Lets play squash the cat!

Twolegs and fourlegs

While we were out walking the two young two-legs went off with their friends and horses, down the beach in the sunshine. It was cold and Hannah rode bareback up from the beach, fingers chilled, face cold. They seemed to think it a good idea to call in for hot chocolate on the way back to the field. When the horses saw the cave house full of tigers and wolves they were very excited, but soon calmed down when fruit cake joined hot chocolate.
Pixie viewed all from the safety of a tree.

Twolegs warmed hands on glasses of chocolate steaming in sunshine.

Red decided that the way to get cake was to give Ffion a kiss, but Kai settled for apple from Deb's pocket.
So, we wondered, in a day of horses what or who will turn up next?

Boxing day, golden walking.

Boxing day, golden light. The air has a cold chill in the sunshine and is full of birds. On top of the hill sunshine slants.

A blue sky day, wild land, empty of people, full of life.

Along this way many have passed leaving messages tangled in thorns that snatch and catch as we walk through, fox and badger, stoat and weasel.

Silver horses greet us, gentle giant beasts that shine in the golden light.

They watch us walk, at peace with all, curious, brilliant.

Brave Kiffer, who knows no fear, decides that a cat can ride a horse.

Animal Christmas

Christmas eve and She has bought our Christmas present early! Elmo makes sure it doesn't get away while I go fetch the others. Christmas is after all a time for sharing.

And for Christmas Rosie gets the most annoying squeaking pheasant, but is soon worn out by all and everything.

ps. For Christmas we gave Her a rat. Not just any rat. This was the King Rat, biggest in the garden ad it took team work to catch and to kill. Did She say thank you? You may well ask. She took one look and sighed, with love maybe for our kind thought, and said, 'a rat. How lovely. Just what always wanted.' Then She picked it up in a plastic bag and took it away outside. Pixie said that she could detect a note of sarcasm in Her voice, but I thought She was holding back a tear of joy that we could be so generous.
Maurice.

Snipe and shooting stars.

It is night again. In this moment of peace stand in the garden and look up into the sky. What we once thought was the bowl of night is rich with wonder. The air is still. At first the sky seems to be the cloth of heaven pierced by cat claw to reveal the lights of heaven behind. Look closer. There are bright stars and pale and behind, above, around these a myriad of lights, a thousand billion could not number. The texture of the heavens is a wonder of the world.
Tonight again there is a stillness that hangs. Cold air bites at skin. Somewhere a snipe rises in dangerous dark flight, disturbed from sleep by the blood red fox. All around distant dogs bark. Somewhere someone whistles, to call a dog home to the hearthside.
From the sky a small star falls, an arc of light in an infinite tapestry.

Peace

Early morning and now so still. The world is waiting. Across the fields the cathedral bell tolls, sound muffled by the thickness of damp air. Six chimes ring out. Across the sky the beam of the lighthouse sweeps like a cat tail. As yet no birds sing to call the sun to rise and the dark is a texture that brushes face and whiskers like soft silk. No birdsong and no wave sound. It would seem that the sea has taken a vow of silence on this darkest of mornings.
We wish you all peace, joy and fulfillment of dreams. And for cats, a full bowl, a warm fire and a soft lap.

The sound of the night

Outside in the darkness there is a quiet sense of waiting. The air is still, heavy with water, not raining, but like the finest cloud. From somewhere distant the sea breathes, in and out on a shore of sand, drawing patterns that flick and change with the turn of every tide, every wave.
Heaven's lamps are shrouded in clouds. The dogs chase a wild red fox, over dark fields and hedges. In the distance a dog barks a wish to join in the chase. Wild things snuffle and grunt in the hedges. The birds stir, uneasy in their sleep.
The chase ends, fox escapes and the dogs return home to the warmth of a new made fire.
In the distance the farm dog still barks.
Peace.

Happy Solstice

We are the luckiest of cats as we were sent a picture from Elora of a gingercat to say Happy Solstice. And because we are kind we are sharing it with everyone, so here on the darkest of long nights is a suncat to brighten the night and bring on the new year.

The strangest thing

Kiffer stretched out so far on the sofa that he became unsure of which end was which, where his head was and where his tail began.

