Tails from Swiss Cottage
Life from an artist and poets point of view.
Tuesday 28 April 2020
My Husband Eats Pens
I wrote the above poem yesterday and illustrated it today, as my comment on the
Corona virus/Covid-19 pandemic and how it is effecting us. Basically we may or may not have had it, and I may or may not be trying to recover from it with my M.E./post viral chronic fatigue slowing the process, and it makes me so forgetful and muddled, it really seems to have taken up residence in my brain at present, this poem highlights (pardon the pun) its effects. Written of course in pencil.
Monday 13 April 2020
Derek
Derek is my entry for the Scribblers writing competition, it was written to follow on from the first three paragraphs ending with "swung myself inside" which was provided for us, the Scribblers group, by last years winner Steve Puttick . I gained a Highly Commended for my entry, as did fellow Scribbler Helen for her work. I have to say it is a wee bit racey, those of a delicate disposition should look away, and it is definitely not for the under 16 year olds!
111 words.
Derek
“Keep the change” I said as I alighted from the taxi.
I stood there clutching my over-night bag, daunted by the ornate front of the
building.
I squared my shoulders, walked towards the revolving
door and swung myself inside.
It was dark already and being old and foolish I was
in a hurry.
The hotel was just as beautiful as ever, with
immaculate marble floor tiles leading to a shiny reception desk. A magnificent
floral arrangement formed the centre piece to the foyer and around it were
several comfortable leather Chesterfield sofas and armchairs. I walked briskly
in my red slender heels to the reception desk and was greeted and given my room
key immediately.
“It’s lovely to see you again Miss Hart, do have a
good evening” said the young man at the desk.
Ostensibly I was there for a two day seminar on the
Fruit Bat and its Environment, by Derek Demetri.
But the reality was bad, I was meeting Derek again,
lying to my husband and my three daughters just so I could spend a blissful
weekend with the love of my life.
My over-night bag was small, just enough room for a
couple of silk negligees, one black the other red with fine lace trimmings,
some deep red lipstick along with other essential items of make-up, stockings
and suspender belts, perfumes and the skimpiest pairs of knickers I could find.
I needed him so badly, I got goose pimples just
contemplating the forthcoming night, he would be waiting in our room, with
curtains drawn, pouring Champagne while loosening his tie, next to the bunch of
roses he had just brought for me.
We were perfect together. Derek was married too, of
course, his family were nice enough, but his wife had lost interest in him, he
said he was lonely at home, she was out every night to one club or another.
That weekend she was staying at her brother’s house for his daughter’s twenty
first birthday party.
His touch on my neck.....
My lips on his skin......
The scent of the roses......
Sweat and pleasure.......
I reached our room, and dipped the entry card into
its slot, I was already kicking off my high heels in anticipation, as the lock
released,
His lips on my feet....
His tongue licking my long smooth legs as he tugs on
my knickers, his muscles as he carries me to the bed, a luxury king size four-poster,
the smell of his cologne mingles with his sweat and the fresh silk sheets.
I kept myself trim for him, my husband Carl didn’t
notice, he’s far too busy in the garage building his latest kit car, only happy
when plastered with engine oil and playing with his nuts.
We had met ten years ago, my boss had sent me to one
of his seminars it was called Bats, Ecology of their environments and its
effect on bat diseases and health.
Derek was a world expert on bats and I was a Bat
keeper at London Zoo, so we had plenty to talk about.
He invited me back to his room afterwards, it was a
cold dark December evening, snow was settling outside our hotel, he had warm
brandy and mince pies, who could resist? It was suggested that Derek knew so
much about bats because he was a vampire. His sallow face, black hair and tall
lean physique seemed to confirm what was whispered about him. Maybe I should
have heeded the warning signs. But I was drawn to him and nothing could cut the
cords of my attraction to him.
I didn’t take long to fall for his animal magnetism;
his hot blooded maleness enveloped me in a new confidence, especially in bed! Suddenly
I was no longer the shy wife who thought of England until it was over, I became
a she wolf, a raging lioness, he had unleashed my inner tigress and nothing
could stop me from wanting more!
