Elmo

It is twilight and tonight I walk alone. Damp grass pulls my fur to sharp points where it brushes against my coat. Some light still holds fast to the sky for the night is not quite fallen yet. Few stars shine through and I wait for the whisker thin moon to silver the edges of cloud.
The sheep are restless. Across the fields I can hear new puppies at Janet's farm, excited by the smells of night.
The dogs walk the bounds of the village, as they do every night, and chase away the red fox from the corner where the chickens roost in uneasy sleep. Badgers, the small striped bears of Britain, pad their heavy way between the high hedge banks. Tonight they feast on snail and slug and the firm early blackberries that whisper of autumn. Snakes snooze in the cool and wait for summer to return.
It is quiet. I can hear the flitflak of a bat's wing. Outside the house moths dance by the lamplit windows.
And I wait, for the thinnest moon to rise, for the hushwing owl to stir small birds from their twig-tangled havens, for the angry squeals of mice in the long, wet grass, for the stars to sing.

Whiskers and paws

In this house of ginger Rosie and Kiffer sleep curled together until it becomes difficult to know where cat begins and puppy ends.

In a puppy's eye

I am the puppy. My name is Rosie, and somewhere a ginger cat is always watching me.

Rounding up the sheep dog...

and teaching her some manners....

and general cleanliness.

After the sun, the rain.

Days of hot sunshine when we melted into pools of ginger in the garden or hid in long grass shaded from the sun gave way at last to a fall of rain so heavy. First we could smell the rain coming, then the sky filled with dark bruises of cloud and the clouds burst. Inside the house we all gathered for shelter and listened as the rain cat danced on the roof. The leaves in the garden bowed low beneath the weight of water and raindrops caught in the bright red roses.
When the rain stopped the earth steamed. It was still hot. A warm wind rose and carried the scent of the wet roses, beaded with raindrops.
Now it is dark and the sky is silvered with traces of clouds, lit by the crescent moon. The night belongs to the owls and to the toads and frogs.
The light from the crescent moon shines in our deep, dark cats eyes.

Rosie

Today I went to the beach and met the big, wide wet sea. And my shadow.

A hot day

Pixie: So, we gather here on a hot day to decide what we are going to do about the small pied one?

Bella: It's hot, and I don't like the puppy.

Maurice: Hot hot hot hot, tired.

Pixie: I had hoped it was only here for a short time, but it would seem that it is Hannah's birthday present. Small it is and its teeth are sharp but maybe we have room?
Bella: No.

Floss: I think.....
Bella: Well, that's a first!
Floss: I think it looks like me and I think it is fun to play with, like a ball.

Maurice: And I think it is too hot to think.
Pixie: So, Martha is teaching it manners, Kiffer has taught it to sleep, Floss is teaching it to play and I have taught it to walk. Elmo is teaching it to be naughty. What are you going to teach it Maurice?
Maurice: How to be scared of hot cats!

A place of safety

If I sit up here, high in the kitchen on the pink fridge, then the new thing cannot find me, for its legs are only short. And its fur is soft. And it runs around until it is worn out tired and then it flops and sleeps like a kitten.

Knitting patterns

First take one dog with long hair, then clip dog.

Take dog hair and spin using a drop spindle into a ball of hair and then knit.....under a fading moon.......

..until you have a puppy.

Introduce puppy to gingers...... and get Kiffer to teach her.....

...to sleep.

What?

Elmo: I've seen it. Have you seen it? What is it?
Maurice: Something She is knitting.
Elmo: So that's what She is doing with those clicketty sticks and dog hair. What is it?
Pixie: A something, a bundle, a black and white four legs.
Kiffer: Whatever it is I am not sure I want it in my house.
Maurice: It smells.
Max: What are you wittering about now?
Martha: Oh no, here we go again.

Twilight walking

At the closing end of every day the sun fades slowly to allow the stars, one by one, to shine their light on the world. On this evening as the sun leaves the sky the air is still enough to hear moth wings in the blackberry flowers, bat flight and the gentle fall of a cat's paw as we walk around the twilight lands.

