Spot the difference

Walking today with Rosie's Aunty Puzzle, wolves in sheepdog's clothing both, almost identical, both naughty, we played spot the difference.

If in doubt, curl.

Night and day

When the light of day still held the balance against the dark of night the white gold moon shone against the pale blue sky, wrapped clouds blushed pink by the setting sun.
Now in the stillness of dark only the memory of daylight remains. Across the fields badgers tumble and yicker, wild mischief in the thornwood.

The silver edge of the world.

The night is a pool of indigo darkness. Still, hushed, not a dog bark or a fox cry, not a curlew, not an owl hoot. not even the murmur of the slow sea rolling. The only sound the barely perceptible hunting cry of the aerymice as they criss cross the dark.
Shooting stars and a river of light, but best of all the quarter lantern of the moon. Tonight she paints no clouds, but shines a silver path across the ink dark sea, marking with white gold beauty the far distant horizon, the curve of the world, the edge. Beneath the silver waters of the world dolphins sleep.

Hope.

Half a moon silvers the clouds in an indigo sky. This, and the yellow light from un-curtained windows, is the only colour in the monochrome world of night.
Across the field a fox calls, a dog answers. This, and the soft paw touch o the earth is the only sound in the silence of a windless night.
A star falls.
A wish is made.
Tomorrow is full of hope.

A cat by morning light would shine as bright

and angels know the source of the river of gold.

A moment of wild magic in the twilight world of birdsong.

Too long She has been tangled in the bones of the house. Now She is reading The Wild Places and so this morning She rose early and headed out to walk to the top of the hill to watch the world come to light. Past Glyn's house, still sleeping in the early morning, through the farmyard where I, Elmo, called to Her to wait, wait, and ran on fast feet to catch.

In the green lane the night was held, darkness caught between the leaves. Already moths had stilled their night time dance and the birds had begun to sing the sun to rising. Across the valley the sea was an ink dark line biting into the land and the city lights burned.

We walked through the birdsong and the sea began to lighten to pewter gray, the sky to blush, sea reflecting sky reflecting sea in a circle of dancing light. Through it all I shone bright, ginger flame in the twilight world.

Coming down from the hill islands of wren song, so loud a voice for so small a bird, and in the distance the magical island of Ramsey where for a while cats ruled and feasted on wild rabbit and seabirds, undisturbed by man.

A moment of wild magic. Bliss.

The night and the new moon and bells

On this darkest of night while the moon is sleeping we can hear the bells of the cathedral tolling loud and clear across the land like a magical musical box.
Between here and St Davids owls haunt the fields and hedges. Cloud has stolen the stars. The new moon waits to light its cat's whisker light in the black. We have never heard the bells so loud from here in the dew filled night, so still and windless.
And She has been looking at beautiful things whilst listening to the symphony of night time.

Rosie's recipes.

Today I got a fan mail letter. So excited.
'' I would love to thank the dog for the recipe for Posh Stick. In writing the recipe she gave me a recipe for Beef and Beer that I have looked for years to find. I babysat for an English lady when I was in high school and she made the most delicious beef dish I had ever tasted. The dogs recipe sounded just like it so I searched out a can of Young's Chocolate Stout and 3 pounds of stewing beef and followed the dogs recipe for Posh Stick and it was the same remarkable meal I had been looking for during the past 40 years. My family came from England in the mid 1800s and I feel as though I belong there instead of here. If you would like to send me a snail mail address that would reach you I would love to send the dog some new Posh Sticks for the coming Christmas. You would of course have to flavor them for her."
So looking forward to Christmas and think maybe I might do some more hints and tips for hungry dogs.

For the recipe, click on the link to 'Rosie's Recipes' at the bottom of this posting.
Now I, Pixie, have a contract for my new book Rosie is thinking of doing a recipe book and seeing if she can get a contract too!

Cupboards and shelves

The sun has shone on a windy day and She spent the day with the builders, painting walls while they stuck bits of wood to the walls, cat beds all, long ones and high ones and ones with doors. When they had all gone we inspected their work. All coming along nicely.

Glass by Julia Mills.

The whole of the moon and the magic of words

Despite the weight of five cats all purring enchantment and sleep songs She woke in the night to worry, and rising we all walked out into the midnight garden. The sky was dark as the blackest cat and the moon so bright we could see both the crescent and the whole of the moon. A river of pale stars glowed in a rainbow arc across the darkness and an owl circled, made visible only by the sound of excited hunting cries. Leaves, silvered by pale moonlight, danced in the merest breath of breeze.
We stood, small as small in the universe and troubles melted into darkness.
Back in the bed we tried to curl around Her head as She read. And as She read a forest grew all around, and wolf hounds unfurled from pages, pale children, a beautiful girl, a magic handsome man with eyes as dark as the night sky and all the ways of the woods written in his quiet mind, a white horse, all filled the room and we marveled at the magic of books.

