Grey day, bright ginger

In the distance the sea glistens silver, close to the rocks are silvered with beautiful lichen, itself like stone. The sky is wrapped around the world and shining like a pearl, and I glow, ginger.

A short walk only to the rock at the top of the hill that is softened by small twisted blackthorn, purple twigs waiting to bud with white blossom.

From here a cat can see the whole world.

Light through a window shining bright.

The stars are shrouded by a sleight veil this night. The brightest shine through, as light through gossamer. Around the village we walk in a silence still enough to hear the gentle fall of a cat paw. As we circle we wonder, what will we find this night. We hold a fragile hope in our hearts.
Above his house the starlight is clearer, diamond bright, and sure enough through windows, freshly washed and hung with coloured curtains, a late night light shines for the first time in weeks. She stands for a while outside the house and smiles. Inside are the sounds of life. We walk on. It is too late to call tonight. Tomorrow we will go and take flowers, yellow sunshine from the daffodil farm to brighten the room. For now we know he needs nothing, only the peace and space to live. Once more the house has its heart back.
We walk on in the darkness and the light from his window stretches out through the dark behind us.
Life is sweet.

Pixie, caught in the act

Clear water on a forget-me-not blue day

The sun was shining and the sky was blue and they decided to walk up the hill to the place where the porpoise were rising out through the surface of the great grey sea yesterday. The farm yard was muddy so I thought it best to hitch a lift, and so comfortable it was that I allowed him to carry me on, up the green lane.

We walked past the old village and along the wall that breaks the golden winter fields, the stones bone white with lichens, soft pillowed with moss. I rested for a while after posing for photographs, then on and across the dormant heather moor.

On top of the Fox Rocks we relaxed and stretch out in warm sunshine and watched magpies flying below. Out at sea birds clustered around the Gribben, but no porpoise broke the sea surface today. The sea was forget-me not blue, the air was warm and scented with spring.

It was good to be still and to be silent, to listen to the waves bite against the land, to hear the birds call and the soft voice of the wild ponies grazing the golden moorland grasses. Before we turned for home I drank water from a clear pool in a stone basin, so sweet, so beautiful.

The prodigal pied cat

In the midnight moonlit moment She leant against Mr Griffiths's home and whispered to the stone.
We have not seen Nadolig since the first Sunday after Mr Griffiths was taken into the hospital, far away, long ago, and She worried that maybe he had found a new home, a new fire, a new lap. Or maybe the snow was too much and too cold for him.
" Not much longer now. Next week he will come back." We prowled by her side, coats shining with starlight.
" Send word around, through the stones and the rocks, by the birds and the trees. He is coming back. Please, tell Nadolig, wherever he is."

So today, such joy as She looked up from Her washing up (not a thing She usually finds joy in) and there, outside the window, pied and beautiful against the emerald green of the ivy leaves, Nadolig. Out She rushed with a plate of food, the nearest plate to hand, and for Nadolig a feast fit for a prodigal cat, and for the stones and the rocks, the birds and the leaves a whispered thank you.

Walking with cats

It was a day like any other. But then She started trying to tidy up, so we knew something was strange. She put on Her coat and as She was going She said "Now then cats, I want you to be good and come for a walk when I get back and be nice to the lady who is with me. She is coming to see you and she is from the tv."
We do not know where the tv is, but as She walked off down the garden path we looked around at the house. It was time to get to work. Maurice did the dusting, Max tidied things away, Elmo made some soup and just in time Kiffer stopped him putting mice in. Whatever people in tv do they probably do not eat mouse soup. Martha washed up and I made the bed. Then, when we heard the car coming back we all curled up and made like cats.
The sun was shining. It seemed the tv lady had traveled a long way, through rain and snow and was amazed. Pembrokeshire had put on her very best blue sky dress and the sun shone warm on the budding gorse flowers.
So, we gathered and we walked.

Her hair looked very pretty with the sun shining through it.

On top of the hill the wild ponies were on the rock that we wanted to climb, but we walked up anyway, past the witness stone. The low thorn trees hung with lichen, no flowers yet but Kiffer followed the rabbit paths through the twisted thorns.

She seemed very nice, the Lucy lady. She talked of cheetahs, big wild cats in Africa, magical fast creatures. But soon it was time for her to go back to London, through the rain and the snow and away from the warm. A long way to go to walk with cats. Perhaps she will be back. We hope so. She liked the soup.

Houses and homes

Last night the silver moonlight dappled the clouds in the pale night sky, and we whispered to Glyn's house a secret we had heard.
" Wait " we said, " for we have heard that one day next week he will be home." And we are spreading the word to all in the hope that Nadolig will hear and return.
It seemed that the house breathed a sigh in the moonlight. Can a house hold its breath? Maybe one such as this, made from stones from the fields around where it stands, lived in and loved, a home.

Silver memories

Outside the night is silver full moon and shadow light.
We sent her off to hospital again to visit Mr Griffiths and he seemed well, She said, and fed up, in a quiet way of being there. They talked for a while and he asked of the house and Nadolig and they spoke of nursery rhymes and he smiled when he remembered his teacher at school. Jack and Jill was his favorite. And there are rhymes that are from the Welsh language too, he said, though none came to mind at the time, so now She wants to find those. And when She left She asked him to see if he could find them, buried far back in his childhood memories.
His house, bathed in the glow-light of the full moon seems to float on an island, out of time. Almost, if you opened the door now and stepped inside it would take you to another place. Star shine in the darkened windows, secrets shine behind them.

Then

The old village on the hill is almost tumbled down now. Time and coincidence brought these two beautiful photos to Her door. The man in the first picture was born in the house next to which he stands. If you look closely you can also see a man in the second picture, a shadow, a ghost, from long long ago.