Chilling out

Sunshine in the garden and She is too tangled up in dragons to walk so we roll in strange plants in the garden. Hard life. Meanwhile Hannah and her friend Gwen are learning to make films in Fishguard and you can see their film now, here on youtube.
We will have to see if we can persaud Hannah to teach Her to make films, if anyone can peel Her away from Her beloved dragons

Kiffer the sleeper

If there is one thing that Kiffer knows how to do it is sleep. But what do Kiffers dream of?

Black gingers and other kittens

At St Elvis Farm near Solva, where we three ginger cats were born, our sister, Charlie cat, who is so very small, has had kittens. She went to get photos and found Elmo's sister, a rare black ginger, with pointy lynx ears just like ours, waiting on the roof, watching.

In the house the kitten lady held the smallest tortoiseshell ginger, and Hannah cuddled Charlie and told her what a clever cat she is and all about us.

And they saw the other kitten too, with the bright blue eyes, who was found in a tractor by the farmer.

The intricate song of summer

We walked in the sunshine, five cats like beads strung out on invisible thread, over the hill to the heather rocks and golden grasses.

Here we rested in warm sunshine and listened to the sound of summer, stonechat chipping, wren song and grasshoppers.

Intrigued by the intricate song of insects Maurice tried to find some hidden in the grass, little knowing that a song so big could arise from a creature so small.

Today I will be mostly...

...hiding in heather.

Elmo says.....

...two heads are better than one!

Night and the half moon light

The night scents fill the garden. Roses, moths, the path of bats across the sky. The wind is warm and from the west and the half moon shines, bone white, silvering a thin veil of cloud. The short night is for the owls, but soon the hawks will fill the air and raven will tumble the sky in their joyful flight. Over the gorse where now they sleep the linnets will sing, and stone chats will chip away at the day.
Across the fields a distant dog barks lonely.
Elmo sleeps with his head tucked safe between his paws.

Elmo's head

You down there, has anyone seen my head? It seems to have fallen off again!

Helping Hannah with art homework

Sometimes when I sleep I dream of another place with streets and houses and cars and bad dogs. Living here is good, but all this painting is exhausting.

Through green and golden grasses

Wild flowers, long grass, golden, summer.

Green lane to the top of the hill filled with emerald light. We walk together.

Over the rocks, through gorse, a twisting path where foxes run, we wait for Bella and Pixie and Maurice.

Pools of sunlight colour the rain bruised fields. We glow bright and over head the peregrines claim the sky as their own.

Elmo's nest

On top of the hill, sheltered from the wind, I lay in a nest of grass and waited for the other two while peregrine chicks split the sky with screams of joy at finding their wings for the first time. Born on a rock ledge above the heaving sea in a tangle of twisted twigs, clumsy, ugly, now they dance their fearful dance across the blue and claim the air as their element, all wing and claw and beautiful elegance.

Owl-light

In between the light of day and the dark of night we walk the boundaries of home. The twilight is still. A gentle breath of promised rain touches our fur, the only thing to hold a colour still in this twixt light. Still we burn through the dimity darkness with our fire-glow coats.
No birds are singing.
All is calm and the half-night sky is bruised dark with cloud.
It is as if the world holds its breath and waits for night to fall.
No birds sing, not even the grasshopper warbler. Owls awake and begin their hush winged flight.
Not even the murmur of a distant sea disturbs the peace.

Early evening walking.

I was curled tight and small when she put on her shoes and called the dogs to walk but I unfurled and stretched and together we walked to the sea.

A steady swell rose and fell and the sea sang as the sun slanted onto ginger, evening sun, still warm, and the sound of the sea an evening song as it sucked and pulled at the shore below.

The tight balled flowers of meadowsweet echoed the salt sea spray, the young flowers still holding tight to their honey perfume.

And the sea shone blue as the cloud bank built far away.

Fresh purple heather and banks of wild thyme scented the paths.

For a while we sat to watch the birds fly as far out to sea a river of shearwaters flew low over the sea.

On the way home the sky still held more of the day than night though the scent of night creatures began to colour the air.