So, the room was immaculate when I arrived, but
within an hour there were clothes everywhere, a trail mainly from the door to
the bed, the duvet and counterpane in a crumpled heap next to the bed.
Derek’s hot blooded ardour knew no bounds, when I
thought we were all done, when I thought my desire was totally spent, he turned
me over, our bodies reuniting with heat and lust renewed, then I screamed with
ecstasy as he ran his tongue up my spine all the way to the nape of my neck,
there he latched on a passionate love bite, teasing and sucking the thin
delicate flesh there, sending tingles all over my body, how could he have such
an effect on me? Such heightened desire moved me to cry out for more, I turned
over to face him, he nibbled my shoulder tenderly he was pushing buttons that I
thought had been turned off years ago. He poured champagne over my breasts and
licked it off, so slowly that I screamed with delight. When he was done, I said
“I want to give you a love bite too, my darling”
He licked the last drop of champagne off my right
breast and gestured towards his strong, sinuous, neck, bending his head to one
side so I could get clear access to it, his muscled arms open and inviting me
to do my worst, his thick sensuous lips parted in a dreamy smile.
Tenderly my lips met his flesh, I could do nothing
but bite him it was inevitable, my love affairs always ended badly no matter
how hard I tried to make them work.
At that point in time, for me, the room seemed to
vanish, vaguely I could hear Derek screaming as he tried to push me off, sadly
for him his beautiful human muscles could never be strong enough to repel
somebody like me, a four hundred year old vampire in the prime of her immortal
life. I latched on to his neck, drinking in his delightful chocolaty pulse.
Nothing else mattered.
The next thing I knew Carl my old man was pulling me
off Derek’s body. Carl had followed me, but his intervention was only to save
me, it was too late for poor Derek. We left discreetly by silently flying out
of the bedroom window together, before the emergency services were summoned.
Derek’s husk of a handsome body lay lifeless under a
single silk sheet, there were drops of blood like raspberry stains around his
collar bone, or maybe even a ruby necklace, and on his neck were twin puncture
wounds, left dry and white and bloodless.
Wednesday 8 April 2020
Christmas Glitter
About Christmas Glitter
The world is really struggling this year, we are all at war with the evil Corona Virus, including my country, Great Britain. I am terrified of it, as I already have post viral chronic fatigue syndrome/M.E.
And it was while I have been in lock down and self isolating anyway because we have both been ill for a while now with a virus which may or may not be The virus because we haven't been tested, and I don't want to even think about what I would have to be like before I would be tested, that I remembered the short story I wrote as homework for our writing group called The Scribblers, for our Christmas party in the middle of December 2019, and how strange it was, well my stories are usually a bit on the strange side, but this one, well if one imagined the glitter was a virus, and the penguins were people with surgical masks on !............................. I am sure this was written before I heard anything of the Corona virus, and it was only written because I hated Christmas, but now if I live to see another Christmas I think I might like Christmas much more than usual.
Christmas Glitter
Father Christmas had been having trouble with his staff, it
had developed wood worm, then it had messed up some of his magic spells,
particularly the one he used to conjure up more Elves to help with the
present’s delivery round. Instead of Christmas Elves flying in to help, he had
got approx. 100 Penguins, waddling into his Grotto from all directions. They
were flapping and squawking all around the present wrapping area of his
Christmas Grotto. Not only were they noisy and unhelpful but they were also
naughty! They had devoured Santa’s fruit and nut chocolates within an hour of
their arrival. Their behaviour was not helping Santa at all. So when a small
group of penguins actually started packing up the presents in a relatively
civilized manner, Santa watched in amazement and relief. He was just about to
go and get a cup of coffee and a mince pie, when he noticed that one of the
penguins was doing something strange with a pot of glitter.
The penguin sniggered in a wicked tone of voice as he mixed
the glitter up in a test tube which he had produced from under a wing, with
some different coloured glitter, then he produced what looked like a ray gun
and zapped the glittering concoction with it.
Santa gasped with horror, but before he could stop it, the
penguin had scurried outside with the test tube and thrown the strange newly
created glitter out onto the snow. His remaining Elves rushed out to clear it
up, but somehow it had all vanished by the time they got there. This worried
Santa but he had no time to investigate, he really had to get on with his job,
it was the day before Christmas Eve and he was late with his preparations
already.
