doors to hang, but there's an end in sight. Best of all, I'm increasingly capable of doing things for myself, like the tiling, so it doesn't feel like such a hopelessly long drawn out affair.

Ah well, I should get back to my revision - there's a new bunch of students to ask "Do you know why you're not supposed to split infinitives?"

I Am A Biped

2009-11-17T23:36:00.002Z

I haven't been able to walk properly for nearly three years. Today, for the first time I went out without walking sticks and managed to walk properly (I'm having to learn how all over again) without rolling like a drunken sailor or limping or propping myself upon sticks.

It's quite impossible to describe the feeling I had today - part was delight, part sheer exhilaration at being a biped, part pride that I had managed to learn and do as much as I had done and part disbelief at how strange it felt to walk upright again. I am brimming over with happiness.

November Storms

2009-11-13T16:30:00.003Z

Goodness, it's filthy weather outside. The wind is howling and the rain lashing against the windows. It's so wild that the rain has driven under some of the roof tiles, which only ever happens in really vile weather.

I wouldn't mind this in the slightest on any ordinary day, but Kim is flying home from Oslo tonight and I'm worried. He should get into Heathrow at about 10.30 p.m. and he then has to drive all the way home. It's normally a three hour trip in good weather but the way things are tonight, I'm concerned. He will have been up since some sort of silly hour in the morning, especially as the time in Norway is an hour earlier than the UK and he thinks he'll be lucky to get home by 2 a.m. (and that was without the bad weather).

Meanwhile, the cats are curled up, one on my desk and the other in a squishy beside the desk. Occasionally an ear flicks or a sleepy eye opens and looks disapprovingly at the weather, but these two don't seem overly bothered by the storm; oh, to be a cat. I think I shall rouse the little dreamers by heading down to the kitchen - it's time for their dinner so I don't doubt I shall be popular.

After feeding the furries, I think I shall light a candle and send out a wish for Kim's safe homecoming. Have a good weekend and keep safe and dry.

Fireworks Night, Guy Fawkes and Squibbs!

2009-11-06T13:21:00.002Z

Last night was a bit of a pain in the bum. Without trying to sound like the village curmudgeon, the fireworks set off by individuals and households seemed such a waste. The night was rainy and fairly blustery and each little 'display' comprised a paltry collection of noisier-than-pretty fireworks that had the cats trembling in their fur coats.

I'm not against fireworks per se, just the silliness of people setting them off in their back gardens when there's a perfectly good display put on by the village on Saturday night. We're less worried about the village sponsored display and the effect it will have on the cats too; we know what time it starts and roughly what time it will end and we can ensure the cats are with us and some loud music to mitigate the frights they will suffer. The problem with back garden fireworks is that they happen unexpectedly and from dusk to very late at night.

Ok, so maybe I am the village curmudgeon, but last year my company sponsored the organized firework display and would have done again if I'd been asked this year. As it is, I have two cats who are so clingy that I type with a bundle of nervous Bertie snuggled between me and my keyboard, while Boots is on his desk corner cat mat.

What happened to all the super games that used to happen around this time of year? I recall going to parties as a child and bobbing for apples, trying to catch apples hung on strings in my teeth and all sorts of other amusements. My uncle used to set up a brazier in the back garden (which was hedgehog-proof as side benefit) and we'd have a few sparklers and things to eat rather than shooting lots of money up into the air at the end of a blue touch-paper. Oh dear, I am turning into an old grouch.

It's a particularly English thing to do as well: celebrating the failed plot of one religious group to blow up the Establishment. Anywhere else, they'd have been tried, punished or killed and then forgotten about. We celebrate the event every year. I wonder if we ever ask ourselves why? English history is full of brutality and oppression, however much we like to portray ourselves as enlightened and "civilized" and the oppression of Catholics by the new Church of England was harsh. Perhaps it is our predilection for cheering on the under-dog and being less favourably inclined towards those who hold power that keeps this tradition going. Who knows?

