Our black and white cat… #Poetry

 

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Image by Jaye Marie

Our cat flap has become a revolving door for hungry strays

Which I am sure they are not

I think, Merlin, our black and white, goes out on his rounds

Telling them there is food back at ours

As fast as I fill his bowl, some unknown visitor empties it

I know two of them, one white with black-tipped ears

The other, a black and white like ours that Jaye calls Bandit.

She is fond of him, but I think he looks like an old boxer

I tried putting his bowl away at night

He doesn’t like that, so now it stays out

Twenty-four seven. Hotel cat paws!

They are like silent ninjas

Merlin asleep in the front room with us

I barely hear the cat flap but

He doesn’t bother moving

I manage to catch the odd tail

Slithering out of the half-open flap

Like the remains of a snake slowly disappearing

There are one or two strays

that Merlin doesn’t like coming into the house

That’s when I hear the hissing,

the banging of the cat flap late at night

He’s choosy about who he lets in to eat his food

So now we buy extra food to keep them all happy…

©anitadawes

#Jaye’s Journal ~ 44

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I was so busy with the book tour last week that I completely forgot about writing my weekly journal.

The tour has been keeping me busy, but my head is bursting with so many new ideas. It would seem the more you do in this business, the more you want to do, even though there is never enough time.

I have been expecting a new story to appear and dominate my every waking thought, now I have finally launched David Mallory and his complicated life out into the world, but so far, there has been nothing. That’s probably just as well, considering there can’t possibly be any room in my head right now.

Although it’s a wonder my brain is working at all, seeing as I am literally reeling from the amazing response from everyone for Silent PayBack. So many people have praised it and congratulated me, I swear my head is several sizes bigger than it was two weeks ago!

 

I need to find some time for my bonsai and the garden, seeing as how I’ve been too busy to do much lately. It has rained an awful lot, so that’s my excuse. The temperature is dropping, and it won’t be long before most of my little trees start to lose their leaves. A signal for me to make sure they are ready for their winter sleep. This is where I get the chance to have a good look at the bare bones of them, so much easier to spot signs of trouble once the leaves have fallen.

The grass will need to be cut one last time this year, but unless the weather improves dramatically, I won’t be able to, as it’s waterlogged out there.

It is almost time to rig up the bird feeders too, for the insects and berries won’t last long if it gets any colder. We seem to have more feathered friends out there than ever!

©jayemarie

P.S:  I have been learning how to create a video on my iPad from scraps of material taken on a mobile phone.

Merlin was having a kitten moment and this was the result…

 

 

Somehow… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Walls and bars do not a prison make

the great philosophers would have you believe.

Mind has its own barb wire, keeping things in,

keeping things out, neither meeting the other.

Like the two halves of the brain, working the opposite side

Two halves of a suburban street, neither knowing the other.

Faces with no names, a smile, a nod when passing

A mumbled good morning leaves a feeling of civility in the air.

We have no need of man-made bars

Too many of us walk around in a prison of our own making.

Taking on too much work, no time to rest to be joyful

One small kindness can break down walls,

Vanish dark clouds, bringing back hope

Somehow, humanity will survive. we can reach out,

find a wall, break it down, let the light back in

A genuine smile can lift the gloom felt by loneliness…

©anitadawes

The Ancient Streets of London for #Willow Poetry…

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Weekly challenge

Weekly Challenge  (June 4 to June 10/2019)

How to join: write a post on your own blog,  your choice of poetry or a story.

Link back to this prompt:  leave a link of your post (or Pingback)  in the comment section –  (Do check that your link shows up in the comment section).

Monday “Round-up” includes all links posted in the comment section of this post.

Photo prompt June 4 to June 10, 2019:

Image by Willow Poetry

 

The ancient streets of London, under a full moon

A story old as time was playing out of the feline variety

Lola, a beautiful white Persian had fallen for the ginger tom cat

Whose master had once called him Phillip

Before moving away, leaving him on the streets

Her father, having searched the rooftops

Found her on her own with the chocolates

Phillip had half inched from an open window

She sat, holding his tattered hat

He gave the lecture that so many fathers have done

Little knowing Phillip hung by his claws from the gutter.

Should he take note of these very words coming from her father

That she will end up in the gutter should she continue the courtship

Phillip had washed and pressed his best tie

Worn his only hat which she now clutches

He hangs from the gutter feeling like a criminal

He has no home and lives in the dark alleys of London

He cannot ask her to do the same

Her father is right, she deserves better

With her father’s words ringing in his ear

He wondered, could he find a good place to call home

Elope with his beloved Lola

He heard her say, “Father, I will follow Phillip anywhere.

He will look after me. Love finds a way.”

Phillip had the answer his heart wanted to hear

From the lips of one who loved him…

AAAAA

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#WednesdayWriters ~ Nine Lives ~ Chapter 24 #MysteryThriller #Fiction

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Kate has welcomed death from an early age. With no family to speak of and a brother she hates, she waits for death to take her away.

