Safe House

The last thing I heard as I lay in bed last night was the hissing and growling of my cat as she'd finally discovered that another cat was definitely hiding out in the dining room. She'd had her suspicions all week, sitting outside the glass-panelled door peering in. Her suspicions were confirmed last night when she saw a small grey blur scoot across the room and onto a chair. I called downstair to her; saying firmly, "Banjo NO! Come to bed!" She did as she was told, taking a backward glance at the door in defiance.

In my semi-conscious state this morning I dreamt I was wading into a flooded area of ground to rescue a friend trapped in a submerged and very expensive car. He was trying to climb through the window and all I could see was his hand waving just above the water line. I swam as hard as I could but didn't seem to be getting anywhere near him. Then he bobbed to the surface and waved saying he was okay. I woke to the purring of Banjo by my head as her paw patted me on my cheek to wake me up and let her out of the house.

What do I do about this terrified kitten? The last of the rescued kittens is next door and is now happily playing with all the family, purring, cuddling up, and being cute; what am I doing wrong? Is it because she is so different in personality? Is it because of Banjo? Does she still not feel safe and confident in my warm house? Is it me?

Like my dream, I seem to be trying very hard but not getting anywhere. Perhaps like my dream, my little kitten will eventually wave her paw and say, "I'm okay."

Window of Opportunity

For the last few weeks I've had ideas about starting my own business; embryonic ideas at the moment, which has prompted me to undertake research into websites, sourcing, costing, distribution and a whole load of 'new' concepts. While I don't have the finances to embark on a large retail project - yet, I am looking to start with a website-based business to test the market.

The new kitten has taken up more time than I'd like, but when providing shelter for a wild kitten, all normal day-to-day activities go out the window.

'Pebble' now uses two litter trays and very frequently. Within the confines of the closed dining room, he or she has found it's way onto the large sideboard and is huddled under the lamp, which I haven't been able to switch off for 24 hours as he or she hisses whenever I approach. I sing and pretend it really isn't there as I go in and out to change litter trays and top up the food dish. Just like a baby; little and often - both ends!

I have now constructed a large inner door frame of chicken wire, using old bits of wood and bamboo to support the wire. The construction will fit over the glass-panelled existing door to the room where Pebble has taken over. The reason? So that my existing mature cat Banjo and Pebble can see, hear and more importantly - smell each other; thus enabling a better chance of them bonding. I think this is going to be a long, long process; good for taking my mind off grief.

It reminds me of the first pair of rescue kittens we took in, back in 1997 and who spent a week behind the sofa, only coming out for food and the litter tray whenever we left the house for work. It was a long slow process then; one of them never did conform and remained feral while the other soon became humanised, loving and affectionate. It was hard for Him to understand cats; he'd always had dogs and could never come to terms with allowing them their independence; worrying whenever they were out too long or it was dark and they still had not come back through the cat flap.

Why do we do these things? Just when I'm looking into setting up a business...

Pebble

This photo was taken by my daughter Suzanne

Our family has increased by one kitten; small frightened and with grey and white markings. He or she is in the dining room with its' own buffet laid out, soft toy sprayed with cat nip, two litter trays and soft blankets. Does it use the litter trays? No! Does it use the soft blankets? No! Does it eat the food? Yes! And does it cuddle up to the soft toy? Yes!

Twenty four hours ago this little mite was caught in a kitten trap; the second one to be rescued. The first went to a good home, this one is staying with me - (if it and my existing cat can live together without fighting). The third and last kitten was caught last night and is now in my neighbour's utility room; it too doesn't know what a litter tray is for. I have been able to get close enough to my new kitten to stroke it's tiny head, and I thought I heard faint purring, but all the while it kept its small dark blue baby eyes on me.

While I walked along the pebble beach at Porthkerry last friday before heading home from Wales, I stopped to pick up some large round grey speckled pebbles to admire. Yesterday when asked what I would call the kitten, I replied, "Pebble".

A trip down Memory Lane

On the way back to Oxfordshire at the end of an exceptional week of walking, exploring, visiting angora goat farms, chocolate factories, welsh love spoon makers and attempting to improve three children's knitting abilities each evening; we decided to stop off at Merthyr Mawr and Porthkerry. The first being huge sand dunes near the coast where as a child I ran and scrambled up and down until exhausted; the second is a place that my father took me early in the mornings whenever we stayed with his mother in Barry during the fifties and sixties.