Either way, this Saturday we shall find out of Boots and Bertie prefer Wagner to Def Leppard and Steeleye Span to Vivaldi; poor cats!

Furry Helpers

2009-11-03T14:04:00.003Z

My furry little helpers. Boots on the right and Bertie trying to keep the keyboard space warm - silly boy!

Happy New Year

2009-11-01T11:12:00.002Z

Ah, that was a quiet Samhain. With the onset of either a wound infection or allergy to the metal staples holding my hip replacement operation wound together, I've been quite ill over the past days. My poor old body has been throwing every ounce of energy into repairing itself and rejecting whatever is inflaming it, so the ritual I had planned just didn't happen. In fact, I felt so unwell that we didn't even open the house to Trick or Treaters, which has become rather a tradition with us.

The storm arriving during the night was welcome and feeling the breath of The Cailleach arriving reassured that if I wasn't working right, at least everything else was. Those wakeful hours between 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. were spent doing a whole lot of mental and emotional spring cleaning. Out with the old and outworn and make space for new, and hopefully better, things.

One thing I certainly didn't feel inclined to do was to make myself available to the recently departed - things are too raw and painful, though it was wonderful to see Mr Tom Smelly for a brief moment during the day - I miss him and feel glad that he's still around, keeping an eye on the new boys.

And so, a New Year. A time to heal emotionally, to recover physically and to reach for new horizons. The past few months have been cathartic, with so many layers being ripped away and now there's nothing left but being open to whatever life has in store for me - and what an adventure that will be. I'm at the end of a seven year cycle that had been downward in trend and filled with challenges that I would never have anticipated - all that dealt with, I feel it's time for some positive occurrences, whatever form they take.

To all of you, I wish a wonderful New Year, genuine friendship, love and gentleness.

The Cat Herd

2009-10-28T16:56:00.002Z

You've all heard the expression about things being as easy as herding cats, but this is a bit different.

I have known and loved a number of Welsh Border Collies in my life and seeing these dogs work is such a pleasure; let's not forget Corgis, who really are herding dogs, though the only thing they seem to be associated with now is Brenda. I have a cat with herding instincts.

"Cats don't herd!" I hear you wail; oh yes they do! Bertie, the more outgoing and adventurous of the new cats, has started to herd Kim. It normally kicks off at 8.30 British Summer Time, when Bertie is keen to break his fast, but since the clocks going back, and Bertie not having a wristwatch, it now begins at 7.30 GMT.

First, you hear the thundrous galloping of paws up and down the stairs, followed by claws dug into carpet to assist with cornering, then a scrabble, and a loud:

"Oughff!"

More scrabbling and claws in carpet, a pause, galloping down the sairs and then back up again. That was the first run, where Bertie races into the bedroom, corners rather niftily and leaps on the headboad to aim all four hard-padded paws on Kim's belly. It's an effective wake-up call being bounced on from quite a height by five kilos of determined cat.

After a few more runs up and down the stairs, and assuming Bertie's efforts haven't yet achieved their aim, his next tactic is to run into the bedroom at full tilt, bounce on the bedside table and then run the length of Kim's body, bounce off again and canter downstairs. He's clearly trying to let Kim know that it's time to GO DOWN STAIRS, but soporific morning men and herding cats don't always see eye-to-eye.

By now, Bertie has usually managed to wake Kim enough and to stomp on his bladder, so the poor man totters off to the bathroom with a hugely vocal cat swirling around his ankles. Bertie sits outside the bathroom door sounding more like a wolf at full moon than the average domestic cat. He is a feline with a long, lean body and a rather barritone voice for his size. The exit from the bathroom is the funniest:

Kim walks to landing, Bertie alongside.

Bertie runs down the first flight of stairs to demonstrate to Kim what he's required to do.

Bertie runs upstairs again, circles Kim's legs and canters off down the stairs again.

Kim takes a few steps towards the bedroom. Bertie howls an objection and shows him the way again.

Kim keeps walking to the bedroom; Bertie gets annoyed.

