BR - a cat called norton by Peter Gethers

This is a funny little book written by a chap about his cat. And I thoroughly enjoyed it. It is not literature but it is entertaining and it doesn't end on a sad note (always good with animal books). He takes his cat everywhere and it fits along nicely with his life.

I found it really easy to read but it made me smile and that is OK. So if you like cats; don't mind the American slant and want an easy entertaining read - give this a go. You won't be disappointed.

Dix

The Case of Matching Underwear

Firstly I start this blog with a massive apology. JC I fully and completely apologise. I was wrong (as I often am ) and you should take absolutely no bloody notice of me in the future or ever again!!! Well certainly when it comes to clothing advice anyway.

When JC and I first became friends she used to say that she only wore matching underwear (sorry for putting too much info out there JC but need to for this blog!) and I thought it was well, very anal. What did it matter what was under you clothes as long as they were clean and comfortable. But I was wrong.

Recently I have purchased a couple of sets of matching underwear - nothing expensive and from Adsa but pretty and feminine. And there is the rub - wearing matching underwear makes you feel pretty and feminine. It makes me have that little smile inside when I think about it. I don't even mind too much at looking myself in the mirror in them. I think about my pretty underwear and I think about sex (in a good healthy way - I hope) and I think I am pretty, I am a women. This then leads to other positive thoughts. I do have a voice, I can have my dreams, I can get a job that I want. I have value. All from £9 worth of underwear you ask. But yes, it works for me.

As I walked the dog on the beach this morning, in my matching underwear (and believe me my dog walking coat, Deputy Daug hat and big black boots are not sexy at all - just warm) I thought about my mum who always used to tell us to wear clean underwear in case we had an accident. And it was a nice memory and made me smile. And then I smiled as I thought about my pink flowered bra and matching pants (even though I wanted to pull them out of my bum - I managed to ignore the impulse -well you do have to have some class even on the beach and anyway someone is always watching when you think you are alone).

So what have I discovered, that a simple thing like matching underwear can make me feel better, better about myself and then better in the world.

Matching underwear can help me be 'fortified by optimism'.

What I want to learn in 2011 is that the little things can make life alright.

The little things can make life good.

The little things can make life worth living.

Life has its ups and downs (2010 has felt like lots of downs and not enough ups) but I have learnt in January 2011 that wearing matching underwear can make me feel good. That wearing matching underwear can make life feel good. One little lesson for the month to help the world seem easier. Gotta help - hasn't it??

Dix

ps obviously I look nothing like the picture on my blog - it is just an illustration (and anyway I have never worn a thong although I am told they are comfy - think I will give them a miss for now, perhaps an experience for later in the year??)

Upset

I have been really upset - my friends dog, Buster has been really unwell and I feel like it is my fault. Boy was throwing stones for him last Thursday and it appears he has swallowed one. He has been really poorly - it blocked his intestine and he has had a major operation. I can't help it but I feel like it is my fault. I should have stopped Boy and even though I did tell him I should have been firmer. I can't stand the idea that that beautiful dog, Buster should be hurt through any fault of mine. His owner John was obviously so worried and I felt so bad as if there was nothing I could do.

Walking on the beach was just horrible with out my dogs, Dobbie's friend, somehow I just didn't have the heart for it. I was so worried he hadn't got through the operation and also heard he wasn't eating - it was so awful. I just kept crying (which was a real show-up).

Anyway as I came home from my dog walk Buster came on his lead to meet me - it was so nice and he even had a little ham because he thought Dobbie was going to eat it. I can see how much weight he has lost but he is starting to wag his tale again and his eyes are bright and he was fairly 'Busterish' so hopefully all is on the mend. It doesn't help me from feeling really guilty though. Maybe I needed a really good cry - not that I feel any better for it.

Work was difficult last night - I felt kinda out of step with everyone and my foot began to really hurt again. I was glad to get home and really rest. Today I am going to go on a really long bike ride as I think physical activity might 'buck me up a bit'. I am a bit worried that the 'old trouble' is returning and that is really not a good thing. So much at stake that is not a good thing - boy being the most important. You can't be a guardian if your a looney.

Hen-hen and the Tinsel

This is my Hen-hen, (that's what I call him anyway). I once read a book that said most cats of cat lovers have a least seven names (cute and nice names not bugger off flea bag type of names). I remember thinking that was rubbish but realised that both my cats have at least seven names and maybe more. Anyway every Christmas he can't wait for the tinsel to come out of the roof and to wallow in the box once the lid is removed. He loves tinsel and surprisingly never comes out of it covered in shining little slivers, whereas my home is always covered in the glittery slithers whenever I decorate my room.

Hen- hen is so far, the love of my life. I know sad 'cat women' type of comment but I truly love him. I have another cat and a dog and I love them too but not quite the same. I have lived with a cat for just about the last thirty years, and I have loved them all but really they have all preferred my husband and only tolerated this women who might feed them, let them in and out and occasionally be available if a cuddle is required. They were all female cats. But from the first moment I set eyes on Hen at the rescue centre it has just been true love. He climbed straight on my shoulder and curled around me. He still does this when I lie in bed and he curls around me on my pillow. Even though I can't sleep for his loud diesel like purring and his fur makes my face itch - I love him.