Just incase you have not realised that Christmas is soon

In a small corner of Wales the two-legs are panicking. It seems that once again it is a thing called Christmas, which means we get some goose and they eat sprouts (green things that don't bleed) and before all that the two-legs get very tense and shouty.
So we have been asked to let everyone know about the ecards on Her website. You can see them here and send them to people that you wish to. Some are of paintings but the best are of us, because we are cats and we are magnificent.

What I have been eating this week.....

a tin of dog food (stolen from the kitchen table)
a hair comb
three lockets ( cough sweets)
a pig face pot holder (pink, fits over my nose)
more coal
more catfood
sweet water from a swift running stream
mud puddles
driftwood sticks on the beach that taste of salt
a paper boat
the leg of a chair
a cardboard box that made a lovely mosaic on the carpet



and after all that a little nap to let it all settle

Night games

Outside the night is dark. The sky has more stars that there are cats in the world. A river of stars sweeps across the darkness. The Dark Night Moon does not show her face yet.

Inside, warm. A green tree with lights scents the house and we play the game of 'how many gingers can you fit on the sofa'. Today, four, and one over the fire.

Absence makes the house grow colder.

As the moon diminishes we have sat and shivered. She has been away and left us with only a Deb to come and feed and talk to us. No fire, no warmth at all. Then She breezes back in all bags and chatter about having been to Bath. Well, all we can say is, She doesn't look clean.
But now the fire is lit and glows like a quiet dragon. Dogs are home and happy to be so, children are snoozing their morning snooze before rising to chaos of getting ready for school, always a small miracle that they make it out of the house at the same time every morning. It is good to have their noise back. And soon we will forgive Her and welcome Her back. But not yet.

Bright moon and the windsong night

Tonight is the night of the brightest moon this year, but outside a storm is blowing, cold wind and rain that bites as it is thrown from the sky like tiny arrows. We wait to see if the storm cat will blow through in search of other pleasure, but for now he rattles at doors and windows and rushes in waves over the roof tiles of our low Welsh cottage until we feel like we are in a boat in a storm at sea. So fast and furious, so cold.
Maybe the bright light of the moon will burn through the thick dark cloud. In the meantime we will rest and curl by the fire and wait and listen to the windsong.

On the menu this week for Rosie

a pen (black)
pheasant ( very good)
coal
cow poo
a cardboard tube
a boot
a pen (blue)
more pieces of coal (very crunchy)
my toy basket
a cardboard box
a tigger (very like a gingercat but more bouncy)
the kitchen knife (didn't swallow it)
half a loaf of multi seed bread
dog food
catfood
a chewy bone
yum

Mantra

This morning She counted us up, one to six, and said our name, like a chant, like a poem, just to be sure that we were all there, before She fed us. We twined and circled, waiting for breakfast on our golden plates, while she stood in pyjamas.
"Small Pixie, Naughty Elmo, Deep Dark and Mysterious Max, Pale Kiffer, Old Martha and my Wonderful Bright Orange, Burning Like The Sun, Maurice."
Her counting is getting better.

Oh brother, where art thou?

This morning She got up too early and fed us and to Her it seemed there were not quite enough and at first She thought it was me, Pixie, missing. She cannot count very well and gets confused now there are six of us. But no, Pixie was there. Later She realized that She had not seen Maurice all day. Maurice who jumps into Her arms, mostly when She is expecting it, but sometimes when She is not. No Maurice, and it is cold outside. By supper he was still not back and though a line of ginger curled along the sofa, none was him.
So when we walked around the village before bed we called. And She was worried. He never stayed out all day, never missed food.
The moon was so so bright, silvered cloud, deep dark shadows. The night before dawn this morning was as dark as could be. Moon had set. The earth was waiting for sunlight. Tonight it is splendid in the silver light of the moon.
Still no Maurice, and then there he was, on the path, tail high in the moonlight, and into Her arms he jumped and She hugged him, so close.
Seems that he was just keeping company with Mr Griffiths in the small white cottage next door. And Glyn always has a bowl of catfood for a hungry cat.

A walk in the evening on a cold Wednesday

Nothing is too steep for the power of ginger, and Elmo always loves to show off his climbing skills.

At the top in the blink of an eye and today the sky is a heavy ceiling of cloud.

In the west the sun is setting. The landscape is a lean winter landscape of russets. Plump pheasants nestle in the bones of bracken.