Autumn

These things are early autumn.
The harvest moon in a clear sky.
Orion the hunter and his dog on the eastern horizon.
Red rose hips .
Black berries in bird filled bushes.
Swallows on lines in the sky.
Blue sky and sunshine warmer than summer.
Spider webs heavy with dew beads.
Seal song and pups on the stone beach.
The scent of winter.
Hay bales and stubble fields, gold in the evening sun.
Bright pheasants.
Arrows of geese high in the blue.
And the bracken dresses itself in ginger.

And even though She walked to the seal beach she forgot the lense that makes the seals look closer. But we did see Glyn today and her looked so well in the warm sunshine that was warmer than any of the days of summer.
Soon it will be his birthday.

The great bed of cats

In the daytime we slept in a pool of sunshine that had dropped onto the bed to warm our fur like fire. As evening came with a chill kiss of autumn we gathered in the room and then at night again we whispered our stories and magic cats tales of old. And also we gave Her an idea, something to do with dragons.

Five cats, one bed, one moon.

In the still of the night when the world was painted silver we crept into Her room through a window left open. One, two, three, we crept, four, five on soft paws with soft purrs. Outside flowers had become ghost stars in the dark black bushes, leaves were silver edged and the sky belonged to the flying mice and the stars. Inside we all became ammonite cats while I, Pixie, whispered stories, of dragons and castles and knights and horses, of wizards and witches and wolves and pirates, into Her ear.
In the day time She had spoken to Her publisher, soon to become my publisher as they work on the contract for my book. Soon it will arrive and I will sign it with my paw.
Meanwhile She dreams.

The pride and the pack

They have their pack, we have our pride. Sometimes the two come together and we walk.
This is a sad tale.
Ffion knew Pitta, the small black dog, when she was only a twinkle in her dad's eye. From the day the pups were born she had seen and chosen the one that would be hers and at six weeks old Pit went to live at Ffi's house. Small and round as a shilling, snub nosed, warm black puppy, she was ever a bundle of delight. Even as a pup she came to visit and soon her and Bella were good friends and would walk and run the hill, searching the bracken for beautiful scents that filled the nose with stories of creatures, rabbit and pheasant, weasel and stoat.
We taught her manners where cats were concerned, but could only instill respect for ourselves in the black dog. Cats elsewhere were fair game for a chase.
Pitta loved balls, sticks and stones, the beach, cuddly toys especially with squeaks, corks, bits of paper, rock pools where she would wallow like a hippo, walks, the salt wind, sand, birds and play, but most of all and above anything else she loved Ffion and Ffion loved her. ( I, Pixie, slept in Ffion's jumper when I was a kit, and would sometimes curl with Ffion and Pitta on the sofa by the fire.)
A year ago Pitta became ill. Two operations helped to give her a good year of life but a few weeks ago she began to falter and stumble. She came to visit a few days ago and was pleased to see us all again but we knew then that she had come to say goodbye.
She died a few days ago and leaves a space in all our lives that cannot be filled, but most of all she leave the biggest hole in Ffion's heart. It is as if her shadow has been stolen.
So we will miss the black dog, and our hearts go out to Ffion.
The pack and the pride are both diminished in her passing
There is nothing else that we can say.

Conversations overheard on a pink fridge.

Pixie: Oh dear!
Maurice: Well, I wonder if She feels at all upset that the production team thought that a Japanese woman who made clothes for her cats so that they could dress up to look like mice or princesses was more interesting than Her books?
Pixie: Oh dear!
Maurice: And what was all that talk about humans 'owning' cats?
Pixie: Oh dear!
Maurice: Maybe it is best that we don't have a tv.
Max: You did look pretty handsome though in that very first shot.
Kiffer: Blink and you would have missed it!
Pixie: Don't be so divisive, Kiffer. You hogged all the limelight in the Financial Times, let Maurice have his 0.15 second of fame.
Maurice: Do you think She is going to sulk?
Kiffer: I don't care what She does so long as She doesn't dress me up as an ******* mouse!
Pixie: Oh dear!

On things

She tells us that we are on TV this evening, but we do not know what a TV is, so for now we are on the fridge.

Chair

The days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer and it has been many a moon since we have sat together by the fire. Outside the house is chaos. Inside the house is chaos, though we hear the word 'progress' a lot these days.
Meanwhile we will sit on the chair in the garden and remind Her that there is much to be done that can be done. Like tidying up the garden.