At this point, Bertie starts any tactic he thinks will work, including the feline Wall-Of-Death, toe attacks, vocal nudges and downright pleas.

By this time, we have normally disolved into gales of laughter, which isn't a bad way to start the day. The morning always ends the same, with Kim heading down, the clunk of the cat food cupboard door opening and then the katzenjammer of both Boots and Bertie urging him to hurry the bowls to the floor.

Me? I rather like Bertie's antics, as Kim inevitably makes a cup of tea and brings it up for me in the morning. What a wonderfully clever little cat Bertie is.

WoooHoooo!

2009-10-26T23:25:00.002Z

Golly. This new hip is pretty good and I'm healing apace, so things are feeling very positive.

Happily, I heard from an old friend today, which was delightful of itself, but better still that they are going to do some legal work for me and things are looking very bright.

The best though is that Samhain approaches and it's timely for me to close chapters, toss out the dross and unnecessary and move forward - and today has really felt like the first day of the rest of my life. Sound trite? I don't care :-) because it's absolutely wonderful.

That's all I wanted to say - time to tuck up in bed with a good book - I'm reading the full set of The Golden Bough in unabridged version - a fabulous gift from someone lovely )and most unexpected) and I shall let the day melt away feeling like everything is on the up.

Thank Goodness For Cats!

2009-10-17T13:44:00.002+01:00

While I was waiting for approval from the RSPCA to bring the 'boys' home, I was quite anxious that I'd be able to gel with the cats after having Tom for such a long time, and because they were already three years old and from another home originally. I spoke to Bastet and Freya - I always think of hEr when it comes to cats, because of her chariot - and asked that we'd get friendly affectionate creatures that we could make a part of our family.

I am so blessed and got my wish, and I give thanks. We have two of the most gorgeous, affectionate and gentle creatures and I love them dearly. Boots is the shyer of the two cats, though he seems to be a shade more dominant of the two brothers, and he's a real snuggle-kitty. Bertie, the name we finally settled on for Smokey/Monty is very different; he's bold, adventurous and as naughty as can be. There's no malice in Bertie, but he's a dustbin wrapped in a fur coat - he eats just about everything including gooseberry jam, yoghurt, pea and mint soup, olive oil - in fact the only thing Bertie has turned his nose up at is an apple core. Bertie is as funny as can be, standing on his hind legs like a meercat in an attempt to see if there's any food about. As it is, we're feeding the boys more than was recommended by the RSPCA, but we figured that as the cats are running around, they would burn it off - but I don't think an entire factory-full of food would be enough for Bertie.

Boots, he's totally different - he smooshes his way on to my armchair, snuggles in the crook of my arm - despite being huge - and wraps his paws around my neck, just as if he's hugging me. He's so gentle and poor boy has been a bit jarred by all the work going on in the house - goodness knows how he will react to my disappearance for four or five days, as I've been the one constant since they came from the shelter. Still, Kim is very comfortable to sit on and I'm sure Boots will cope as Kim's as soppy about cats as I am and just adores the boys.

The last week has been a particularly stressful time for me and my wonderful cats have been such a tonic - thank goodness for cats, and especially for Boots and Bertie!

Autumn - What A Pants Time

2009-10-05T23:34:00.003+01:00

My summer was pretty good, recovering from the hip operation and realising that I will be able to walk properly again. Better still, I got a date in October for the second hip to be done, and that gave a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Work has been buoyant and I'm grateful for that too.

The autumn months, however, started off badly and kept on going downhill. First, Poor old Tom died, then someone I had called 'friend' turned and started behaving unacceptably. I coped with that. Then my mum went into hospital after a fall and my sister and I were told that it wouldn't be that likely that she would come out again. Then someone hit the back of my car while I was stationary at a junction and I was reminded that I needed to do the company accounts and corporation tax stuff, which is about as much fun as pushing hot needles into one's own eyeballs.

