The house with a soul.

In the small white house next door all is quiet again. Jackdaws nest in tangled twigs in the great chimney, as they have done every year. Sparrows make their home beneath shallow eaves. In the barn, a wren's nest, a ball of woven sticks and feather and moss. Swallows swoop, feathers like exotic blue sky jewels. They wait on the wire then drop into the old barns through open doorways that welcome them, as they have done every year. In the garden, around the well of clear water, lizards make nests of eggs. In the dark branches of blackthorn, bride white with blossoms, raucous magpies nest on a mess of sticks. More secret and hidden are the tidy nests of the pore voiced blackbirds who sing in Glyn's garden every morning, every evening.

At night badgers and foxes nose around through spaces that used to be rich in vegetables and owls glide over the midnight garden. Bats criss cross the yard in search of moths. Small and secret things scuttle through the darkest shadows while the moon paints the house in a silver light. Even the stones and wood and slate of the house, even the birds, animals, moth winged creatures, even the moonlight, the starlight, all are waiting. And the black and white cat?
He waits too.

The door to the well of sweet, clear water in Glyn's garden.
Honeysuckle grows over the top.

Smiling

A knock on the door and who should be there but Glyn and Nadolig. Glyn, home just for the day but hopefully soon home forever and Nadolig happy purring in his arms.

So we all went round to visit, and Glyn was smiles in the sunshine.

Back home through the green and Nadolig came too, to sit in our garden for a while. Soon, soon. Glyn will be back and the summer will come and he will sit in his garden and remember the past and look to the future.

Friend no 2

Elmo in Wonderland

Another blue sky day and time for a walk. Soft light, and She found that on the camera there was a special setting for taking pictures of cats.

At the high hill top white ponies grazed and had cleared spaces beneath dry twisted trees.

Elmo and Maurice wrestled and fought and hunted together, then Elmo discovered a tangled place and inside the thorn thicket a great pheasant bird.

Then, as if he knew that over in a far off place called England, in Suffolk, John Foley was having an exhibition called Alice, Elmo, cat most like a Cheshire cat, decided to celebrate by disappearing. One minute he was there, the next minute he was gone.

She called, She waited, She watched, She walked, then we all went to help and all disappeared for a while, which She seemed to think was very helpful. Eventually She gathered us all, except for our Cheshire Elmo and walked home. It was warm and sunny and peaceful. Elmo would be ok. But She couldn't help but worry.

After a few hours She walked back up the green lane that leads to the high hill top. HAlf way up She found Maurice, still looking for Elmo. And then as they crested the high hill top together they heard a call and a ball of ginger fire came bowling down the hill with a great wide grin of greeting.

" Where have you been? I was so worried," She said.

"Down the rabbit hole," smiled Mo.

Just walking

As we move towards summer.

Today a speckled brown butterfly threaded a random flight across the path. Today She rescued the brightest lizard from a curious cat, placed it in the safety of an old stone wall. Bright frogs move in the grass, wait under primrose flowers, watch from the safety of emerald shadows and covet the warm places. Soon there will be snakes.

We curl in the sunshine on slates warmed to  soft smoothness by the distant fire way off in the sky.

Tonight is the fresh of the darknight. No moon. Only star light. And how they shine in a million brilliant shades of bright. Tonight there are aerymice, flit flicker and flash, darker shapes in a dark sky, silhouettes in starlight. And owls slow flap hunting the hedges.

Friends

Rosie and Bell. Best friends. Holding paws in a sunshine garden.

We are not sulking

We are not sulking because Her blog has been shortlisted at The Author Blog Awards and ours has not, no we are not. But we are asking that you go to the page for the shortlist and vote for Her and have a look at the other blogs that have been shortlisted. (Even if you have voted already, because we think that the counting starts again here). Needless to say She is as smug as a cat that got the cream. We know that She only got so many votes because we asked all the cats around the world to vote for Her, but for a while we will let Her think that She is clever.

Her blog is called Drawing a line in time and She is called Jackie Morris. Sometimes it has pictures of us on too.

Sneaking.....ssshhh......

Ssshhh.... while the cats were sleeping I crept into their blog and posted a sketch from yesterday, cats and Hannah watching Dollhouse in the evening. And all because while I was working they crept into my blog and posted a picture of themselves!

And while I am here there are now short films, one of how I started in illustration, one of The Seal Children and Tell Me a Dragon and one of Can You See a Little Bear.

So, I wonder how long it will be before the cats want film of them on Youtube!

Not Impressed!

Max: Well, I don't see what is so special about gingercats that they get all the press! No wonder She gets jealous! There'll be no talking to them again when they see this and they'll be wanting gold plates for eating off.

Not the first time they have been in a magazine either, but last time it was before they had a blog.

Her: Well I think they look lovely and at least they did mention me, in passing. Besides, lovely Max, you are the cat that I usually paint. Don't be jealous.

Max: Yes, but did you have to put me in The Owl and the Pussycat picture in Classic Poems? That was a girl cat.

Nights Out and The Author Blog Awards.