To the north the lighthouse pulses out its beacon from Strumble Head. At Pen Beri the peregrine sits with feathers fluffed against the cold, swift death waiting and watching on a stone ledge above the sea.

And on the way home we play cat bat in the evening light.

Time

Too late now we say thank you to Oliver Postgate, for all the stories, for making such a good cat with Bagpuss, for being so brave as to swim against the current and stand up for what you believed. You filled many childhoods with peace and colour and laughter. What could be better than that.

Clouds like lions rage across the night sky.

Only the brightest of heaven's lamps shines through tonight. The path is silvered by moonlight, and the clouds run like lions across the sky. North wind brings cold. In the lea of the wind there is stillness. In the shadows of the moon the dark is deep as the shadowcat again bides his time, and all the time the moon grows.

Woodcats, hares and the moon

In St Davids She is having an exhibition with a lady who makes jewellery with woodcats, and they look like this.

You can see more on Her website here.

The Cat and the Fiddle

Boxes and boxes and boxes, out of the house and into the car and then they were gone, for a whole day. We know where. The cat told us.
They went to a hotel, not far away, where walking cats live, smokey grey and black with emerald eyes. Cats that walk to the beach.

Here the grey cat listened as Andy played the fiddle, while She read a story to people gathered there for the Druidstone Hotel Christmas Bazaar.

It was a cold, blue sky day with a sea to match and gentle waves rolling up the beach. Warm and bright and full of people.

And She sold books and signed them and bought biscuits that taste of sweet fruit and chocolate.
The cat was pleased when everyone left and the hotel settled back to its warm and peaceful haven of life, by the blue blue sea. And the stars shone bright in the ice cold night.

Tonight the lamps of heaven are hidden, mostly

Half a moon sails in a sea of heavy ink dark cloud, and the cloud is pushed fast across the land by the hand of the north west wind. Through clear islands heaven's lamps throw their fragile light on night's pilgrims, fox, badger and owl. We stay snug and snoozing on the thick sheep coat of dark delight, warm in the haven house, dreaming cat dreams.

A study in sleeping

She came home with a sheepskin, deep chocolate and white, warm. This is the place to sleep as winter gets sharper.

Unfortunately I made such blissful noises of happy sleeping that Pixie and Maurice decided it was the only place to be too, while Kiffer thought a bit more space would be good.

Inspired by the idea of sharing, Rosie and Floss sat in the same dog basket. Then Floss decided that the washing basket looked better. A perfect fit.

Meanwhile Rosie stretched out and had a close inspection of one of Her old paintings She left littering the house in an untidy fashion.

But I still think my sheepskin best of all places to sleep and dream of feathercloaks and wings and things.

Fur and feathers all

On an early blue sky morning I climbed the bare winter bones of the great ash tree. All was quiet, just the distant sound of a wave on sand. Then into the tree came one black cleric, soot shining feather cloak, beak like a spear, bead eyed, loud.

And soon there were more, their cloaks flapping, down from the sky they came, to shout at orange cats in the bright branches, to flap and caw. But they did not get too close, for though they are sharp of beak they are wise enough to know that we are sharp of claw.

Auctions and small rodents with large teeth

We were a little worried when She started talking of auctions. After we had let a baby rat loose in the house so that She had to catch it (which She did with great skill and dexterity, not bad for a human, fingers can be very useful sometimes ) we thought She might be auctioning us off to the highest bidder. But no, it is just an auction to raise money for The Snow Leopard Trust. Just in time for Christmas!

£12.50 for the set

She has been out all morning having taken away lots of paintings. Seems She is making an exhibition of Herself again, and you can see some of one of them if you click on these words here.
On the way back She saw these two. They had just been for a drive around a shop in their VW camper van, covered in flowers and were standing looking out at Her from the shop window. Stunning! Salt and pepper pot cats dressed in traditional Welsh costume! How we laughed.
Whatever next!
Well you may ask. Have a look at these.

This week I have been mostly eating....

a shoe
some coal
some sand
a loaf of bread (brown)
a photograph of Sky (the big black lurcher dog)
a frisbee (blue)
a pen (black ink)
a loaf of bread (multi seed)
another pen (blue ink)
rabbit poo
horse poo
and growing my tail, long, long, long.