The following day in England, the festive season was in full
force. The shops were heaving with last minute shoving shoppers and hysterical
toddlers. Everywhere seemed very glittery, there was lots of glitter on cards, room
decorations, tree decorations, and even on people. This glitter was new, it was
extra sparkly and bright, and people were beginning to find that it was
impossible to wash off.
Meanwhile; Ralph was cold, but since his wife died that was
nothing new. He stumbled along the frozen ground hugging the over-hanging
hedgerow to get as much shelter as possible; the winter wind was merciless,
cutting across the flat open fields. His home was in the next field, in the
shelter of a copse and surrounded by hedgerows. He’d been lucky, so far no one
had noticed his tent or the fire that he’d left alight to keep the tent warm,
although smoky. He couldn’t wait to get warmed up within his sleeping bag with
a hot mug of soup. Glitter didn’t feature in his life, although he did like to
imagine Father Christmas and had even written him a letter this year, asking
for somewhere proper to live, with heating, a bathroom and a solid roof. He had
considered asking for female company too but thought that might be pushing his
luck. For a few moments while he wrote the letter he had cheered up and felt
almost like a little boy again, at home with his parents on Christmas Eve.
In the nearby town, they were beginning to realise that
there was something wrong with the glitter.
It wasn’t normal, and it wouldn’t wash off, but by the time
they had realised, it was too late.
The stuff worked it’s way into your body and clumped
together, when enough had got inside you – boom! You turned into a penguin!
Shoppers everywhere were turning into Penguins, ambulances were called but all
they could do was call the fish van to feed them. Police started tracing the
source of the glitter outbreak, but they too became penguins and waddled off to
jump into the river and go fishing.
After spending Christmas day alone in his tent, Ralph
wandered back into town. He was surprised to see that it was empty, the shops
were empty and left open! There were no people anywhere! He assumed it was due
to the Christmas mayhem, and helped himself to a can of soup and a loaf of
bread and returned to his tent bemused.
He was nice and cosy in his sleeping bag, having had his
soup and toast when he heard bells jingling immediately outside the tent,
hooves trampled the ground and a male voice called out, “Hello, You in there,
I’ve got a present for you! Yo, ho, ho,! what a jolly campsite you have here, reminds
me of my grotto!” Ralph nearly jumped out of his skin! That cheap wine he’d had
for Christmas must have ruined his liver already he thought, and now I’m
imagining things, but he popped his head out of the tent anyway. Santa stood
there smiling, and handed him a small perfectly wrapped box. He thanked Santa,
and offered him some soup, but the old man was in a hurry to return to Lapland
so he couldn’t stay.
Though he did stay long enough to warn Ralph, not to go into
the shopping centre again, “ Just get your food from the none Christmassy
shops, so you can avoid the glitter” he said, without further explanation.
That’s strange thought Ralph.
Inside the box there was a set of house keys, with a label
that read No 9 High Street, and a neatly folded piece of paper which was the
deeds to the property. Ralph walked to the house in a daze, and opened the
door, it was perfect, it was warm, had a bathroom, a solid roof and it was his!
He was overjoyed.
Having made himself at home, he turned the telly on, the news
reader was jabbering on about some strange kind of glitter out- break, apparently
it had escaped from the North Pole after global warming had caused it to become
genetically modified, which was why everyone had been turned into penguins and
disappeared into the sea in search of fish.
He was aghast at this, and realised that Santa had not only
given him the perfect gift but also possibly saved his life by warning him not
to go to the shops. He poured himself a whiskey from the well stocked drinks
cabinet, and relaxed onto the comfy sofa, it was almost a perfect day, he must
be dreaming he thought.
Then, there was loud knock on the door, he answered it to
find the prettiest woman he’d ever seen, “Can you help me please, she implored,
I’m being chased by a gang of penguins, I think they may be after my fruit and
nut chocolate bar!” He quickly ushered her in and slammed the door in the beak
of an aggressively pursuing penguin, she thanked him and smiled, apologising
for her intrusion on his time, he shrugged and said I’m glad I could help,
anyway it’s nice to see a friendly face. They looked at each other, she smiled
again and his heart started thumping, he knew that his Christmas had now only
just begun.
