Herself

I heard rather than saw her make a dash to me. I looked and there she was was lying half under my chair. She had the strength to run to me but not the strength to move as I picked her up.

She lay in my arms looking at me her eyes half closed and she smiled, anyone who knows cats know they smile. She smiled as I held her, told her it would be alright, that we were and would always be together.

I told her not to worry I would do that for both of us and I cuddled my beautiful Tax and cried and sobbed for us both and she lay smiling in my arms. She died with that unmistakable smile for me, for us and I sobbed as my heart broke in so many pieces.

There's so much chicken! I've been giving the cooked chicken to the terrible five I know they will eat it, we got to the stage that they wouldn't eat whatever Tax wasn't eating and fresh is better than tinned or dried every cat and dog knows that. 

I really don't want to cook chicken, well not for a very long time. I roasted it, curried it, stewed it, grilled it, braised it and boiled it and I never once ate it. It was hers I got the soup.....And the laughter of the shopkeeper when they asked did I really buy the chicken for my cat.....

I don't care I want to move I want to start thinking about that again. 

Strange from Trixie she went straight into the bathroom and used the litter tray, then so long at the foot of the couch moved to the top and lay there. It had belonged to Tax and now it belongs to Trixie that is very clear. Pippa is indifferent the only one she really likes is Ollie the going of Tax hardly seems to have registered. I can't say the dogs have noticed either but nor have they gone anywhere near her grave.

Its the law of the jungle we live, we die. I don't cry now. I turned her radiator off. She has gone and I will miss her forever.

Her Name is TAX 26/09/2014 @ 11/50pm

She has gone. One day I will write and tell how she ran, quite literally ran to me, and as I picked my beautiful girl up she left me. One day.

Its Almost Time

She has always been so strong my beautiful adventurous girl, climbing trees, leaping fences, chasing magpies and other birds as big as Herself. So small, so brave she rules this house still but now its one step removed. I rule on Her behalf nothing and no one goes or is before Her.

I know I should let Her go. Damned if I'll take her to the vet she who hates cars and vets! She needs it to be over. I watch her heart beat and it is visible and wish it were over for Her.

Twenty years and I watch her heart beat and wish it were over.

Spoiled for Choice! A rambling I Will go...

I have more than one blog this one is still my favourite but others are catching up! Well, one or two of them are.

I’ve been reading up on Scotland again. I say reading up but really I rarely finish anything I start on this subject. Its all either or and cast in stone and so much of it is lies it really deserves to sink without trace.

In particular blogging is running away with itself. I understand that some bloggers need to project themselves as though they speak to and for the whole of their subject be it, ethnicity, art, faith or toilet habits but I’m disappointed frankly back in the days when I began blogging I used to think all blogging was above deliberate lies.

I didn’t dream it was full of frustrated teachers, unemployed journalists, with the very odd professor and the occasional discredited author thrown at it to supervise what I think really should be called the industry. Blogging it seems to me is big business.

We all learn I read the one with the interminable angst, she who was moving her blog because she could no longer stand the stress, remember? I said I’d give it a day, a week tops. The lie didn’t even last twenty four hours. I don’t think stress is the problem I think its subject matter, which in her case appears to be emotions. Having to deliver so many words on so many aspects of the vast array of our emotions must indeed be stressful and to make it worse it all has to be done in so many hours, sometimes using a completely different pseudonym and that if we but knew it is probably the real cause assuming that is that any angst actually exists. You know unless you suffer it you’re unlikely to have any idea of the depths of either depression or anxiety. I could tell her but it’d be water off the old clucks back.

Returning to Scotland: the election is tomorrow Salmond is telling his usual lies but not to worry because Cameron, Clegg and Milliband are giving him a run for his money. Oddly and I do find it odd, the only one I actually agree with is George Galloway. OK he’s old Labour and that is bound to attract me but he’s for the union and I’m not, even so he’s still the only one who makes a kind of sense. I guess the difference between him and me is that I’m sick to the back teeth of Irish and Scottish whining and he poor devil is all Scot.

Oh and how could I forget! There is the endless woe of poly this, pagan that and a sub something or other called heathen. I don’t mind the way Americans try and usually succeed in Americanizing everything but paganism is a bit close to home. Its not unlike the silly and still bald creature who insists Satanism is only two hundred years old. So a bit younger maybe, can’t be arsed to check, than America itself. But! be fair Anton Le whatsit was American and I guess that means some Yanks think they can claim Satan as theirs and to confirm it there are a few million Islamic extremists who fully agree with them. I can hardly be bothered with them but I do take an interest in the alopecia. One of its major causes is stress you know…