A Tale of Two Kitties…

A rather camera-shy Petronius the Arbiter

The first cat is the steepest…

I was outside Darwen rather than Damascus: however, the conversion took place just as abruptly, with only a few seconds warning. One moment I was being asked…

– How would you feel about looking after Jay for a while?

[All of my friend’s cats – and horses – were named after birds: Blackbird – ‘Blackie’ for short – a rook-coloured bruiser wearing white gloves (probably concealing knuckle-dusters); and big bullying brother to Kestrel – a beautiful, mournful tabby, with the same gleaming toes; and currently Jay – who, not being a blood relative, was beaten up by both of them almost daily, and therefore frequently went missing for days, and always came home injured. Why Kestrel didn’t also fly away – without the “coming home” bit, of course… – I shall never know for certain. Timidity is one possibility; but likely also some warped form of sibling loyalty.]

Farewell, my Little Man…

And so succeeded.
For Felix, with immense gratitude and love…
– we shall not look upon your like again.

Like Jesus, he came down to Earth
for just a few years, and just a few days:
his message unique – delivered in mirth –
that all you need is fluff. Oh! Let us praise

the wonder that was sent to us here:
a cat full of sympathy, caring, and fun;
a creature packed so full of love there was no fear:
just a healthy appetite for life and joy, for air and sun.

He shared his heart, though, far too intensely:
his lives thus counting down as each year passed.
He hid the hurt, of course, that burned immensely,
deep inside; the joy he brought unto the last

so very much more than anyone could ever bring again.
Like Jesus, he came down to us to take away our pain.

Lockdown diary #4: My words fly up, my thoughts remain below…

Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat’s back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
– Shakespeare: The Tempest (V.i.88-94)

As with so much horticultural minutiae, it was Felix – still not yet accustomed to having the run of the garden (or – as he must see it – patrolling ‘his’ domain) – who first spotted the tiny creature, and then alerted me (his unrealized chaperon) to its hovering presence; swiftly (and coincidentally) followed by The Guardian’s consistently high-quality Country diary column. I say “tiny”… – but the “creature” in question has a big name in so many respects: “Bombylius major, the large or dark-edged bee‑fly”. Nevertheless, it is small. Yet another of nature’s brilliant and beautiful works of precision engineering, and perfect, startling, purpose. [Bee-flies are sometimes called “humble-flies”. But never, sadly, “humble-bees”… – an eponym reserved for bumble-bees: who, if their buzz (or hum) is anything to go by, are actually quite assertive!]

Lockdown diary #1: By St Mary’s churchyard, I sat down and wept…

Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it.
Think’st thou that I, who saw the face of God
And tasted the eternal joys of heaven,
Am not tormented with ten thousand hells
In being deprived of everlasting bliss?
– Christopher Marlowe: Doctor Faustus (Scene III)

Every day is Sunday now. Lawnmowers hum in the low sun like the reinvigorated bees that surround them, joyous in the warm spring light. Pelotons of mouthy mamils speed perilously through the village, leaning inattentively around busy, sometimes blind bends. Small happy huddles of prattling people descend from the windmill in their mudsome wellies. And yet a peculiar – (mostly) car free? – silence presses sharply on my eardrums more painfully than any aeronautic descent. This time it is my mind – my soul – tumbling rapidly (once more) towards perdition.

Felix the flopsicle cat…

Felix the flopsicle cat, and
Felix the affable cat, are
one and the same, of course… – but
what should be said about that?

Felix the flopsicle cat loves…
rolling around whilst the brush licks his fur;
leaving the ground to fight strings in the air;
chewing on catnip, and having a run… –
for no other reason that running is fun!
He’ll chomp at the pigeons, and poor blackbirds, too,
but takes pity on blue tits too small for the stew
he dreams of when sleepy, when conjuring mice
that he’d make disappear – gnash, gnash, gulp – in a trice!
(All this is pretend, I really should say:
for poor Felix is kept tight indoors every day:
not out of malice or anything spiteful
but to keep him happy and healthy and brightful!)

Felix the flopsicle cat, and
Felix the affable cat, are
one and the same, of course… – but
what should be said about that?

Felix the affable cat loves…
cuddling close, and keeping me warm;
keeping his guard up, to save me from harm;
following me calmly, a paw from my heel,
knowing, sooner (not later), I’ll suddenly kneel
and pay him back gently with scratches and rubs,
crisp bikkits, moist foods, and all sorts of nice grubs… –
rewarded, in turn, with soft paws on my hand,
a lick of my nose, and a purr that’s so grand!
(All this is quite true, but much understated,
for good Felix has charms that are far from inflated:
so special, and loving, the most caring I’ve known… –
in touch with my feelings as much as his own!)

Felix the flopsicle cat, and
Felix the affable cat, are
one and the same, of course… – and
there is nothing as perfect as that!
There is nothing as perfect,
so utterly perfect, as
Felix the flopsicle, furrable,
Felix the affable, tabbicle,
Felix the magical cat!

For going out, I found, was really going in…

Yesterday – coupled with a developing desire to prove my brittle body once more able – the weather beckoned me far beyond the longing windows of home: with the high-cloud-shrouded sun at my back, and a sluggish breeze easing its surging heat. My first thought upon fastening the garden gate was of the church as objective; but primal instinct pushed me further – to revisit last year’s iterative ascent through Tysoe Hangings, and onwards to Upton House. With every initially uncertain step taken with conscious pain and caution, I crossed the main road close to Church Farm Court; eased my rucksacked self through the metal gate; and prayed that my body (and resolve) would be resilient enough. All I could do was walk, and discover if I could also achieve my heart’s desire….

Where, last year, there had been wheat, was now linseed (and where there was linseed – on the plateau beyond Sugarswell Cottages – I would find wheat): a four- to five-year rotation that seems increasingly fashionable and profitable. Sandy soil under this brilliant cobalt crop was beginning to fissure, though; and the meadow’s margins were dune-like in their desiccation. (Even in so sparse a crop, skylarks nested: their sweet purling such a soothing soundtrack.)

Eat, prey, fluff…

It is an overwhelming and life-affirming privilege to share the existence of another sentient creature: one devoted to you, and dependent on you, to such a large extent that the alliance rapidly becomes symbiotic. Such a relationship has to be based on mutual trust, as well as love, though; and both parties have to be frank as to what to expect from each other; what they will need; and how much time and affection they are able and willing to give. That so much of this goes (and has to go) unsaid should be no impediment (in fact, to some, this may seem to strengthen the bond…) – even though many would preach the value of constant open communication in cementing any such connection.

For those who respect and love animals there can be no bigger thrill than one coming to you of its own free will, understanding what you are trying to communicate, and trusting you not to harm it.
– Claire Bessant: The Cat Whisperer

That I am writing about the association of human and feline may well prompt derision from some quarters; but the majority, I hope, will innately grasp the truth at the heart of this hypothesis. [As I type, Felix, the characterful dark tabby who prompted the above, is curled up tightly next to me, dreaming: as genial and graceful a proof of vulnerability, faith, and commitment, as I think you may find. He knows no hurt will come to him here; and his credence and company, in return, both comfort and calm me – despite the plethora of hairs wisping over my keyboard and screen…. He is therefore the ideal companion for someone as disabled as myself: especially as I am currently confined to home (even) more than what passes for usual, fighting (and perhaps finally starting to subdue) a variety of maladies….]