Wednesday 13 November 2019
Felix - Fleeting Glimpses
Here is a poem I wrote about Felix, his memory is still around, on the sofa, on the window sill, and in the painting hanging on the wall.
Felix - Fleeting glimpses
Sometimes I think,
when looking at you in the painting,
that you will,
stand up, stretch forward,
on your front short legs,
spine lengthening.
Stubby tail uncurling,
like a black flag pole,
and come running to me.
Like I've nearly forgotten,
you always did.
Telling me about,
everything that's happening,
with your quirky little cross eyed grin.
Sometimes I catch you
sleeping in the arm chair,
among the discarded jumpers and such,
your subtle energy
peacefully reminding me,
You're no longer there.
Sometimes missing you
is far too hard to bear.
Wednesday 23 October 2019
The Belly Dancers
The following is a short story that I wrote as homework for the Scribbler's Writer's group which I currently belong to. The theme was to "write about a crime I would commit if I knew I would get away with it!" For some reason this humorous group of unlikely lady villains popped into my head.
The
Belly Dancers
The three of us met at the belly dancing class as usual
on Thursday afternoon at the Town hall.
Vivacious Vera is blonde and recovering from a stroke so
she goes to improve her coordination and cheer herself up a bit.
Kelly has M.E. the same as me, and we both go to the
class to maintain our fitness and also have a much needed laugh.
But it’s a struggle for all three of us, not just
physically doing the dancing but also paying for the classes.
We are all out of work for the foreseeable future, no one
would employ us even if we did feel up to the job.
So it was after the class, at the bar, over our glasses
of shandy, and while comparing notes on how poor we were, that Vera, who had
just lost her incapacity benefit appeal, came up with an idea.
“I know, lets rob a bank!” she exclaimed, looking flushed
from the dancing and laughing at the craziness of her idea.
Kelly and I laughed too, but the longer we sat there
drinking our shandies the more it became an interesting proposition.
Hadn’t that bank been robbing us for years anyway? With
extortionate fees and interest rates? While we each struggled with depression
and the hopelessness of our individual situations.
“Yes lets do it!” I said resolutely and straightened my
back.
“Yes, why not, what is there to lose” I laughed.
Kelly looked at me wide eyed and bemused and then at
Vera, trying to ascertain if we were serious or not.
“O.K. I’m in; I could knit the balaclavas!” She laughed.
Next day we met at Kelly’s and planned the robbery.
We would all wear our belly dancing costumes with veils
covering our faces.
Kelly’s son had two high powered water pistols that
looked just like shotguns, so we commandeered them for the heist.
Vera had the fastest car, so she would be our get away
driver.
It was down to Kelly and me to do the robbery. We
practiced a few role plays, I learned to say
“Give me all of
your money bitch” in a menacing voice.
While Kelly practiced waving a water pistol around the
room, without firing it, and saying “This is a robbery and I will shoot anyone
who moves” in an equally menacing manner. While trying not to giggle.
We had to move quickly, before we lost our nerve, so we
did the bank the next day.
It was Friday, the bank should be awash with cash.
We met at Vera’s, yesterdays bravado had slipped away, we
all looked pale and worried as we shut the car doors.
I had the loot bags, high class calico shopping bags, one
has to be kind to the environment and look good even during a robbery.
We arrived outside
the bank at 14:00 hundred hours, having first checked there were no police
about.
Vera sat in the drivers seat, engine running, while we
both disembarked and headed for the bank.
I heard the car stall as we entered the building, but it
was too late to turn back, the engine was being turned over and stalling again.
With veils hiding our faces we danced into the bank,
Kelly held her water-pistol high and shouted to everyone there to “Stay still or
be shot!!” I switched on my small music system playing our belly dancing tunes
so we could keep dancing during the raid.
A woman customer screamed, her husband put his hand over
her mouth and held her tight to him.
Kelly pointed the gun at them and shouted “Shut up or be
shot!”
I danced over to the counter and shouted in my best bank
robber's tone of voice
“Give me all the money Bitch!” while shoving the
water-pistol at her chest.