Five weeks ago, our house descended into utter chaos as we emptied the scullery and tool shed into the dining room so that we could renovate, put in a new central heating boiler and oil tank and take out the rayburn. The tool shed, which had originally been a downstairs toilet, was capped off by the previous owners and used for storage and we are trying to turn it back into a downstairs cloakroom. The scullery needed dry-lining and the ceiling replaced, new wiring and a radiator. We bought lovely new cast iron radiators styled on an original French design for the bedroom and sitting room and the electricians came in to wire up.

All in all, the house is a bomb site. My cleaning lady has been ill - not that she could have done much anyway - and I have felt like running away, only I can't drive for more than 15 minutes without being in excruciating pain because the hire car is so uncomfortable. I can't get out of the house and take a nice walk to get away from the banging and screeching drills and other power tools and my remaining 'real' hip is just bone-on-bone now, and too painful to go any distance.

Three weeks after it started, most of the pipe-work was in, the radiators connected but the boiler wasn't yet commissioned. The dry-lining, that must have upset our neighbours over the weekend installation, fell off the walls and was a total waste of money and materials. Now, five weeks on, we have heating, thank goodness, the scullery is plastered and the electricians finished and long gone. The plumber still has to come back to take the tanks from the roof-space and finish off the downstairs cloakroom; finding the sewage pipe has turned into a bit of an epic and this was all supposed to have finished weeks ago.

On the 27th September my mother died after five weeks in hospital. We had had an interesting relationship, sometimes getting on well and at other times not speaking at all. It was my mother's wont to behave badly and she did not include 'sorry' in her vocabulary. Our last encounter had been soon after my father died; it was a difficult time and my mother had never taken care of the bank accounts or household bills, and she really didn't have a clue. My sister and I were to become joint Attorneys but the logistics of managing her affairs, while I lived in Somerset and my sister lived in Paris became a nightmare, so I offered to do it all. But it seems that my sister didn't trust me. I offered to let my sister be sole Attorney, but she didn't want the responsibility; she the said that I should be sole Attorney after all, but that she wanted power of veto (not a problem) and she insisted that I travel from Somerset to Lincolnshire every week, which I didn't feel was realistic. Eventually my mother settled things by acting up and when she didn't get the desired reaction from me, announced "Well, you don't think I'm going to let you look after my affairs!" It seemed to have escaped her notice that I hadn't been offering to look after her for the fun of it and so I decided she could have her own way. I'm now totally disinherited, not that there was much to inherit, but my father had wanted me to have half of the estate. My sister, the sole beneficiary has now declared "Trust me!" (note the irony) and said that she'd do the decent thing, after she has recouped all her outgoings for the past two years.

So, with all this going on, I haven't felt much like blogging, or doing much else for that matter! I'm desperate for some quiet time, some privacy and a bit of a break before I go into hospital on Monday - so much so that I turned down the opportunity to meet two lovely people for shopping and coffee today. Still, on Tuesday I shall be under general anaesthetic and that should give me some quiet time! Perhaps this time, I won't be so eager to get out of hospital, and stay as long as I can to rest, read and generally not be surrounded by noise and dust... Then again, last time there was lots of noise with old ladies hallucinating on morphine! Perhaps coming home to Kim and my two gorgeous kitties will be the best thing after all...

Thank goodness or cats is all I can say!

The Cats Arrive

2009-08-30T12:21:00.004+01:00

Oh my goodness, yesterday was quite a day. Kim arrived home late on Friday and after a long, tiring week and probably could have done with an easy morning, but no, we were up and out on the way to the RSPCA shelter at West Hatch to pick up the cats.

What a delight to be greeted on the reception desk by Louise, who lived across the road from us until quite recently, with a big smile and a heap of paperwork. Formalities done and a new paw-print blanket and other bits and bobs purchased, one of the staff came through to talk to us about the feeding regime and inoculations for the boys, followed by the Manager of the cat section carrying our crates with the furry duo.

