black magic

I have always had a penchant for black cats. Hattie, Betty, Monkey son of Minky ....I have lost track of all their names but here is Nancy

Below is the jackdaw who I haven't named - not wanting to insult a wild bird by giving it a name it didn't like or wasn't even appropriate. After all I called the Peking bantam Geoffrey after my dad and now I see she is a hen and didn't come to her name anyway. The magpie from two years ago I just called Mrs Magpie to find out later when she met a mate she was actually Mr Magpie.
 

So jackdaw is known affectionately as Jackdaw. And oddly does come if I call his name. If I hear him summoning me from the trees I call out and he comes flying down to rest on my head or shoulder. Once he painfully tried to land on my nose.

So I suppose it's no surprise that walking around with a jackdaw on my shoulder followed by a black cat has given rise to the belief I may in fact be a witch. I think it  would be fun to be a witch and I might well be a good one - I seem to remember I was top at spelling in school. All I can say is double, double toil and trouble fire burn and cauldron bubble. And on the wind Ghost Pocket's voice says my friend Shakespeare said that in Macbeth. Still having a raven too can't have helped.

But here he/she is now surveying the world from the top of the pink tower as the other day I opened the door to let her/him out into the world where he/she belongs. I hope they make it - there is a raven community near by and if they are a she she'll have more of a chance of being accepted. At least she stopped imprinting on me which I can't say Jackdaw has.

And here are Geoffrey and Barbara who go everywhere together as if joined at the wing. I'm not sure yet if Geoffrey thinks she's a duck or Barbara thinks he's a hen. The other ducks (who seem to be all male apart from one) sort of ignore them and although they all share the same duck house it's as if Barbara and Geoffrey are on the sofa bed whilst the others sprawl out on a kingsize.  And Oh dear I have just returned from a poultry auction that I only went to for a laugh and came back with these two sisters. At least it swells out the female contingency. It'll be interesting when they start laying eggs how many there are. I'm still hoping the ones with the curly tails(indicating male) have just discovered hairdressing tongs. Also Rocket who came to the auction with me was very well behaved and didn't bid for anything behind my back though he did tell me he was interested in a couple of  lemon cuckoo frizzle pekins that he thought would be fun to chase.

This is Rocket's Sunday morning face when just once in a while I return to bed with a cup of coffee and the Saturday papers. He likes the lifestyle section and looks out for nice jackets or a less embarrassing collar.

Obviously he never goes upstairs but here he is looking suitably anxious to tell me that Ghost Pocket is now on the bed and what should he do?

Ghost Pocket who can re-appear anywhere and at any time then poked his head out from behind the curtain. Life is nothing more than a tale told by an idiot he said rolling onto his back. You've been talking to Shakespeare again I query - that comes from Macbeth. He looks smug - yes we go back a long way. And here is my advice - It is not death that a man should fear but he should fear never beginning to live. That's Marcus Aurelius's advice I tell him, you've been hanging out with him as well? Yes and he made a collection of philosophical thoughts and reflections as he sought clarity, resilience and patience while ruling Rome's mighty Empire.

For once I was struck dumb. Are you for real Pocket? I cackle. He stretches out on the carpet, examines his paws and before disappearing though the wall informs me

that the life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living. So you're just a memory I ask and you are obviously chums with Cicero now aren't you? You told me this before though I'm sure you know I could hardly forget you. And as far as I could remember with a flick of his tail he was gone.

Nancy who had been watching all this and really didn't want to remember Pocket at all asked if next time he appeared would I ask him if he knew any good spells.

Since Pocket left this world - (and as Chief Seattle - who Pocket is probably on best buddy terms with- would say There is no death just a changing of worlds)  there is a mouse living in the house. Nancy is too infirmed to chase it and clearly it's beneath the Ghost Pocket to even bother even though it was more than likely him that brought it in in the first place. I mean I like mice - when I was a child I had a quantity of fancy mice that I kept in my Animal Hotel down in the old chicken house along with a couple of hamsters, some snails and a goldfish. Our mother who seemed to be terrified of mice was not told when my older sister first acquired a trio of mice and kept them in her bedroom. One day when she was in a particular impudent mood she popped them into her beehive(this was the hairstyle of the 1960's before Marge Simpson and Amy Winehouse)) and walked into our mother's bedroom  where she was feeling a little under the weather. Her face changed from one of a smiling greeting to one of horror as my sister's hair started to move around on her head and the three mice popped up over the top of the 'beehive'.

Anyway I don't really want this mouse in the house and Rocket tends to avoid it probably thinking it's just another animal I've encouraged to come in.

I found a poem I'd written about a witch so thought it appropriate to put it here.

Hex

They referred to her as a witch

and she did have a black cat

herbs hanging from the ceiling

a broom for sweeping leaves

propped up by the fire.

I wondered if there was no  cat

they'd still call her that?

Witch, witch cast a spell

the mushroom cheeked boys would chant

as they knocked on her door and ran away

Turn Johnboy into a toad.

She greeted us with a smile

until she saw what

we held in our arms

and laid gently by the hearth.

Linda Coggin