Funnily enough she actually did it, no questions or
suggesting I used the ATM!
She dropped wads and wads of used twenties and tens into
the shopping bags, and finally wads of fifties were thrown into and filled the
last bag.
“That’s all we’ve got she said quietly, gulping back
tears.
“Great because that’s all my bags full up now. Great
doing business with you! And by the way, if you try anything when we’re leaving
I will shoot all of you, do you get me?!
ALL OF YOU bitch!!
I backed out of the bank, Kelly followed waving her
shotgun in the air and shrieking.
We jumped into the car, but Vera couldn’t get it to
start, her face was scarlet.
“It just died!” She gasped
“Now what do I do?”
Just then an elderly man was walking past,
“Hello dear, are you having car trouble?” he leaned
against her window, she nodded through the glass.
“Pop the bonnet, I’ll see what it is, used to be an army
engineer you know!” He smiled reassuringly.
Kelly and I were beside ourselves, frozen to the seats
hearts pounding.
“Try not to look suspicious” I whispered to her as we
whipped off our belly dancing veils and buttoned up cardigans over our
costumes. Kelly started pulling on a pair of stretch jeans, tucking the costume
into them.
I wrapped a long skirt around my ensemble and began
hyperventilating.
Just as I started passing out, the old man said “arh
that’s your problem, some dirt in the spark plug”, he got an old hanky out and
wiped it clean, returning the plug to its rightful place with some gadget he'd taken out of his car tool kit.
I passed out, but woke up to find us in Vera’s garage,
with Kelly shaking me and offering a glass of water.
So we did it! Got clean away, no fuss or fuzz!
It was in the news, a reward for info. offered, but it
soon got forgotten.
Kelly bought herself a nice house in the country. I had
a long holiday on board a cruise ship. And returned to buy a Scottish castle,
six months later.
Vera bought a very expensive motor home, hired a nice
young man to be her chauffeur and spends her time travelling around, often
dropping in on us or taking us all out for spontaneous trips to nice places. Where
we laugh and talk about belly dancing and water pistols.
Monday 8 July 2019
The Fisherman's Inn
This year I won fourth prize in the annual writing competition, held by the creative writing group that I belong to, called The Scribblers. Having toyed with the idea of publishing it on my Facebook page, and thinking better of it, as the word count is a little longer than the last one I put on Facebook. I've decided to put it here instead. The exercise was to produce a short story of no more than 1,500 words, to a set ending, set by the previous year's winner, and it reads -" after everything that had happened, she turned around and instead of a dark troubled sky, there was the most beautiful golden sunset". etc. So here it is, happy reading!
Andrea Weeding, 1,500 words
The Fisherman’s Inn
Kev’s eyes darted from the angry couple in front of him. Beyond them the
Inn’s old oak door swished lazily open, its heaviness pushed partly by the
force of a strong westerly wind, leaves blew in and under the nearest table.
The couple had been ill, after drinking his pub’s beer, they reckoned
that as the beer tasted o.k. the lines must need cleaning, and “why has this
been neglected?” asked the man with an angry red face.
Through the doorway behind them, clacked a petite red haired woman, in
high heels and red lipstick.
“Stunning”, thought Kev, she smiled delightfully and radiated charm, so
much that the angry couple smiled back at her, immediately disarmed.
“Stupid people” thought Kev, “why should I clean the pipes? His mind
flicked to the petite lady. He smiled graciously at the red head, his afternoon
saviour, he was weary of fending off these country bumpkins. When would they
take the hint? She obviously wasn’t from around here, he liked her immediately.
It turned out that she was his only applicant for the position of Pub
manager/bar staff/housekeeper.
“Good evening Mr Ricard, I’m Brenda.” She extended her soft manicured
hand with varnished red nails, he shook
her hand gleefully, she was perfect, she could start next week. Her only
proviso was free accommodation, for herself and the dog Bracken. “Perfect” he
thought, “that’s my security guard vacancy filled too and all on minimum wage”
he hummed merrily to himself.
She was given the attic room, no good for B&B customers as the roof
leaked, just a bit, she won’t mind.