It speaks to her. Teases her, yet will not come for her.

Death takes those around her, making her desire for it greater than ever.

She wonders how much longer it will take for her time to run out…

Chapter Twenty-four

On the way home, Kate picked up some lamb chops and some white wine for her lunch with Sam, inwardly still trying not to be angry with Michael. Who did he think he was? Regardless of the fact him turning up was something she had dreamed of for years, he still had the cheek of the devil.

There was an ambulance outside Janet’s house and Kate’s heartbeat accelerated as she walked towards it, wondering who it was for. As she drew closer, she saw Janet’s door was open and as she watched, a paramedic in a reflective yellow striped jacket was wheeling Janet out of her house in a wheelchair. She appeared to be asleep, her face pale and peaceful. What had happened?

She approached the ambulance. ‘Hello, how is Mrs Goldman? I’m her neighbour.’

The paramedic stopped for a second and looked at her. ‘The old dear took a tumble and we’re just taking her in to be checked over.’

‘How did she tumble, she has no stairs?’ Kate asked.

‘She must have been up on a chair, there was one overturned when we turned up.’  He grinned at her and climbed into the back of the ambulance. ‘She’ll be fine, see if she’s not.’

Kate had the strangest feeling Janet wouldn’t be ‘fine’.  She was far too old to be taking a tumble.

She decided to spend the rest of the day in her studio after she had something to eat and if Janet wasn’t home by tomorrow morning, she would go and see how she was.

The rest of the afternoon was spent preparing the next canvas. This one was going to be a night scene, with the moonlight like a pathway across the water. That was the plan anyway, and that sometimes changed as her paintbrush often had a mind of its own.

As the afternoon faded into early evening, Kate found herself thinking about Michael a little more fondly than she had that morning. She had almost seemed rude, hadn’t she?  God knows what he made of it.

She was in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil when there was a knock at the front door. Who could have that be, she thought, wondering if it was something to do with Janet.

Kate’s heart was in her mouth as she opened the door to find Michael standing there with a small bunch of carnations clutched to his chest. She almost choked, and her first instinct was to slam the door, but for some strange reason, she couldn’t.

‘I’ve come to apologise, Kate. I shouldn’t have carried on as though nothing was wrong between us. No wonder you had nothing to say. Please let me in, so we can start again and talk properly.’

She glared at him. ‘How do you know where I live?’

‘I felt so bad after you left, I had to find you so I could apologise in person. I had no way of knowing if you would turn up tomorrow.’

‘But how did you know where I live?’

He had the grace to look sheepish. ‘I looked you up on the electoral roll. Lucky you still use your old name, or I would never have found you.’

Kate still hesitated, unsure whether to let him in or not. This was her private space; did she want him touching everything?

She already knew she would let him in, the effect he had on her was the same as ever, regardless of the history between them. ‘You had better come in then,’ she said, standing aside so he could pass. ‘And don’t think I have forgiven you because I haven’t.’

He turned and offered her the flowers. ‘They’re not a peace offering Kate; I just thought you would like them.’

She tried to accept them gracefully, knowing she would prefer to wrap them around his neck, and made her way to the kitchen to put them in water.

He stood in the doorway watching her, and it all seemed the most natural thing in the world as if he had done exactly that dozens of times before.

It suddenly occurred to her just how much she resented him showing up on her doorstep.

‘Nice place you have here, Kate. Been here long?’

Why did she automatically think he already knew the answer to that?

‘Not long ‘, she said, non-committedly. ‘And I will soon be moving on, anyway’.

He smiled, and there was just a hint of nervousness in his smile. Was it possible he was a little unsure of his reception?

He nodded at the back door. ‘What happened to the cat?’

The hair on the back of her neck twitched and it was all she could do not to march up to him and slap his face hard. ‘Why assume something happened to my cat? He could be sleeping in another room.’

His smile vanished, and she could see he was trying to think of a suitable answer. Whatever he said, she wouldn’t believe a word.  It was as if he knew what had happened to Dylan, and how could he, unless… The possibilities that presented themselves didn’t bear thinking about, and she knew something was wrong. Nobody would say a thing like that by chance.

‘Come on Michael, say something to convince me you meant nothing sinister.’

‘I don’t know why I said that, Kate. The way you’re carrying on, something did happen to the cat. What was it?

The cheek of the man took her breath away, which was just as well for she had no intention of telling him anything.

‘It doesn’t matter, come and sit down and tell me the real reason you showed up here tonight.’

He followed her out of the kitchen and paused outside her studio. ‘Can I have a look?’

The door was open, so he already had a good look in her opinion. She leaned past him and closed the door. ‘I would rather you didn’t if you don’t mind,’ she said, not caring she came across as more than a little angry.

He looked surprised, but what did he expect? Had he forgotten how badly he had let her down, not to mention walking out on the child they had made together?

Her temper finally snapped and she turned on him angrily. ‘Don’t bother getting comfortable, Michael. I want you to leave, now.’

