A watersong for a lullaby

When the time came to walk the dogs around the village before sleep the rain had stopped. The wind had gone and all the water had washed away even the cold. No stars, just a sky of dark cloud. All around in the stillness streams babbled a chatter of watersong. Across the fields the sound of the sea's roar was muffled by distance. The waves were dancing up a storm tonight. And over above St Davids an orange cloud like a dragon hung in the night sky.
Then it began. Just a whisper at first, a gentle falling, tapping, the scent of fresh rain, a slow rhythm. It grew and the steady beat gained weight until it drummed down again from the sky, but now we were home again and the glow of light and the warmth of the fire were a welcome and refuge. There will be no hunting tonight.

Storm

There are times when light seems to shine down on the world from the very clouds and there are other times when it seems that all the light in the world has been sucked up into the darkest, heaviest blackness. At 5pm it began to go very dark. At first the rain came gently like a bat of a paw, but then it was if a great black cat had covered the sky. The rain came down in spears and then in buckets until all the paths outside ran with water. Streams burst up out of the ground and waterfalls tumbled over stone walls from fields. So dark, so loud, roads blocked by walls of water.
Then it stopped. All around the sound of new rivers playing in the dark.

Birds and cat curls and a film

The day was cold, the bird feeders busy with birds all day. Rain turned to sleet and hail and the north wind blew, so we curled in the warm of the house.
Yesterday She should have gone to London to a party, but we have begun to teach her how to be a good cat mother, so She stayed home. And in London there was a party at Waterstones in Piccadilly, to launch "We Are All Born Free", and you can see the film that goes with the book here. But She did not go, because we are better than a party and in London you cannot see the stars.

Emerald morning

Early morning walking with long shadows and for the first time in weeks we walk together, Pixie and me and Her, up the green lane to the hill top high.

In the lane much has changed, though emerald green still clings in places, winter's hand has touched the blackthorn trees.

On top of the hill it is cold. The wind bites and Bella shelters Pixie from the chill. Light falls across the land in bright islands. Bones of small creatures are scattered here and there, bleached white by wind and weather, once a feast for crows and ravens. And the greatest raven still circles overhead and calls across the sky.

Too too soon we head for the warmth of home and She carries Pixie, perched like a hawk on Her hand. We leave the hill again to the great black birds.

Outside, inside.

Outside it is dark. A paw has thrown up few stars to glitter the night sky and they caste little light. The moon is the thinest sliver not yet riding the velvet dark sky. You cannot see even a whisker in front of your face. The wind is rising and bushes blow, bending into dark monsters, cold, biting.
Inside cats curl in every corner, on every cushion. The fire glows with red and gold light. The wind rattles at windows and doors, night monsters wanting to come join us, to curl in the warm and settle to this most peaceful of nights. We keep the doors and windows closed and listen to their wind-singing.

Later we walk the bounds of the village with Her and the dogs, before they curl into bed. There are no street lights here. Nothing to light the way but the moon and stars and if it is possible it has become darker still in the depth of night. The wind turns and twists the few dry leaves left clinging to the winter bones of the trees. The sky sparkles stars, and the clouds are lit bright white against the black, dark sky. Where the light comes from we do not know. Maybe from the clouds themselves. The wind nips at our bright fur and we are glad to be back in the haven of the house, where we curl again before the fire, to dream the night away and wait for day to dawn again. Winter comes.

Fingernail moon in a dark dark sky

At five am a fingernail moon and stars prick holes in the dark night sky. The wind is falling away again. Inside the warm house the cats drip and draped ginger warmth over soft cushions. The dogs curl and dream in their baskets, waiting for morning. Kiffer, who loves the night, is out hunting the hedgebanks.
Pixie breathes easier, face clean and eyes bright.

Pixie, the smallest cat

Worried because Pixiecat was still not eating She phoned the vet today and Kath was lovely enough to fit in an extra evening appointment. Pleased with Pixiecats progress Kath gave special food for Pixie. It seems her mouth is filled with sores and her tongue is covered with ulcers, so she has to be fed with a syringe. But Pixie is over the worst with the flu and If only She was a better nurse and would stop painting and just sit and read to Pixie and feed her when she needs food then all will be well.
Meanwhile Bella, brave kind Bella, is looking after Pixie, making sure she is clean and knows that she is loved.

And Bella is teaching Rosie how to care for cats.

Meanwhile Martha, the old one, lies stretched over the fire in the warmest place and dreams of Lion, a far away cat of great age.