Well, if nothing else, we found within minutes, that our cats had strong voices and powerful lungs. They started meowing in turn as I drove us all back home, but as the tempo increased, they ended up doing a rather splendid meow duet, and I was glad when we arrived and Kim unloaded the crates into the house. Poor cats, they really were frightened. They have been caged since the spring, and both of them are a decent size, one being 4.1 kilos and the other 4.65 kilos, they have not had an opportunity to stretch their legs. We closed ourselves in the kitchen, let the boys out and put down some food to go with their water bowl and sat quietly. Oh my, they were dashing around, sniffing everything, checking out every nook and cranny and finding their way around the room.

Boots after he had discovered the bed

Boots is the larger of the two cats, not only in weight, but he is fluffier and has a stillness and presence that commands attention and respect. Boots is also the soppiest thing in a fur coat and will snuggle up to you at the slightest opportunity, dribbling like mad if you give him a good neck rub! The other, smaller cat, who was originally called Smokey, then Monty but who has now settled into the name of Bertie, is a different creature altogether. Think of Hugh Laurie playing Bertie Wooster in the Jeeves and Wooster television adaptation of the PG Woodehouse books and you get a general idea of the look. I'm not sure that Bertie is capable of repose; he's a wiry, sinuous cat with more energy than is good for him. He likes to be near people, but is not a lap cat and prefers to brush past, grabbing a quick neck rub, en route to the latest object of his investigations.

Bertie playing a string game

Our house isn't huge, but it's a decent size, and after their cage, I think the boys were a bit bewildered with the size of the kitchen. We spent ages in there, drinking tea and talking quietly, so they became used to our voices, our smells and felt secure in that room. Eventually though, the tea overcame me and I had to dash upstairs... and with that came the opening of the kitchen door. Boots sauntered out and did a circuit of the sitting room (the only other open door, as we figured one room at a time would be enough for the cats), while Bertie had a nervous fit, ran into the sitting room and then hurtled back into the kitchen and his place of safety (on the chair beside where I sit). We left the kitchen door open and gradually, bit by bit, the cats ventured into the sitting room more and more. Bertie discovered the conservatory and was perched on the window sill, watching the world go by for ages, before he sank into the big squishy cushion on the wicker chair and looked calm for the first time all day. Meanwhile, Boots had discovered Kim sitting in his armchair and had draped his body over Kims's, paws either side of Kim's neck having a purr-fest and a cuddle; Boots was starting to settle.

The evening must have been rather weird for the cats; we sat in and watched a dvd, while Boots and Bertie tried to work out why things hadn't gone quiet. At the shelter, they must have become accustomed to darkness falling when it fell, rather than when an electric light went out, and it must have been a long day for them. Never fear, Boots made the most of his opportunities and when we headed upstairs, the cats followed. On leaving the bathroom I found Kim tucked up under the duvet with a stretched out Boots laying on my side of the bed, in the crook of Kim's arm and Bertie under the bed. That didn't last - Bertie leapt up and found a place by my feet and the household went to sleep.

Boots after being roused, this cat likes his sleep!

Oh goodness, two large, hungry cats didn't have much trouble waking us up today! Boots was still curled up in a furry huddle, but Bertie had started to explore and was thud, thudding as he leapt up and down from all sorts of new and exciting places. Eventually, this roused Boots and the pair of them played tag across the bed, around the upper landing and nearly got up enough speed to do a wall of death in their skitterings. Kim and I became trampolines as Bertie and Boots hurtled over the bed; we're both rather large and bouncy, so this must have seemed like a wonderful game to the boys - it certainly got our attention.

Bertie and string

I know there isn't a thing wrong with the cats' hearing - no sooner had Kim opened the food cupboard and grabbed the rather crackly packet of food, than two black and white missiles careered downstairs - breakfast was served. These cats have certainly changed our lives already; it's not the black fur duvet cover or the paw prints in the bath, it's not the sudden madness of two hungry cats hearing anything that rustles or clothes covered in black and white fur, no, it's that we now have to negotiate to find space in our own bed. Today, Boots is recovering after such a busy day yesterday and has not moved from the bed since eating breakfast; Bertie, after playing string games with Kim, also retired to bed for a nap. Why am I worrying that they won't be sleepy at bed time?!!