Sometimes I only have to think of him and he will come from where he is sleeping and sit with me, in fact he has just come into the study now and is staring at me - like he knows I am writing about him. He wakes me in the morning and lies beside me when I go to sleep.

He can be an absolute pain, like I am typing on a wireless keyboard because he has knackered the keyboard on my laptop where he jumped up, slightly lost his footing and slide back taking half the keyboard letters with him. And when he wants to go and is not allowed, will literally 'hola' at the back door in the loudest nagging sort of way. I don't give in. My cats don't go out after dark even though we live in a quiet cul-de-sac surrounded by fields. I have spent too many an early morning, 3am roaming about trying to quietly call my cats without waking the neighbours, only to find them sitting on the carport roof watching me and wandering what I am doing at that hour.

But whenever I am sad, or lonely or just having a little weep at some silly film he will always appear and cuddle up next to me. I know sometimes he sits on my lap and uses my skin as a gentle scratching post, but it is done with love. He sits with me all day when I am not well and stays with me constantly when the darkness comes. He is my white savour.

I love him, and wonder what I will do when it is his time to leave. I sometimes feel that he is someone who has come back to look after me. It is the weirdest feeling, like I know him and always have. Silly, I know but it is how I feel.

Sometimes I wonder what I would do if it was a choice between Hen-hen and 'Him' - what would I do? Hen-hen loves me for me, no judgement, just pure love and not because he has too. I look forward to going home to see Hen-hen, I look forward to going to bed for a cuddle with Hen-hen. He is my friend.

Oh dear have I really become this sad cat women - probably but I don't care.

Instead

I've got so many things to do
each
rushing
around
my head.

Instead
i'm lazing in my bed
with a scruffy dog
lying on my head.

By DiH

Sorry if you have read this before but I just found this piece in some paperwork and thought it was a bit appropriate to a blog that I read. (Have changed it slightly from original though).

The Cat

A friend is blogging some of her older work - which I love by the way - so I thought I would blog a piece I found from 2003. This will make you understand why I don't write serious poetry.

The Cat was Black and White

The cat was black and white

Large and round

He walked the wall

Twice a day

To get his breakfast and dinner

I haven't seen him today.

He must be away

or just not hungry.

DiH

I am so glad I only write poetry for fun!

A Dog's Tail

Something strange happened today. Something I had never witnessed before. My dog chased its tail. Just for a few seconds she turned her head and noticed a her fluffy white curly tail standing aloft and began to chase it in circular motion. Each turn increasing in speed and with her head becoming a little closer to her tail. I have seen other dogs chase their tales but never her. She is three already and so I thought she would probably never chase her tail.

What made her do it today or had I just never noticed her chasing her tail, or maybe just never been around to witness it before. (The old if a tree falls in the wood with no one to witness it does it still make a sound question.) I suspect this was the first occurrence as she seems surprised at seeing her tail and shocked at her inability to catch it. In her defence the running circle only lasted a second or two before she cottoned on to the fact that it was her tail and it was un-catchable.

Are we humans so quick to realise how futile chasing our tails has become?

A picture of my dog

The poem and picture below (of yesterday) show a picture of my beautiful dog. We walk on the beach every day - weather allowing - and this poem - or start of a poem is about something that really happened.

My husband would be really angry if he knew I put a picture of her on my blog because he is convinced something will happen to her. But this picture kinda illustrates the work so hey ho! By the way Fox poo really stinks - and it really is sticky and stenchy (not sure that is a word). I could tell you the story of my dog. I have always really wanted a dog - I always had a dog as a child but my husband never really wanted one. But after 25 years of marriage the opportunity came up to get a puppy from someone at work. And I fell in love. I did con him a bit as I said it was on a two week trial - and it truly was. I was convinced he wouldn't give in and I would have to send her back but he fell in love. Head over heels in love. I do all the walking and spend more time with her but she is madly in love with him - perhaps it is a female thing again because our male cat loves me the most. But she is wonderful company and I am so glad we have her. I just wish I had more time to spend with her.

Anyway just a little note. This weekend I am going to try and write more about me. I realise that I may have given a strange impression of me - with so many things missing so will try to rectify this later.

D

The appearance of Geraldine Palmer

It was just a typical monday morning. The staff stumbled back into the gleaming kitchen that they rushed to escape Saturday tea time. The room is cold. It only feels cold after the weekend or public holidays as the rest of the week it keeps the raging warmth of the cooking inside over night.

Marcha, the kitchen assistant spots Geraldine first. Momentarily she can't believe her eyes. Surely not. Geraldine Palmer in their kitchen. This is going to be trouble. Marcha screams and begins to jump and almost stamp on the spot. She bends and quickly tucks her over large blue check trousers into her men's black socks. Not an easy thing to do whilst screaming, pointing indiscriminately and stamping her feet.

Jean, her boss sighs. It's monday morning and things should be quiet and organised and Marcha is prone to hysterics.