Night lights

All colour is drained from the world and the land is dark. We walk the bounds of the village where we live on this arm of rock that stretches out into the sea. Across the cloud filled sky the lighthouse sweeps its path of light from Strumble Head to home. Three pulses and a pause, three pulses and a pause. Strange heart-beat of light. Pixie walks too and then is lifted and held in Her hand like a hawk in the night. From the west another arm of light cuts across the sky.
If we were sailors at sea the light would warn of dangerous coasts, rocks and peril. Even here the steady rhythm gives comfort in the darkness.

Pixiecat whispers secrets to Bella

Oh, the cuteness of me!

Pixie, the smallest cat, who has been very poorly, was up and about today and very much in need of some puppy loving.

She followed me around the house to warm and sunny places and I helped her to clean her poor little face with my very very long and pink puppy tongue.

She ate some soup, drank some water and had just a very little milk. The sun is shining and maybe Pixie will come for a walk again soon.

Puppy eyes

Reading and walking

With Pixie still sick we dogs went for a walk up the hill in the late evening sunshine. Blue sky, clouds, birds and wild ponies.
Pixie ate a little chicken soup from a syringe and maybe snuffles less, maybe not.
Meanwhile we have been teaching Rosie how to read the wind.

Pixie and Radio 4

Pixie is outside in the sunshine and fresh air, sitting in a thorn bush watching birds. Soon she will come in and sit by the fire and then this evening will talk to the vet again. She is no worse, perhaps a little better, still not eating. All of the other cats are either sitting in the garden with Pixie or curled up tight in the warmth of Hannah's room.
Meanwhile She has been on Radio 4 and has just had the strange and surreal experience of listening to Herself while She painted. She has always listened to Radio 4 throughout Her working life, and when asked by Laura Parfitt to present and work on a program with her She jumped at the chance, leaving us home alone yet again with only a neighbour to call in and feed us, (all the time thinking that Laura must have the wrong person, but not wanting to disillusion her). She is a cruel woman.
If you want to see the picture She said reminded Her of us, click here. Monkey!

Home from the vets

Just back from the vets and home is so warm. Pixie had injections and cuddles and fluid and may need to go in to cat hospital. The vet, who is a good friend, said to call her tonight on any progress or not, but for now she is better off at home. So, we wait. She does not like being in a cage, which we suppose is good sign.

Early

Still dark and stormy outside but inside warmed by the fire. Pixie, who slept curled on Her bed last night until Her restlessness led the tiny cat away and back to above the fire, seems a little better but will be straight off to the vet once they are open this morning.

Cat flu update

Outside there is a storm beginning. It is not cold in the lea of the wind, but where the wind blows the cold breath of the winter cat can be felt. All of the leaves that clung to the tree have been ripped away by the storm cat's claws. Maurice and Elmo and Max are fine, a few sneezes and snuffles, but otherwise fine, but Pixie......
she is in a sorry state and has been placed in the position of favour above the fire where it is dry and warm. So full of cold and flu she struggles to breath and her coat is matted and she looks a very sorry cat indeed. Our brave Pixie, so small and so good. Tomorrow she will go to the vets. Tonight she must stay warm and dry and keep safe from the clutches of the wild wind cat, for little Pixie is the kindest and smallest of our cats and we need her to stay with us.

Tired girl, tired puppy

Happy girl, happy puppy.

To celebrate the return of Hannah from Spain....

Rosie decorated the floor with bright pink feathers!

Maurice was suitably impressed!

Tired from playing in pink feathers, Rosie rested, but not until she had happily adorned Hannah's shoe.

The Dogs' Big Beach Adventure

Because we cats are still full of sneezes we are not walking at the moment and so the dogs went to the beach. The tide was out, far far out as the moon is full and pulls at the water. They ran on the sand in the sun and the sea, through pools and into the caves. At the very end of the beach where few people go as the sea seldom pulls back so far they ran into the deep, dark cave where the sea dragon lives, and out again so quickly, chase by a hissing and a spitting, they swam back through the pool and onto the sand. A seal pup had sheltered inside the cave at high water, was snoozing and waiting for the tide to come in. She was beautiful, grey speckled like stones on the beach, great eyes and whiskers, relaxed once she had chased the dogs from her refuge. So She took some photos, and you can see more on Her website, at the bottom of the page, here.
Beautiful seal. They left her in peace and played more on the sand, came home all tired ad kissed by the autumn sunshine.

The House of Sneezing Cats

So far in the house of sneezers Max is better, out and about, sitting in warm patches in the garden. Maurice is better but still sneezing now and again for sympathy, Martha and Kiffer are still fine, cross whiskers, but Elmo and me and so full of the sneezes that we cannot breathe properly. Not as bad as Max was, but covering the house with cat snot at every available opportunity (me with great delicacy, but Elmo with style only an Elmo can summon).