Brenda fixed the leak and the stained ceiling on their first night, with
an elegant flick of her rose scented wrist and her trusty old willow wand. The
ceiling was made good as new, as were the old bed springs and the thread bare
carpet. Soon her little attic room was a comfortable oasis of calm.
She felt that they would be very happy here, after she had just made a
few more adjustments.
A voice had led her across the world, to this old rambling pub sat on
the banks of a pretty river. It was frequented by narrow boats and holiday
makers, who scrambled ashore onto the pub’s jetty, for real ale and chips, ice
cream for the kids and a bowl of water for the dog. It really was a lovely
place to spend quality time.
“It’s so peaceful here” She sighed as she walked Bracken that evening. Bracken sniffed the air and barked as if in
agreement, then turned back to the pub.
“A new broom sweeps clean” smiled Brenda the next day, Kev grinned back
at her, enjoying her newly revealed cleavage in her barmaids blouse, as she hoovered
the pub floor.
Three months later, Brenda began wondering about Kev’s motives. Though she
enjoyed the excitement of running the pub, Kev seemed unmoved, there was a
brooding atmosphere around him, even when he was smiling and talking to customers.
He looked worried, she thought, especially when she cleaned the beer lines,
which she did quite often.
Six months later….
“Kev’s in London today, Brenda told the cleaner, as she hurried past
with an armful of clean linen, for the bedrooms. It was early Saturday morning,
best day of the week, loads of new folk to meet.
“I’ll be manning the office today” Brenda grinned.
“Ok ” She smiled back.
Brenda trotted into the office, opened the accounts book and
involuntarily tutted. All that income from the inn, but nothing was being spent
on it. There was a long list of wines and spirits purchased only last week, but
where had they gone? They weren’t behind the bar; it was embarrassing telling
customers their only choice was between two beers. Even the crisps selection had
dwindled to just ready salted. A loose piece of yellow paper fell out, it was a
local authority planning application notice!
“What the hell is this?” She said under her breath. It read…
“to whom it concerns, the owner of Fisherman’s Inn has hereby applied
for permission to erect ten, five bedroom houses fronting onto Rambler’s Drove.
Also a two storey extension, to front and rear of existing property.
Also a Gambling license for afore said Inn,
Changing existing premises to 150 Bedroom Hotel and Casino, with indoor
swimming pool.”
She sat down hard and peered through the office doorway at the pub’s
customers, happily flopped on comfy chairs having their breakfast, dogs at
their feet. Outside boating holiday makers were already chugging up the river
towards the inn, anticipating a pint in the sunshine. All that would go if this
planning permission was granted.
“No! It won’t happen, not on my watch!” She shut the book.
The previous owner Mr Granger, had haunted the Inn, since his death last
year. It was he who had called to Brenda, across the desert, where she had tried
to ignore the pull of his cries, but had finally dusted off her magic carpet,
gathered her wand, her dog, and her best lipstick to fly with the Sahara winds,
steering straight to this Inn, from one oasis to another.
Now she understood why. “He can’t rest while his Pub is threatened” She
applied a fresh layer of red lip stick, while a plan formed in her mind.
Over the coming months Kev became painfully aghast at the massive change
in the fortunes of Fisherman’s Inn.
So many people turned up, that the B&B was fully booked, the bar
always packed, the restaurant full, even the beer garden overflowed with
customers. He watched Brenda, and guessed that she was the reason.
“Hardly surprising” he thought “With knockers like those, and such wondrous
legs…” I should have known better, she’s going to wreck my plans, she’ll have
to go!”
But he couldn’t sack her, for what reason? As much as he tried he couldn’t
come up with a single reason for her dismissal. Her spell on him worked well,
it usually did.
The W.I. started holding regular meetings at the Inn, while their eager
husbands sampled a vast selection of beers. All Brenda’s work, just a flick of
the wrist with her willow wand!
Kev’s planning application was refused, with the help of Counselor
Evan’s wife who ran the W.I. and other prominent locals.
Brenda was particularly happy the day the letter of refusal arrived. Kev
couldn’t understand it, he always got his way, “why was that woman so damned
happy anyway”?