'What Marcha, calm down and explain the problem. And be quiet'.

Marcha continues to scream and jump and stamp but now begins to point down towards the shiny stainless steel oven.
'It's Geraldine, she's back. She's not dead .'

They both stare on to the spot and there she is sitting upright, her bottom firmly placed on the non slip blue vinyl floor. She looks straight at them, unblinking and appears to almost smile.

'Look, look she is laughing at us.'

'Don't be silly, although I admit it does look like she is smiling. I will call Jim back and get it sorted but for now can't we throw something over her and just get on with preparing the vegetables.'

'Throw what over her and are you going to do it?'

'How about that big flour tub it should be big enough and easy enough to get it over her. I'll have a go'.

Jean got the white transparant bucket from the store cupboard on the otherside of the kitchen and slowly crept towards Geraldine. When she was three feet away she stopped and bent down to tuck her beautifully ironed catering trousers into her bright white socks. Somehow it looked worse for its neatness. She crept closer.

Geraldine looked up at her. Straight at her and waited. Jean manovered the tub in her hands so that it was perfectly vertical and upside down and then in one quick movement popped it neatly over Geraldine.

And there the tub containing Geraldine sat all day. All day of jacket potatoes and salad; of ham and cheese toasted sandwiches; of fish and chips; of shepards pie and peas and cream cakes, coffee and scones. Never moving, never lifted, never even jogging in the rush of the kitchen.

Jim arrived at 4.30 just as the kitchen was in clear up time and a few customers were having their coffee and whatever is left on the counter cakes before catching the last bus home. He sat and drank strong tea from an extra large mug and a mishapped scone smothered in butter in Jean's office before begining his task.

'It can't be Geraldine - she's dead. I took her body away myself. Definately. I disposed of her body in the incinerator myself.'

'Well it looks just like her, same colour, same size, same attitude.'

'Can she really have an attitude?'

Jean looked at Jim stuffing his face and slurping his tea simultanously and wondered if he ever did his job or just liked to visit kitchens for free food and company.

'Anyway' spat Jim as he stuffed the last mouthful of cheese scone in his mouth and gulped his last mouthful of tea, staring into the mug to make sure of its emptiness 'I better go and do the business.'

'It would have been better if you had been here earlier but just deal with it quickly. She's under that tub by the cooker.'

Jim grabbed his trap, a large brown box that rattled as he moved and moved towards the tub. He placed the box next to the tub and almost unseen, so quickly it was like a slight of hand swapped one for the other.

Geraldine was trapped and gone forever.

'Hurry and take her away please,' Marcha begged him. 'I don't want no more scares on a Monday morning.'

'No probs. I just check her and then we will both be gone.' He slid a panel from the side of the box that exposed a clear purspex wall. The inside of the box was empty.

Jim quickly slide the panel back into place before the others noticed. He stood quietly for a moment.

'Geraldine may have lots of relatives you know. Maybe I should bait some traps just in case. I'll be back in the morning to sort it out. Any left overs you are throwing out?'

'No Jim, no left overs today. We'll see you in the morning Geraldine free, I hope' Jean nodded her head towards the box.


'Yeah Geraldine Palmer is gone. Why do you call her Geraldine anyway?'

'Oh she reminded us Gerald our boss, silently visiting and watching, stealing the food and leaving a mess so we christened her Gerald but then you told us she was a female so Geraldine Palmer she became.'

Jim stared at the women silently. He hesitated before speaking.

'You don't know do you?'

'Know what?' Marcha spoke as she walked to the store room to put away the half used box of disposable gloves.

'Gerald died last night - massive heart attack I think. It's a tragedy.'

'Well that's one word for it' Jean felt sorry she said it as soon as the words left her mouth. 'I guess we will have a new boss. Perhaps that nice Miss Allen or Mr Brown.'

'Whoever, there will be lots of changes. Never a good thing, never a good thing at all.' He clasped the empty box closer to his chest and turns to leave.

'See you in the morning to sort out some traps.'

'Ok Jim, no problems and say goodbye to Geraldine for us.'

Jim mumbled something incomprehenible as he leaves the kitchen.

'You go as well Marcha, I'll finish up and lock up. See you bright and early tomorrow.

'Really boss, great I can get home in time to see Neighbours. See you tomorrow.'

Jean smiles, before scanning the kitchen quickly before turning off the lights and locking the door. All nicely clean, neat and tidy ready for tomorrow and definately Geraldine free.

*************************************************************************************

Marcha, the kitchen assistant spots her first. She can't believe her eyes. No, no, no. There is going to be so much trouble. Marcha screams and begins to jump and almost stamp on the spot. She bends and quickly tucks her over large blue check trousers into her large grey socks. Not an easy thing to do whilst screaming, pointing indiscriminately and stamping her feet.

Jean sighs. It's tuesday morning and she would like a quiet day. Marcha is so prone to hysterics.

'What Marcha, please not again. Calm down and be quiet'.

Marcha continues to scream and jump and stamp and points towards the shiny oven.

'It's Geraldine, she's back. She's not dead .'