Je Suis Le Chat

Progress; or "Needs Whiskers".

Only those who know Her well will understand how hard it is for Her to paint this cover. It is turning into a small hymn of praise for Maurice.

The Ghost Cat

Tonight, by the light of the quarter moon we walk. The wind is rising. Pixie and Max are sheltering, warm in the kitchen. Only Elmo follows. The moon is almost bright enough to pick out his flame coat and he looks well, sleek. He watches over Her as they walk, and talks to himself, to Her, singing a cat song to the moonshadow cat who keeps pace beside him. Starlight. 

Starbright. 

The ground is shattered and splintered beneath the trees, shadow and moonlight, silver and dark.

I call, on the edge of the wind, on the edge of memory, a feint cat cry in the wind. And I walk with them too, ghost cat, watchful, shadow and moonlight.

Walking down memory lane, Maurice and Elmo

A short but growing list.

Things Maurice taught us.

The elegance of the feline creature.
That it is possible to love unconditionally.


Always always always be sick in the cat basket on the way to the vet. If you can poo as well, all the better.
Between the eyes and a book is the best place to get attention.
Training humans to catch mice usually results in great excitement and shouting.
How to look upon furless humans with utter disdain.
Always make sure they know you are there before you jump into their arms.
Never eat the green wobbly bit.
Nothing on earth is as beautiful as a cat.
That the kitchen table is not the best place to do a wee.

Understanding words, understanding cats, understanding hearts.

Maurice was bright flame cat, wicked eyed cat, warm cat, intimate cat, companion.
His face asked questions, always.
He walked, watching, ears alert, guardian cat, wild on the hills.
Fire cat, he was beautiful, in golden grass, in heather, honeysuckle, bluebells, clover, on clifftops, hilltops, meadows, hedge and wall.
He was hunter, brother, beloved.
Most of all beloved.

Maurice

Outside the sun is shining. The snowdrops are fading and primroses hold a promise of summer sun in their pale yellow flowers. The days get longer. The birdsong is louder and all around the rooks and the jackdaws begin to gather sticks and moss to make unruly nests.

There are lambs in the field by the house, bright and full of their own springs and playful running.

But my heart is raw and open for today the best of all cats had died. Words fail me. 

Yesterday he jumped up into my arms where I held him warm and close.

Today I have buried him in the soft, dark earth.

There was something so very special about Maurice and only those who have had the great privilege to be so close with an animal will know that. Never broken, beyond the frail thing called love, perhaps just a mutual respect.

His death leaves me breathless.

Beautiful things

Looking exceptionaly beautiful today Maurice is modelling a blanket from Melin Tregwynt in Wales. It goes so very beautifully with his eyes.

 

Brothers

Maurice, helping

In the morning Elmo walked wih Her. In the evening it was my turn to help with the work. So I slept and dreamed and curled while She scribbled in a book. She calls that work. 
In Her studio there is a new working place, though it does look very like a bed. Cleverly designed, She says, for it has a place for a wine glass to balance on a corner.

 

Not forgotten.

She went away and returned with a mirror, so now we can see our reflected glory. Beautiful ginger, we glow like firecats. 
This morning the ground was crisp white with a shawl that the moon had thrown down and spread across the fields. As the sun rose into the morning sky she stole away its bone white beauty and warmed the land but when evening came the cold bit again at the air.
Inside the house is warm. We melt in ginger pools across soft cushions.
The house seems a little lost still without Martha. The people sometimes stop when walking across a room and look around as if they have lost something, until they find it is only the memory of her fragile beauty that has slipped their minds for a moment.

 

Outside is windsong, cold and dark. Inside embers glow.

Somewhere, the moon.

Walking the twilight village and the sky is like the under belly of a fish. As I rest in Her arms She is reminded that a year has passed and I am still here. As She feels the weight of me, the warmth of me, the great purring life in me, She is glad. A whole year of time, and in that year She has spent too much time painting and not enough time walking with me. Now the weight of my tail resting wrapped around Her cold arm shows Her that I forgive Her the time She has wasted in not being with a cat.
Bats fly. The growing darkness is lit by flickers of moth flit.
I purr. She walks. Somewhere the moon watches.

Something wonderful

This morning we travelled together, She and I, to Paris. The time was a time when lamp-lighters walked the twilight streets of evening. We wandered through streets, time travelled to a land underwater, to a place where corals and fossils were precious jewels, thieves and murderers darkened doorways, scribes compiled thick books with drawings of skeletons and feathers, where diamonds hid in mummies, to The Well of Birds.
Together we wandered through this world of richness, She in bed with coffee, me a ginger scarf, purring.
The Coral Thief.

Blue sky, buzzards and lapwings

Across ground sprinkled with snow we walked together to the hilltop high. So quiet the day that you could hear a cat paw on frozen snow, a flapwing flight of a flock of lapwing and the crunch munch of cows grazing bracken. Light and snow, winter, a sky filled with birds. Paradise.

At home we greeted Mr Griffiths. So cold in his house, but he seemed quite well, with Nadolig held tight in his arms.

A picture paints a thousand words

Song of the copper bear

Tonight the wind cat plays with the copper bear that flies above the house. The dogs go to the door. It is dark, time to walk the village bounds before sleep. She rises to go and as She opens the door some of the night rushes into the house. Moonshadow fingers of winterbone trees dapple the ground with dark and silver. I slip through the door, out from the light and into the night, to follow.
She turns. " Go back. It's cold. Stay warm in the house," She says.
But I jump up, into Her arms, a ginger scarf and gloves of bright fur to warm Her as they walk. She pushes Her face into flame fur and we warm each other as She carries me around beneath star and sky and bright moon. As we near the house again its lights shine out a welcome. She breathes in the scent of cat and sighs, holding me close.
" I love you, Maurice."
We close the door on the darkness.
Outside the wind cat still plays with the copper bear. In the wind, the copper bear sings.

Prayers in the wind of the world.

Prayer flags in the wind carry prayers around the world for many more days like this, as they unravel in the breeze. Yesterday Kath came and gave Maurice two injections and today his breathing was better and mischief reigned in his bones as he raced birds up the tree and soaked the sunshine deep into ginger fur.

Beautiful.

Maurice: We wait, curled in warm places in Glyn's barns or his kitchen, until the men with hammers and drills have gone. In the evenings there is a fire now. Everything in the house is different.
Today we walked a little way, but something steals my breath. I cannot go far from home and She seems sad because of this. I look at the sky, the birds, secret ways through bushes of thorns. I listen to windsong and birdsong. I feel autumn sun and leaf fall. I smell damp air, crisp leaf and I can hear a falling leaf rustle, a bird wing flit, a moth breathe. I am a cat.

Cold rain is falling.

Rain beats hard on the roof. All cats gather together, a pool of warm ginger. We wait for Her to light the fire, but so far She does not.
Maurice continues to breath like a bagpipe playing a fast tune. We will know more on Thursday.
At least we now have a roof for the rain to beat on!

The day after the vets.......

........She let me roam where I wanted in Her studio. Even let me walk through the paint and help Her sign some books. And the day after the x-ray I glow like fire, sparkle and shine.

I am one loved-up-dayglow-bright-orange-man-cat!