Silent rooms

Yesterday our big fat ginger cat left for a new home and a new life. The decision to give him away seemed sensible given that we will be starting a new chapter in our own lives too.   A move to a new city, a new job and a new flat (which doesn't allow pets) meant we had to make a difficult choice.

Since adopting the cat three years ago, he has been the source of many different emotions: annoyance at his 20 minute conversations that consist of 'meow, meow, meow' even after he's been fed and groomed to within an inch of his life; murderous when he tangles himself around your feet if you are in a hurry or carrying pans of hot food across the kitchen; disgust at his tendency to drool whilst purring and padding in contentment on your tummy or worse, when he sneezes the excess drool over your face if something tickles his nasal passages; amusement at his 'mad' half hour when he runs around the house batting anything that moves; delight when he loudly attempts to sneak up on a fat pigeon then visibly sighs when he inevitably fails; but most of all, he made us love him and now he's gone, the house feels empty and the rooms are all quiet.

There's no one to great you as you step through the front door or feline calls of 'is anyone there, I need company?' if we are upstairs busying ourselves in the office. I miss the half hour before bed time when he chooses to sit on my lap and keep me company with a purr like an outboard motor.  My big, fat ginger friend has gone and I miss him.  So here is a tribute to fatty - I hope they look after you in your new home and appreciate your loveable personality and odd little quirks!

Ageing...

Well isn't getting old a funny thing!  Yesterday I saw a couple of boys hanging over the fence that surrounds the primary school near my house.  The boys were deep in conversation, gazing wistfully across the playground as children shrieked and laughed during their lunch break.  As I passed by, I could hear them talking

"...yeah I heard it's gone down hill since then..."
"do you remember when we used to...",  "I can't believe it's been seven years"
 A pause whilst they silently reminisced.
"Seven years?!!! has it really been that long?!  SEVEN YEARS?!"

It made me smile.  18 years old and wondering where the time had gone. 

As my close circle of friends are now predominately in their 40's, the question of 'where has the time gone?' crops up more and more.  I have a few years to go but the little changes are starting creep in. It is fatal inspecting yourself in the mirror - when did all these wrinkles start to appear?  Why is my chin as downy as a mouse's bottom?  And good God, what's with all the salt and pepper in my hairline?  I'm only 35!

In my head I'm still an 18 year old. Nothing much has changed except I find myself feeling a little more irritated by the headphone-wearing teenagers who play their music so loud everyone on the bus can still hear it.  I have to bite my tongue to avoid tutting at the students who ruin my quiet drink in the pub with raucous, drunken laughter and too much frivolity!   The idea of a suburban disco for the person that can't be bothered to go into town, drink until they're seeing double, queue to get into an expensive club that doesn't open until 12am, then stagger home at 5am to sleep off a hangover, is actually quite appealing.  

I heard someone on the radio a few weeks ago, she was in her 70's and said "age is like a train and you're standing on the platform watching it whizz by".    I quite agree.  I shall not try to defeat it but I may try to hide it with a cupboard full of anti-ageing balms, night repairing cream, bag busting gels and pots of hair dye...or maybe I'll just put my feet up, drink a cup of tea and listen to radio 4!