Pocket, tired of watching the theatre of insects that came with the cut flowers in the house has announced he's writing a Captive Narrative.
What do you mean? I ask You were hardly captured by pirates or Native Americans were you? He washes a paw and tells me by being a Bengal cat he was taken from his own tribe and made to live with humans.
You're only one quarter Bengal I say to him but he says that's not the point - he's still a hybrid of the Asian leopard cat and as a breed, he adds, is smart, energetic and playful.
I'm definitely being held against my will he says
and I'm changing my name to Pockethontas. I tell him he can go any time he wants but he said he was going to take a nap as being smart, energetic and playful was tiring. He might go after tea and might be back for breakfast.
I shall weep crocodile tears Rocket says and Pocket adds he'll weep turtle tears.
"Watch out the butterflies in our theatre of insects don't lick the salt as a source of sodium from them "I tell him. Pocket scowls. I know that. I used to live in the Amazon when I was taken from my tribe. Rocket points out that Asian leopard cats come from Asia not the Amazon.
Oh Amazon Shmamazon Pocket replies shutting his eyes.
We don't have a flea circus in our theatre of insects as we treat our pets with Frontline but I did once go to the Natural History Museum in Tring where there is a display of fleas dressed up as Mexicans. Apparently this was the pastime of Mexican nuns in Victorian times who unbelievably attached threads of clothing onto fleas with adhesive. When you look through a magnifying glass you can see they are perfectly dressed and even wear a hat.The flea circus's attached them to tiny chariots which they pulled as they hopped around the miniscule circus ring. I've never had much time for fleas but it can't have been nice to be glued to anything. I've told Pocket not to get any ideas. As a quarter Bengal cat full of energy, playfulness and smartness he has already given me a lecture on spiders, telling me that conkers in the fireplace do not keep them away but that they're not keen on chalk so if I didn't want any in the house why didn't I draw lines over the floor ? I told him I didn't mind spiders that much.
Rocket, who goes to the door every time I get up keeps telling me he hasn't done enough steps. I didn't know you had a Fitbit I say."I've discovered motivation that's fresh, fun and fashionable" he says. When I ask him where he keeps it he doesn't answer. Yes fresh, fun and fashionable he mumbles. I suspect he's just been reading the advertisement and I can't see any sign of one in his bedding nor strapped to his legs. It's just an excuse to go on more walks.
Here he is on holiday in Devon. He likes being on holiday - he doesn't have to bark at people or other dogs who are on his territory like he does at home. He surprisingly came into the water when we went swimming but only enough to get his paws wet. Then he stood anxiously on his hind legs to watch us as we swam away then ran up and down the beach telling people that
his people were out there and he wasn't sure if we knew how to swim or even knew how to come back and could anyone help and go and rescue us?
Here is Mrs Magpie pleased with herself for opening a package all on her own without being asked. Apart from the usual stealing I've noticed she likes to re-arrange things. I think this must be a control thing. I've seen her tuck a sweet pea flower into the leaf of a zinnia. She also thinks flower pots look better scattered on the ground in the poly tunnel rather than in neat piles which is what I've done with them.
My favourite dahlia is at last in flower! Earwigs like dahlias and I've notice one or two scurrying across the table before Pocket gets the idea he could harness them to a match box.
And dear Scout is no trouble at all. Here she is on her morning stroll across the harvested corn fields.
The green party members in my garden.
So although I told Pocket I didn't mind spiders you can see from my poem below there was a time when I did.
Entirely Spider.
It broods in the folds
of the nightdress-
huge, as if it wears an overcoat
- as dark as dreams.
I shudder and sleep in the other room
there is nothing sadder than
being single and having
to deal with a large bug.
Later, when life becomes
too short to dust
and I have found other fears
I keep good company with one.
Through the borrowed view
of the bedpost
I watch her dance attendance
repair and tidy her beautiful web
nibbling at her trussed hors d'oeuvre
saving herself for the Big One
her Mr Right whom she devours
after a night of spinning passion
her just desert.
Curled like a cat
she fills the corner
her egg sac casting a vast shadow
across the ceiling
she ceases to scurry
instead she watches and waits
her web slack with time
and misuse.
Now as winter approaches she is ready
for her long descent.
She clings to her clever thread
my daughters screaming as she wearily
passes them
I cajole and re-ssure
I place her in the palm to prove a point
and now, close up
she seems much smaller than I thought.
Linda Coggin from Dog Days published by Zero Books.