A Special Award

We cats have been given a few awards of late and would like to say a big thank you to all. We thought it would be good to give Her an award, or a prize, for managing to finish Her book on time, and for starting another, and for attempting to tidy up, but getting distracted. Imagine Her delight then, when She found Her big juicy award slightly hidden in the pile of washing that waits to be done. She was so so pleased and made such a fuss! We still do not understand why She had muesli that morning for breakfast when the rat was so fresh. Maybe She wants to save it, to show people how good we are to Her?

The Company of Tigers

At three in the morning we woke Her up and She saw that the world outside was white. Later, much later, She walked with us. The green lane was banked with snow, tunneled with thorn trees and in the distance St Davids sat cloaked in white.

To the top of the hill we walked again, a ginger string of cat beads, amber bright in the white.

The sky was heavy with the promise of more snow.

Yesterday in hospital Mr Griffiths had asked about Maes y Mynydd, so today this is where we walked. The house was cold, and Maurice walked where once a fire had burned in a hearth and warmed a family and cats long gone.

Now only ruins remain and the wind whispers their story to those who will listen and the stones fall, year on year.

Away from the old village we left the ghost cats to wander the walls and the great Garn Y Wlad looked down over us. Cold buzzards circled overhead, and snipe flew out from beneath our paws.

Back home we curled on the sofa and snow flakes fell outside all afternoon. She drew the curtains, heaped coal on the fire, brought a great bowl of hot chocolate and watched The Company of Wolves, in the company of tigers.

Ginger celebration

I have pushed the cats off the keyboard and they are doing a celebratory can-can around the room in all ginger style. Just back from the hospital where Glyn is back to his old self again, and though he did not recognize me and I had to introduce myself he was then so pleased to see me. Seems to think I am looking younger and that is why he did not know me.
he was calm and sure of his place in the world again and hoping to come out on Monday and be back home, and after we had got into a muddle thinking it was Friday today ( I do not know what day of the week it is at the best of times and we were put right by one of the other visitors) we got to talking of home and cats and places and people. I told him as best I could of all the cats around the world wishing him well again, and all the kind words from people he has never met and will never know and he was so touched.
It is to be hoped that whatever caused his confusion has passed for now and that he will go from strength to strength. Meanwhile he has his book and a copy of Classic Poems and he walked me to the door of his ward and gave me the biggest of hugs.
Tonight when we walk past I will tell the house to keep hoping and soon, soon, he will be back.

Thank you

Jackie: I would like to thank everyone around the world, first for all your kind words and advice about Mr Griffiths. I have not been in to see him for a week now, as i was busy finishing Starlight Sailor and then delivering the art and also I was told by a couple of people that the hospital had said they should not go in as there was a bug there. I spoke a couple of days ago to a lovely lady called Ann who used to live here and she has been his most regular visitor and supporter. She said he was not good last time when she saw him. Physically amazing but wandering in his mind and full of stories of Africa where he was when young.
I will go an see him today. I think he is drinking and eating fine. I will take the Welsh Homes book and leave with him and also a copy of Classic Poems. Glyn's generation learned poetry by heart, so many of the poems will sing to his memory. And I will tell him that cats all over the world and their people are wishing him well, though how I will explain a blog to him I do not know. That could be an interesting conversation.
I will take in a letter for his consultant and ask that when they do the 'memory tests' that they do to see how confusion reigns that they do it through the medium of the Welsh language, and also ask if there is any way he can be brought home.
But Nadolig is not here, has not been here since the first weekend Glyn was away. He will have gone to somewhere warm and where there is food. There was a time that I would find him sitting on my kitchen table pretending to be ginger, but that was when he was young.
When Glyn comes home he will come home. Wherever he is he will know that the house has its soul back and he will walk across the fields to sit by the fire.

Pixie: And we would like to say thank you for all those who have joined our pride as we reach 100 followers. Good to have you with us when we walk.

Pixie posting on cat blog ealier today

No light shining into the darkness yet and the house still waits and hopes

We have not spoken of Mr Griffiths for a while, because we did not know what to say. His house still waits, beautiful in the snow, charmed into the twenty first century as if from a story book. But he is ill and still in hospital where in his body he seems fit, and so young looking for his great age. But the longer he is there the more his mind seems to wander and the doctors are still trying to find out why, still trying to help.
It is warm in the hospital and he is cared for with kindness, but it is not home and home is where he wants to be, despite the cold, despite the snow.
We all miss him, his kindness to cats, his light through the windows in the dark of night.

Rosie's menu for last week next instalment

a cleaning sponge from the kitchen
two yoghurt pots
a sheepskin slipper
sticks (ash, elder, gorse)
a cardboard box
a dog chew toy
another dog chew toy
a cardboard box (or two, maybe three)
a golden wrapper from chocolate money
a big panda with stuff like sponge inside (very messy)
a tiara
two clothes pegs from the washing line
puddles
stream water
mud water
a part of a fridge



and
some
SNOW!

Snow Song

In the night, while the Ice Moon hung blurred in the cold sky, snow fell and settled on the land. When morning came the world had a brightness to it. We went walking.

Up the green lane, now white and the trees were etched with white thorns, to the top of the hill where the snow crunched under our feet and all around the world sang like a winter music box. Lapwings flew up from cold fields crying their pee-whit call and flashing white wings against snow.

Even as we walked a cold grey fog spread over the land. Pockets of sunshine still glinted through in the black and white world where ginger glows bright.

We found delicate trails of fox prints written on the paths, and we wrote our prints into the path for others to find.

Elmo jumped from rock to distant rock, flying cat.

In the distance Ramsey Island rose up from a slate grey sea. We sat for a while and listened, then walked home to the warm with the snow crystals singing beneath our cold paws.

Back home we curled again in the warm and outside the snow began to fall and tumble from the sky in heavy flakes.