It is not like the Kiffer to miss a meal, so when he wasn't home for two She began to worry and set off to look for him. First stop, Glyn's, but no sign there, which was good as Glyn wasn't home as he is in the care home for a few days longer and She feared that Kiffer had curled up and made himself invisible and been locked in. Next stop, big green shed. Through the mud to the big shed door and She called. 

Nothing. 

And She called again. 

No kiffer.

Worry. Call one more time.

And then, "where have you been? I have been shut in this shed now for twenty four hours and I can't get out and it was dark and I was scared and you didn't come, you didn't!"

"Wait there. I'm off to get the key."

"Let me out. Now. Let me out. Now. Let me out. Now."

And he was still calling as She walked back smiling. Many a rat will have met its end last night. Brave Kiffer.

She got the key. She let him out. He ate his weight in cat food then curled to sleep in the warm.

Now, we know that She is not very interesting, doesn't catch many mice and spends far too long every day playing with paint when She should be looking after us, has not shining coat of ginger and not enough hair, can't even cough up a decent hairball, but we are quite fond of Her and She is quite excited as Her blog is doing well in the author blog awards, so if you haven't already, and remembering that you can vote for us aswell because we are better than Her and there are more of us, please click through on this link and give Her a vote. She my only be human, but She is our human and these little things ( and the guts we left outside her bedroom door last night) do seem to make Her happy.  Her blog address is http://www.drawingalineintime.blogspot.comand She called it that because She is usually late and always misses deadlines and because She thinks She is funny. Odd things, humans.

Larking about.

Walking in the morning and the air was dotted on high with singing larks.

 

On the way home, up a tree, a bright ball of flame in the tangled twigs.

Eaves dropping from a warm window seat.

We could hear what they were talking about from the window where we sat in the sunshine. The day started off filthy and wet and dark and we wanted sunshine for Glyn, who was spending another day in his house. As the morning slipped by the sun came out and we went around into the garden with him, where the daffodils dance with heavy heads, double flowers, butter rich. Then Glyn and Nadolig went back inside and we went around and clawed Her out of Her studio where She was doing nothing much and avoiding doing other things.

So when they talked about the photograph She took for him, of the house in the snow lit by early morning light, we heard. And when he said, look, there is one of your cats, we heard. His eyes are brighter, clearer and he can see more. This is good.

Then they looked through some more photographs, old balck and white ones, of his mother, a fierce looking woman. She kept chickens in the yard many years ago. And when they talked of his father, and his father's brother we heard. There was a strange picture on the wall. It said that Glyn's Uncle was one of 'The Fallen' in 1916, on the 1st October. He died in a French field.

And we heard when they looked at a photograph of Glyn aged 18, dressed in army uniform, round faced, only months older than our Tom. All this we heard. And She said that She had to go, but Glyn wanted to talk more, and She said She had things to do, but he didn't want to be on his own. So we told Her to stay, to listen. There are times when work can wait.

He seemed more settled, more steady, in mind and in memory.

And all the time on his lap the black and white cat sat, and smiled.

( Cards for Glyn can be sent c/o Chris and Julie, The Moshulu Shoe Shop, New Street, St Davids, Pembrokeshire. SA62 6SN, Wales, UK)

A heartfelt thanks.

Sometimes the cats move over and let me say a few words. This is one such time. 
I have just come back after sitting with Glyn for a short while. It warms the heart to see him in his own home sharing a Cornish pasty with Nadolig who seems glued to his knee. Quiet and thoughtful Glyn was settling in to the solitude of home after being in the world of busy institutional life, and though tonight the windows will be dark eyes on the night again, soon he will be home, and Nadolig will sit on the sunshine doorstep and Glyn will enjoy the butterdark dancing daffodils and primroses that decorate his garden.
For now it is good to see him and his heart is full of all the cards he has been sent from all around the world. I know the fact that people from far away and across the wide world sending him get well wishes have helped him through this difficult time. The simple care shown to him and to his cat, the time taken to show such kindness to a stranger, this is what the world should be like always. He sends his thanks and to that I add mine. When he comes home he will bring all his cards back home with him, and his cat blanket that was sent for Nadolig.
So thank you. From all of us.

I'm the King of the castle

and She's the dirty rascal!

Domestic bliss in the House of Ginger

Tips on comfort from Rosie.

1. When you cannot find anything else you will discover that a ginger cat can make an excellent pillow on which to rest a weary head.

Pixie catcurl flowerpot stamps from Wales

You can make your own by clicking through to this link.

Mournful patient waiting watching through dirty windows

Pixie plays with prayer flags tattered by the wind's claws

A purfect morning

It was one of those mornings when shadows are softened by cloud as the sun comes up to light a new day. It had not escaped my attention that She had been rising early and taking the dogs for walks, so I kept a whisker wise and watched. Sure enough they headed off up the hill, with me, Elmo, fast behind them. The earth was hard. Across the fields small cloaks of frost silvered the green, but on the hill all was winter bleached. And the sun came up.

Some mornings are just perfect. This one had a stillness and peace wrapped around it. The dogs ran chaotic, reading the scent of night creatures, still fresh on the earth. I prowled, sure foot and cat wise. The world was dressed in beautiful winter colours. Soon there will be skylarks.
In Germany there is a cat magazine, with pictures of us.