He suspected that she knew something. He drank some of the gin that she had
magically procured for the bar. How did she do it? He had tight control over the
money. Did she know about the application? He had to get shot of her; she was wrecking
his chances of a profitable development.
That night, after hours, he did the only thing left to do. He poured a
trail of petrol from the door to the bar, stood at the open doorway and chucked
a lit match into the petrol, the flame ran along, he left quickly, needing an
alibi.
Up in the attic Bracken was going crazy, barking and running around.
Brenda followed him, he rushed out of the door as soon as she opened it, and
down the stairs. Smoke billowed up towards them but Brenda used her quenching
spell, her wand activated itself, its sparkles of magic flew around quenching
the smoke and flames.
They reached the bar, where a sooty trail across the floor had been smothered.
The B&B customers appeared in their pajamas; one had a mobile phone
and photographed the petrol trail.
Kev was duly arrested, “its twenty years for arson” said the arresting
officer, Kev protested his innocence but went quiet when Brenda arrived at his
court hearing. The judge smiled across at her like an old friend. Kev went down
for the full term; his usual friendly veneer hadn’t worked for him this time.
Brenda bought the Inn when it was auctioned off. She felt at home,
running her own pub. Mr Granger’s ghost
visited on her first night as new owner, he said “I am so happy, now the inn is
safe, I can rest, good luck my dear, I don’t think I’ll be back again” the
ghost faded towards the heavy oak door and was gone.
The following afternoon just as the sun was setting, customers in the
beer garden clapped as Brenda and Bracken joined them.
“Well done! Congratulations!
She smiled and Bracken wagged his tail with gusto. One of the W.I.
ladies came and gave her a big hug “Well done, we are all very grateful, you’ve
saved our pub! Brenda felt her eyes moisten, she loved these people and she
loved her pub.
After everything that had happened, she turned around and instead of a
dark troubled sky, there was the most beautiful golden sunset. A pink ethereal
light glowed across the land reflecting rose flames in every window.
Friday 8 February 2019
Thinking about Felix
This is Felix, we were his people from 2005 -2019. You can see he has a shaved belly after having an ultra sound scan at the v.e.t.s. when he became ill the first time.
It was late July 2005 and I had persuaded my husband to accompany me on a nice walk across our nearby fields, on Berry Fen. We had only got a short way, down the entry footpath to the first field, when we saw a little skinny black and white cat, with a lovely shiny coat, dashing hither and thither in and out of the hedgerows along the footpath we were on. Being cat people we made encouraging noises to the cat, and he stopped hunting and focused his attention on us, he spoke to us "meiow, meiiow, meeeiow" and started to circle around us while continuing to let us know that somthing was wrong. Well, I was all for walking away, telling my hubby that the cat probably belonged to a nearby house and not to worry. But after a while observing the cat's irratic behaviour, we both postponed our walk and hubby ran back home to fetch the cat carrier, we would take him in tonight if no one claims him, when we knock on nearby doors. No body claimed him, so he spent the night with us, he was starving hungry, and nearly ate the plate when we first fed him, and he cried like a baby, his meiows sounded just like a new born baby crying full throttle. I have M.E. and so, due to his loud baby mieows got no sleep that night. We took him to the vets the next day, to check if he had a microchip, sure enough he did. His owners were living just up the other end of the village in a modern cul-de-sac and they were emmigrating that very day, we know this as we took Felix to them, the container with all their possesions was parked outside their house, all that remained was a desk in their laminate floored living room, we let Felix out of his carrier as we talked, and he tappy toed up and down the bare hard floor mieowing his baby cries. His owners told us how he had disapeared six months ago, and after much searching, they had given him up for dead. So they hadn't been able to get him passported/innoculated (along with their other cat) and whatever else was needed to be able to take him with them to Canada. They would have to hand him to a pet rescue that day before leaving. My husband said "oh no! could we have him? We would love to have him!" His owner agreed, gave us a cheque to cover initial costs and off we went. I wasn't so sure this would work, as we already had a fiesty long haired tabby cat called Purrdy, and due to Felix's loud mieow I was worried about how this would effect my ability to sleep at night. But hubby was determined, so I agreed.