These two photos were taken by my very artistic daughter using my camera. It was getting late in the day and we still had to make the journey home back along the M4. We were all getting tired but nevertheless enjoyed the trip down memory lane.

A week in the wild west

We didn't end up screaming at each other, nor did we suffer cabin fever in our large 12 foot wide caravan at Penally just outside Tenby in wild, unspoilt west wales. The sun shone warm on our backs as we walked along a path to Tenby, each with a chocolate muffin to keep us going until an inviting Tea shop beckoned.

Huge seagulls screeched above, the breeze gentle as we passed a large group of apprentice surveyors on the beach each doing 'things' with their measuring equipment.

As we climbed the steep incline of the west streets that skirted the cliff around the bay, a young workman was talking to a passer-by who must have commented on his strength, to which he replied, "I've had my Weetabix this morning." It wasn't what he said but the way in which he said it; very, very Welsh which stuck with us for the rest of the week and which we all tried in varying successful dialects to mimic.

Being slightly Welsh myself, (both parents were from Barry in South Glamorgan), I began to slip into the familiar lilt and sing-song way of speaking, as did my daughters, although at times our attempts sounded more Bangladesh than Tenby.

Cat Rescue

The small black and white female cat had been dead for about 24 hours when my neighbour, her son and I investigated the overgrown wasteland in our lane. We were looking for three young kittens who'd been seen the night before wandering in the lane. Could this dead cat be their mother; she looked too small to have littered and her small nipples had not been lactating. Rigor mortis was setting in, as too the flies. A small and still-pink tongue peeped out from her mouth like a petal emerging from a rose bud. Her eyes semi-closed and dully glazed over. I know the look of death, whether animal or human; the lifelessness; the emptiness; of a body being no more inhabited by spirit, life or of blood-coursing arteries and veins.

Later, I sat among the thorns and bushes hopefully awaiting sign of hungry kittens; two dishes of fresh cat meat nearby, along with my cat basket in the hope of catching them. Some hope! If they were wild, then no-way would they come near me, starving or not; motherless or not! I pondered whether to leave when a woman from one of the few houses in this remote little hamlet walked by and glanced at me as I sat half hidden by leaves. I didn't know her, nor she me; after all, I've been a recluse for the last two years, hiding away nursing my own grief.

Embarrassed, she looked quickly away and continued walking by. I called out, "I'm not really mad, just looking for some kittens." She stopped and looked visibly relieved. "Oh, I wondered ..." she said.

I suppose it's not often one sees a woman crouched in the bushes, goodness knows what she thought I was doing! We talked for a minute or two and I left the food for the kittens.

Later the RSPCA officer came along with a kitten trap. A large cat was caught; thought to be the mother and was whisked away to be speyed, then returned to the wild shrubbery to be back with her kittens. At some point an officer will return and try to catch all of them.

The little dead cat was removed. I no longer fear death, but it saddens me and brings home the fact that we are all mortal and here for such a short spit in time and reminds me that I must get on and do something with my own short life before rigor mortis sets in.

Twelve years

His little face lit up as I walked into the room; he staggered towards me unsteadily, having only just mastered walking upright for the first time. His eyes sparkled and the smile on his perfect round face gave away the pride and pleasure of his recently achieved skill.

"Who's a clever boy then?" I said enthusiastically; he staggered quickly to his mum putting his head against her leg in shyness, then I crouched down, opened my arms wide and said, "come to Nana..." Amazingly my little grandson; not quite 13 months, and not that familiar with me, ran unsteadily towards me and I scooped him up in my arms kissed him on both cheeks and put him down again. He chuckled in happiness. It was a magical moment for me.

The event may not seem of much importance, however, it was a step nearer to reconciliation with my youngest daughter after 12 years of being estranged; although the last few years have gradually been getting better, this weekend was a milestone. We all went shopping together; daughters number two and four and my newest grandson, having lunch and fun.

It wasn't planned; a phone call to go to my granddaughter's school firework display and the added bonus of daughter number four suggesting shopping and lunch with me... perhaps the next 12 years will be warmer.