‘And…’

‘No buts, did you think I would fall into your arms again? You must be more stupid than I thought.  Please, just go.’

For a moment, he managed to look sad, but if that was supposed to mean anything to her, he was badly mistaken. Although a small part of her still loved him, a bigger part resented him for turning up like this, assuming she would forgive and forget.  She hadn’t been able to do it then and certainly wasn’t about to do it now.

Kate went to open the front door, desperate to get him out of her flat.  Just as well I’m leaving, she thought, as knowing he knew where to find her was annoying her a lot more than she thought it would.

‘Can’t we just talk about this, Kate,’ he said, trying to look sheepish.

She came up to him and shoved him not too gently towards the door. ‘Go away Michael, I don’t want you here.’

As he walked away, she waited for him to turn around, to appeal to her one more time. He didn’t, he kept on walking and for a split second it was all so sad she felt like crying.

He didn’t appear to have come by car. If he had, it must be parked somewhere else. Why would he do that?

As Kate stood on the doorstep, she noticed there were no lights showing at Janet’s house. Did that mean she was still in the hospital?  She would have to ring them in the morning and find out what was going on.

She didn’t feel in the least like painting, and went to the studio and stared at the canvas. She should work on it a bit more, after all, Sam was coming for lunch tomorrow and the more progress she could see, the better. It might help to get all thoughts of Michael out of her head, so she would have no trouble sleeping tonight.

She tried to empty her mind of him as she spent the next few hours pushing paint onto the canvas, and one question kept rattling around in her head. Why had he assumed something happened to her cat?  It might have just been a coincidence; after all, there was a cat flap in the back door. It could have been for the previous tenant’s cat. It was almost as if he knew something bad had happened, but how could he have done?

She decided to call it a night when her arm was so stiff she could hardly hold the paintbrush. Canvas number three was almost finished and Kate liked the way this one was turning out. Probably because it was such a peaceful, serene scene, it had gone a long way to soothing the savage beast Michael had awakened with his impromptu visit…

What does Michael want?

Did he kill her cat?

 

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The Clockwork Lion

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Not sure what I was looking for, but during my browsing the other day, I came across an article about a clockwork lion. The picture intrigued me, being a lifelong visitor of the lions in Trafalgar Square in London.

When I was a small child, I remember visiting Trafalgar Square a lot. It seemed like a magical place to me, what with the water fountains, thousands of pigeons and those enormous black lion statues.

So when I saw this article, I knew I had to know more about it.

“The four bronze lions of London’s central Trafalgar Square got a temporary addition on 28 January, with a clockwork sculpture of the animal unveiled to highlight the plight of big cats. The statue, made of clockwork mechanics, will stand in the square for just a day before being auctioned off to raise money for National Geographic’s Big Cats Initiative, which says it aims to halt the decline of big cats in the wild.”

Time is beginning to run out for all of the big cats, and to put it into perspective, there are apparently more statues of lions in London than still roaming in the wild.

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The clockwork lion was designed by Sculptor Iain Prendergast, to deliver a poignant message about the plight of the big cats.  “On the body, mainly as if it was the inner workings of a clock, so it was cogs, levers and coils and all sorts of things like that,” he said at his workshop. “And then up to, obviously the eyes, we’ve got clocks in them, clock faces but yeah, it’s just looking at each little part of the clock, obviously the hands for the mane, just seeing whatever sort of links in with the actual physical resemblance of the cat.”

I was upset when I heard about the killing of Cecil, the famous African lion, but maybe something good could come out of it after all, for it sparked a global controversy and set off a backlash against the African hunting industry. Inspiring the creation of this incredible piece of art at the same time.

I think the gaunt frame, torn hide, and wide, harrowed eyes of the Clockwork Lion give a drastically different impression than the steady, powerful look of the famous Landseer Lions around him, dramatically illustrating the decline wild lions have experienced since the original statues were installed in 1867. The sculptor has made the lion seem very real, the agony on its face almost too painful to see. If I look at it for too long, it makes me cry.

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I have tried to discover what has happened to the lion, as it was only in Trafalgar Square for the one day. It was auctioned off to raise money for the Big Cats Initiative  but I could find no coverage of that. It would be a shame if it vanishes into obscurity, as I think it is an emotional piece of art…

(photographs the propert of National Geographic Big Cats Initiative)

 

 

 

 

Our Cat Merlin…

 

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My daughter and granddaughters gave him to us and he has been a great blessing. Each day he greets you when you rise, very vocally.

He talks a lot and sits on the arm of my chair, his face too close to mine. I have the feeling he wants to get inside my head. I cannot reach for my coffee, so I shoo him away.

My son says he doesn’t know why he loves me so much. I am told that whenever I leave the house, he howls, for he doesn’t like me to go away.

I call him dog because he acts like one. There are times he follows me so closely that I trip over him.

But he is a shadow I cannot do without…

©Anita Dawes

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