Meet Boots And Monty

2009-08-25T14:02:00.004+01:00

MONTY
Domestic Shorthair - male - three years old (approx.). He is looking for a quiet home with his brother Boots. He is more out going than Boots (except when there's food involved and he suddenly turns into a hungry tiger).

BOOTS
Domestic Shorthair - male - three years old (approx.). He is looking for a home with his brother. They would prefer an adult only home because they are a little shy until they get to know you.

These are the boys. We bring them home on Saturday morning and I'm almost bursting with excitement! After dropping Kim off at the railway station this morning (he's off to London), I headed the West Hatch RSPCA and spent an hour in the familiarisation hut with Boots and Monty (who is currently known as Smokey, but I'm not keen on that name for him). I spent a whole hour stroking and fussing the boys and had the most wonderful time- I'm still grinning like an idiot and I have been home an hour and a half.

We have been approved by the RSPCA Home Inspector, the cat activity centre I ordered over the weekend has just arrived and all I have to do is assemble it and think of somewhere to put it and then wait. That will be the hard part. Still, it will give us a chance to slowly open the house out to the cats, let them explore one room at a time and learn to feel safe and they will hopefully get used to hearing the two of us burbling away and learn to feel at home.

While I was in the familiarisation room with B & M I found the cat toy that you fill up with cat biscuits - the one the cats are supposed to push around to dispense treats - only Boots was trying to stick his tongue all the way through to the bottom to get at the treats and Monty was far too impatient. I shook out a couple of cat treats and Boots sat at my feet, waiting politely to be given a cat biscuit; Monty climbed up my leg, claws fully extended and in a huge hurry to get at the treat - this is not a cat who understands the concept of delayed gratification!

These poor cats have been that the centre since the Spring and I just can't imagine why they didn't get snapped up sooner - they are just beautiful, funny and affectionate. I know homing pairs of cats is harder, but goodness, that's a long time for any animal to be in a cage. Don't get me wrong, the cages the RSPCA provide are super, clean, safe and designed to give the cats space to play, but it's still a cage. The staff, without exception, were just delightful and seems genuinely thrilled that the boys were coming home with us.

I suspect these two feline athletes are going to give Kim and I a bit of a shake up, with all the things I have seen them get up to in the space of an hour. They climb, they're curious and they are full of beans - and that will be a bit of a change from a very sleepy, half blind old cat who didn't move much. Once our furry friends are home, I shall take some good pictures (the ones above are from the re-homing page) and tell you all about the kitty home-coming.

After The Rain Comes The Sun

2009-08-21T20:42:00.002+01:00

No, not the weather, that's rather the other way around and today we got rain after many dry days - it was rather nice to hear it drumming on the roof.

It's lovely when things look up after a trying time and I've had a wonderful few days. First, a customer was so happy they bought me a lovely present to thank me for everything and that was such a nice feeling. A little later Kim and I were invited to a luncheon party with one of the village worthies and someone else called round and was just so kind it left me grinning from ear to ear. My dear friend A also came round for tea and talk the other evening and that was such a delight; she's funny, sensible and compassionate, a truly marvellous combination to find in anyone and especially someone you can call friend.

I have had so many sweet emails about Tommy, about Whitewicca and a host of other thoughtful things, that I decided to put the site back up again. I was missing the lovely people and figured that, even thought the very first thing that happened was a heap of spammers registering, it was worth the trouble.

Over the past days, Kim and I have felt that the house is uncannily quiet; you would never believe how much one moth-eaten old cat could fill a place with his presence. Neither of us like this silence and the absence of animals, so we took ourselves off to the RSPCA centre at West Hatch to have a mooch around. No, that's not true! We put the cat carrier in the back of the car and set out very purposefully. Oh my! There were tiny kittens, middle-sized kittens, big kittens, older cats, one old boy who looked like he had been a brawler all his life and a pair of black and white boy cats with lovely faces. The lovely lady at the RSPCA, Anna, told us that they had been taken to the shelter when their owner was made redundant and had to move from their house to a place where they couldn't have cats. These poor boys had been in a cage since March and were always passed over. Goodness knows why, as they were pretty, affectionate and loveable in every way.

