Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Eyes in the nighttime, pools of moonlight.

Six cats walk tonight. Three cats of flesh, blood and bone. Three cats born of the full moon, shadow cats, deep, dark and velvet black. For we watched as the full moon rose, pink on the horizon, yellow as it flew higher and now bone white and bright in the night. And the sky is bleached of stars by the light, and the field of wheat is pale gold in the almost daylight brightess. Or maybe it is just the memory of the gold that lingers and paints in the colour.
It is still. Not a cloud spoils the beauty of the moon filled sky. Not a whisper of breeze. So quiet you can hear the claw clack of a cat paw on the silvered path. Across a field an owl calls and somewhere fireworks shatter the silence with rude eruptions. In the grass things stir.
Our mirror eyes, big in the dark, are pools of moonlight.

Monday, August 27, 2007

The finest jewels.

My eyes are brighter and more lovely than the finest jewels. They catch the swiftest movement of mouse in the grass or star in the sky. They shine like fire, like gold. At night they open wide to hold the smallest light so that I may see in the darkness.

Today I sit on the cliffs by the blue blue sea, and I watch the birds fly as they buzz in close. Stiff winged white fulmars come to see what I am. Closer and closer, and on the beach the seals sing. And I still wish for wings.

Walking in Sunshine

Blue sky, walking on the wall, hot in the sunshine but a mist washes over the land at times, hiding the hills, chilling the air.

I wait in the golden grass and the flowers paint tiger stripe shadows on my fur.

There are more seals on the beach, more pups each day. A week old and full of seal milk, the pup now fits his white fur coat.

When it is time to go the cloud has again crept in to cover the land. There is still time for a little cliff top yoga before the long climb home.

Friday, August 24, 2007


The wind has blown itself away. The storm cat has changed to a kitten, lapping at the shore of the seal beach. As the wind has died the sea has settled and the water is clear, though full of flotsam and jetsam.

The storm cat has torn and ripped at the forest of seaweeds that grows on the sea bed, shredded it with sharp angry claws and now small pieces float with the seals.

But it is clear now and the rippling patterns dapple the seals as the cruise through the cold water at the edge of the beach. On land they are lumberous, heavy and clumsy. In the sea they flow with the liquid grace of the cat.

Morning light, mist and heather.

The wild wind that whips the sea to spray and spindrift has softened all the land with a pale veil of mist. Up close the light makes all sharp as I walk through the dew damp grass with an early morning low sun shadow.

From a distance the landscape becomes layered like a Japanese woodcut.

And we seek the heather, my dark shadow cat and I. The flowers are almost past their best and are turning to a familiar rusty glow amongst the purple.

Early morning heather, late evening sun, ginger moon.

Low sun in the early morning caught in the purple flowers of heather. Long shadows and drowsy bees. Cold wind.

Low sun in the late evening lights fur to a fire glow. Long shadows and the wind has turned and carries an edge of warmth. Half moon rides the sky. When we walk the night walk the moon hangs red over the sea, setting early and lighting the water with a cold fire path of orange.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Yoga in the garden.


When we walk She gathers feathers. We are not sure whether they fall from flying birds or whether this is how birds grow. First a feather is planted in the ground and then more grow around it until there is a whole bird. We think that She is collecting feathers until She has enough to make some wings and we hope that they will be wings for us.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Watching the seals.

The seals have gathered now and we walk over the hill every day to watch them on the stone beach. Great grey seals rest on the pebbles and more swim and hang in the water just off shore. There are pups too. We can hear them call, and the sound makes the hair rise on the back of our necks.

The seals are all colours, dappled like sunlight and shadow on a pebble beach. As they dry their fur changes colour. Their eyes are large, their whiskers long.

The pups were only born yesterday, one this morning. Their heads are large and their fur does not fit them, but hangs a little loose like a too big coat.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Where birds grow.

The clouds have stolen summer away. On top of the hill you can see where they are taking bites at the land. Everything is beaded with drops of bright water.

We found a place where the birds grow. There are feathers in the grass. In a few days, if we go back by the same path, through the long grass tunnel of the badger track, maybe it will have grown more. She collected some feathers, maybe to make wings.

The path was steep and the clouds rolled back and the sea was the colour of slate.

Elmo got stuck, balanced between posts with only sharp wire beneath.

On the way back it started to rain and so we hurried home to the cosy chair in the kitchen and curled up together and Elmo dreamed of falling. But first we licked the rain water from each others coats.

I too am Beautiful.

Elegant, sinuous, fierce, bold and brave. Sharp of tooth and claw and mind. I know how to hunt, how to sing, how to walk and stalk most of all I know how to relax.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Always beautiful.

Inside, outside, upside, downside, eyes open, eyes closed, asleep, awake, thinking, dreaming. I am Cat and I am always beautiful.