After a week, Felix stopped his late night baby cries, and I was able to relax and sleep at night. Felix had settled into our household and made it his home too. He loved the beds, especially newly made beds with fresh clean linen to lounge on and snuggle into. This is what initially told me that he was a pet cat and not a feral cat. He never lost his love of bed snuggling.
Felix also had a great sense of humour, he continued to enjoy running around in circles a lot, for the rest of his life, we wondered if this was because of his wonky eye which apparently was the result of his mother treading on him when he was born, he was I believe the runt of the litter, and apparently got picked on a lot by the other cats, so he developed a defensive attitude towards other cats, this was often to his own detriment especially when a new neighbour moved in next door with the psycho cat from hell, but that's another story. Needless to say we had many emergency trips to the vets as a result of his fights with cats who dared to trespass on his territory.
Our other cat Purrdy soon got used to him and his comical ways, one of her tricks was to lay outstretched on her favourite armchair and wait for him to pass near her while doing his usual circling patrol of the lounge, when he was near enough she would lean out and swipe at him with a mischeivous grin on her face, I don't think claws were used, she just loved to make him jump, and start his circling all over again. But on cold winter days they would be best friends and snuggle up together to keep warm and sleep the day through while keeping an eye on the high street from their armchair.
Over the following forteen years Felix became my constant companion. I have had several episodes of ill health and he was always there for me, either on my lap, on my bed or on my belly while I rested on the sofa, usually purring and dribbling and needing my belly or my boobs, apparently this was due to him being weened too early?! He was a healing cat, and took his job very seriously I think.
The bottom line is he loved his family very much, and we grew to love him too. His constant "talking" endeared him to anyone who met him, he really was a very knowing cat, and even predicted the weather for us, he particularly hated windy weather and would spend the day before any storms mieowing incessantly until I relented and allowed him to hide in one of the bedrooms, on or under the duvet ofcourse.
He was a hunter, and caught a few Black-birds until they got wise to him, then the tables were turned and every spring and summer he would get mobbed by irrate brooding blackbirds as he patrolled his territory, I would watch with laughter from the kitchen, as he would have to run the length of our long garden to the house with his body low and head down like a man going over the trenches in WW1 as the blackbirds around him scolded and divebombed at him, then he would crash through the cat flap and tell me all about it.
One summer afternoon we were out in the garden together, when a particularly irrate Blackbird started to divebomb at him, I laughed, he put up with it for a few divebombs, then suddenly right in front of me he looked at me appearing to grin and waiting till the blackbird was at its lowest divebomb height above his head, he launched himself up vertically, pushing up with his back legs his front legs stretched up as high as he could until he had his front paws around the blackbird's body, then just let it go again, it shrieked and flew for cover in an embarassed kind of way. He just looked like he was laughing while he was doing it, and afterwards ran and jumped on my lap on the deckchair, like it was a job well done.
He loved to be my entertainment I think.
He also loved to watch TV, and would snuggle up with the pair of us on the sofa for our evening viewing, he particularly enjoyed Spring Watch and would try to locate the baby birds as they fledged behind the tv. He also enjoyed watching the 6 o'clock news with hubby, and appeared to be fascinated with the Brexit debate. Oh and he liked James Bond films too.
Over the last few months he enjoyed having some special time on the sofa with hubby and a plate of Wensleydale cheese with cranberries and biscuits, while watching the 6o'clock news. Hubby had the cheese with biscuits while Felix had his with thyroid and heart tablets hidden within the chunks of tasty cheese, Felix loved this special treat for some weeks, he really felt like he had had an illicit treat eating with his "Dad" on the sofa.
But by last Thursday those special cheese treats had lost their appeal, and Felix's breathing difficulties became too much for him, and despite us promising that he would soon be home from his check-up at the very nice v.e.t.s. Felix had to be put-to-sleep, he come home with us, but not as we wanted, no noise from his carrier box on the back seat of the car this time, just a peaceful bundle wrapped gently in his favourite old towel, his dear body spent the night in our conservatory, and was tearfully buried in a favourable location in the garden, (near where he ambushed the Blackbird a few summers back), the next day. We will miss you Felix, night night little man, God bless.
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