Anna took is to the 'familiarisation room', a large garden shed decked out to look like a sitting room, so that people and cats could interact and see how they got along in something more comfortable than a cage. The boys are called Boots and Smokey and we were told that Smokey was very timid, Boots less so. Within minutes Smokey was on my lap and Boots in Kim's arms - timid, huh? Not when the chance of a stroke and some love was on offer! Boots is a dribbler and as soon as you start to stroke or fuss him, he's drooling like Homer Simpson dreaming of donuts; Smokey is smaller, more lithe and very sweet.

Yes, you guessed it, we fell under the spell of these furry brothers and after filling out the paperwork, we now await a home visit from the RSPCA inspector to approve us and our home before we can call the boys our cats. Help us out here Freya, please. I know our house is a good, safe place for cats and we already have a letter from our vet to say we are responsible and caring animal owners, so I can't help getting my hopes up. If all goes to plan, we could have two furry house-mates living with us by next weekend. Oh, please let it be so!

Yes, Things Do Come In Threes

2009-08-18T00:27:00.002+01:00

Well, I asked the question and the universe threw me back an answer sooner than I anticipated. Yes, things do come in threes, even if it's not quite what I had expected. There was I worrying about someone else falling off their perch, and what happened was the death of a friendship.

Last summer, someone I know became very cranky and stroppy towards me. They raged and ranted but I managed to keep pretty calm and didn't react to what was happening, despite being baited. I figured that the person was having a really rotten time and that they were taking things out on me, because there wasn't anyone else to take it out on. A couple of months later, everything had calmed down and it was all sweetness and light again.

Here we are, at the same time of year, and yet again, they have gone really "funny" on me. Not funny ha-ha either. Now, you don't mind that sort of thing happening once - well, actually, I did mind, but let it go - but for it to happen again just isn't on. So, I think this is another sort of death - the end of an association. It's a sad thing as I know they are just angry and looking for ways to lash out, but inventing things as an excuse to pick fights isn't constructive. Keep on doing that and it's easy to turn into a toxic person.

So now I have another thing to mourn. I'm at a huge crossroads and I know that many things are changing and that there is a lot of upheaval in the short term. My life seems to go through major changes every seven years or so, and I'm at that point now. Perhaps it's time for people to fall away, things that have been close to me to recede into mere memory and new chapters to open. Whatever is happening, it isn't a comfortable process.

Do Things Come In Threes?

2009-08-17T16:23:00.002+01:00

I don't know if I'm the only person who seems to think that things come in threes, whether it's weddings, births or deaths. I do hope I'm wrong.

On top of parting from Mr Smelly, my dear old cat on Saturday, my mother has been admitted to hospital. She took a fall two weeks ago and broke a rib, but this time, she became dizzy, fell and was taken in by ambulance. The hospital don't know what's wrong with her, but she isn't conscious much of the time, can barely talk and is desperately weak. Talking to the ward staff, I got the impression they were trying to prepare me for the worst. I haven't been able to see my mother, as she is over five hours drive from me, and my hip prevents me from travelling for more than half an hour without severe pain and hospital precautions say I shouldn't either.

My sister has flown in from Paris and has spent the weekend visiting my mother, and making all the arrangements she can to prepare for every eventuality. We have spoken at length, but it feels awful not being there organising things, as I was always the one who did that - still, my sister is doing a sterling job and I'm proud of her. It seems that my mother isn't really coherent for more than a moment and my sister struggled to communicate with her, so it's all a bit worrying.

And the threes? Well, if my mother doesn't make it and she is added to Mr Smelly, and she's in her 80s and not the healthiest by a mile, that's still only two and I figure stomping on an ant won't count for the third... then again, maybe I'll go and stomp, just in case. I do hope Hecate tires of walking by my side soon, this has been a tough week.