Between the light and the dark we walk. In the sky a cloud like a fiery dragon catches the last of the sun. The field is soft with tall grass, green, dark. We spring and run through the jungle grass in the gloaming light.
A badger runs across the next field, startled by the dog and us, two cats, ginger bright in the lost light of day. He stops and spies from a bracken bush, black and white mask face clear in the dimness.
The light falls more from the day and the stars come out, a band of distant fire across an ink blue sky and it rains falling stars. The Perseids are here again
Some people think that the falling stars are heaven crying for the death of a saint. We think they are a magic fireshow against a cloth of dreams.

Saturday, August 11, 2007


Morning, clouds, sun and shadow. Long grass, bracken bones of last year's leaves brown fronds rattling in the rich green. The badger track trails over the hill and everyone follows me.

The sky is patterned with patches of cloud that shine onto the sea. The dapples mirror the markings of our coats. Today we feel at one with the world.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Walking on Thursday

The green lane to the top of the hill is overgrown again with tall grass, cool, even in the hottest part of the day. In early morning the grass is bent low with the dew. Water brushes ginger fur.

On top of the hill it is hot, even early in the morning. The scent from heather hangs heavy in the warm. It smells like honey. Bees work busily through the purple tracery of fine flowers, legs golden and heavy with pollen. Butterflies rise in small clouds of colour and dragonflies rattle their glassy wings. Big as birds they hover in the gorse.

The early morning low sun makes an oasis of shadow just big enough for a small hot cat.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Long grass, sunshine and sea.

It was warm in the sheltered places but a north wind blows cold today and wrinkles the surface of the sea. Over the high rock and down through the long grass there are daisies. Daisy, a beautiful flower named simply as "the day's eye" because they open to look at the sun and shut their eyes to the moon.

In the long grass field I chased the dog, down to the sea.

Tea and sunshine

Sunday, August 5, 2007

Listening for seals

We can hear the soft music of the wind through the grass.
We can hear the waves gently turning pebbles that roll smooth on the beach below, sorting them with fingers of waves, polishing them with water.
We can hear the piping alarm calls of the orange beaked oyster catchers as they rise and fly low over the slate gray water.
We can hear the rattle of the breeze in the bones of the dry bracken.
We can hear a thin waterfall as it tumbles to a small pool in the stones of the beach, fresh water mixing with salt.
We can hear a distant buzzard high, circling in the slate dark sky, searching.

A seal waits in the water. The first of the females, sleek head and beautiful, large dark eyes and white whiskers. The first of the gathering.

Friday, August 3, 2007


Moonroot tagged the gingers. But I have had enough of their spicey nonsense and it is my turn to speak. I am Max. Below are rules. Rules are things that people sometimes follow and cats seldom do.

~Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.

~People who are tagged write their own blog post about their eight things and include these rules.

~At the end of your blog, you need to choose people to get tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged and they should read your blog.

These are my random rambles.

  1. I am not ginger.
  2. In my spare time, of which I have little, I am an artist's model. When She paints She paints me because I am dark and mysterious and look like a Scottish Wild cat.
  3. I play the violin to calm the mice to somnambulance so that they are easy to catch.
  4. I am the cat who walks alone.
  5. I sleep in cupboards curled and quiet. Occasionally I am sociable.
  6. I catch rats, big rats and once gave one to a fit young ginger miss. She loved it and curled up with me and sang me a sweet song of purring delight.
  7. I should have been an only cat.
  8. Every morning I sing to the sun to make a new sun rise to shine on a new day.

I tag a lady with a lovely garden.


Maurice: I hate Her! How dare She! We were walking and had gone all through the golden grass together searching for the seals in the water below the cliffs. It was early morning and Her head was stuffed full of polar bears as usual. Then this man started to walk down and Elmo ran off and She picked me up, without even asking. I was so shocked I swore at Her and wriggled and writhed and raked Her arms and hands with my sharp claws until She was shredded and She put me in a claw bush full of thorns. The man went past and then Elmo came back and we walked on. But I will not be treated like that! I can take care of myself and I hate Her. How dare She! I will not speak to Her again not now, not ever!
Jackie: Sorry Maurice. Didn't mean to frighten you.
Jackie: Would you like some Parma ham?
Maurice: Yes please, how much? All of that! I love you!

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Silver light

Later in the day the sun came out hot and we basked in the garden. Butterflies everywhere. When evening came we walked over the hill to see if the seals had come.
No seals.
Water deep blue.

The sky was a big sky. High above the setting sun shone a cold light onto our fire fur, making it silver.
Late butterflies caught the last of the light as we made our way home, long shadowcats leading the way.

Ginger blue

In the morning the sky was filled with cloud and there was a chill like autumn. We made for the sofa of sleeping cats and curled on the blue and waited.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007


In the early morning we found a pool of crystal dew in amongst the rocks. We drank the sweet water, so fresh and cool. Its scent was of magic and of the moon.

We waited on a high rock while She wrote things in a book in sunshine. Sometimes She stopped to look across the fields and heather. We found places where the sun would shine on our fur. All the time a pair of choughs called raucous song across the valley.