No destitute cat ever refused admission

My last post mentioned that a cat owner’s home without a cat is just a house.

When my little cat Sox passed away, for a short time my parent’s house became just that. A house barren of cats. The cat community had other plans though, and it seems my parent’s house soon became the local branch of feline Dr. Barnados.

I had been used to this growing up. But nowadays, despite not actually owning a cat themselves, my parent’s still have to take a trip down the pet food aisle when they go shopping to feed the many waifs and strays that frequent their house.

To my knowledge no destitute cat has, or ever will be refused admission.

As cat philanthropy is rife in our family, it seems only natural that my house has also become the feline Dr. Barnados in my local area.

I live with my two cats Minnie and Cochen…They are the only two of permanent residency. The only two on the electoral roll and census.

Alongside them though, there are a number of cats who drop in and out of my cat halfway house.

They are….

Fatty Ginger*

Fatty Ginger* sleeps outside my back door. He is always gone by morning at the twist of the back door key, without so much as a kiss on the cheek, or a thank you.

Roger*

Roger* is constantly fighting his demons due to a small tail complex. I try not to mention it in front of him, and I never answer him honestly to the “Does my tail look small in this?” question.

Pete*

Pete* next door, I think has ADHD and is incapable of jumping on a windowsill without falling off it. I think Pete* might also think he is a pixie, as he has taken to sleeping right at the bottom of the garden beneath the tree. Pete* always has a look of absolute surprise on his face whenever he is disturbed.

Don*

Don* “The Don” is the size of a German Shepherd.  When I say German Shepherd, I mean he’s the size of an actual human shepherd from Germany, not the dog. Don’s* favourite pastime is to play garden Mexican stand off with me…. He wins.

Meryl*

Meryl* is BFF to Minnie. Meryl* is fairly problem free, but does hang around an awful lot. Way too much in fact. I think she might struggle with social boundaries, so I may need to ring her parents and ask if they can sit her down and have a word with her.

Previously there has also been….

Polly the 1st, (you can read about her herewho’s blood was laced with droplets of Lucifers and who’s main aim in life was to rain evil on mine, and Polly the 2nd*.

Polly the 1st’s successor. Slightly less evil but far more cunning.

Polly the 2nd* knew my movements more than your average stalker would. One time just as I was leaving for work I remembered I’d left my lunch in the kitchen. As I opened the kitchen door, I found Polly the 2nd* breaking in to my house through the window. I have little doubt, she had been performing a stakeout and had downed her binoculars thinking the coast was clear… She made a hasty retreat that day and was gone before her crowbar hit the floor, but I knew she’d be back.

Would I stop any of them helping themselves to my garden? My home?…. and I’m sure at times the contents of my fridge, my cupboards and my purse?… Of course not, because no destitute cat is ever refused admission.

*Names changed to protect true identity…. and because I don’t know their actual names so made these ones up

Everyone has a story to tell

Everyone has a story to tell. Telling it doesn’t start with the ability to, it starts with the willingness to. Every story needs a beginning, and every story begins the same way. With the desire to tell it.

That desire may be to entertain, to share, to educate, maybe to enlighten….. Sometimes just to make sense of it. To rationalise it. Understand it. See it. Feel it. Hear it.

That’s my desire.

For my story to exist somewhere other than just inside me. Somewhere where I can see it, rather than clumsily fumbling in the dark in my mind trying to identify the shapes of it.

Can you fill an empty page with a thousand words and still have an empty page?

Yes, I believe you can. If those words don’t come from the right place, I do believe you can.

Fill an empty page with a thousand words charged with emotion, and fuelled by desire, and you’ve got yourself a story. That makes every single word of your story important, and that’s the way it should be.

What happens to you in your life doesn’t define who you are, what you do about it does. That’s what makes each story different, unique, but still comparable in importance.

This brings me to a story I read yesterday. I was already familiar with this story.  I know the detail, I know the facts, I know a lot, but definitely not all the emotions of this story.

I know the people in this story because they are included in mine. Without this story, parts of mine wouldn’t exist.

Although I know this story, reading it still moved me, and humbled me. I’d never seen it written before. In full chronology. From the beginning. I felt the emotion and the honesty of every word, and I appreciate how difficult a story it must be to tell.

So, here is that story. Please click on it and read it.

http://www.birthtraumaptsd.com/experiences/placenta-accreta-and-haemorage/

Everyone has a story to tell.  Some just haven’t found the willingness or the voice to tell it yet. Lets hope some day that happens.

Charles Haanel – The Master Key System

I don’t remember how I stumbled upon this book, but reading the blurb on the back compelled me to buy it. It read…

The Master Key System is one of the finest studies in self-improvement and higher consciousness ever written…… that not only leaves you feeling good, but also thinking good.  This book was banned by the Church and has been hidden away for seventy years!

I was intrigued, so I had to buy it. It’s sat on my bedside table for 2 months but I picked it up this morning and had a flick through.

Hold that thought for a second whilst I firstly explain some recent events and thoughts….

A very good friend of mine commented on one of my posts yesterday and mentioned my commitment to blogging. It got me thinking about why I am so committed to it. The reason I started blogging was to explore my writing style, to explore what it was like to write publicly rather than just think privately…..It’s become so much more than that. It’s become more important to me than I ever imagined it would.

I read some truly inspiring blogs every day. I speak to some truly inspirational people. I appreciate every hit I get, I’m grateful for every ‘like’ I get, and I’m so very happy with every new comment I get… Subscribing to my blog.. well, that just blows my mind!

I made a conscious decision not to use my blog to rant or to be needlessly negative…. If and when I feel like that, I’ll continue to do it in thought only… and once I’m done thinking about it, I’ll counteract it with a positive blog post. Restore the status quo.

To give you an example… Driving home from work last Thursday, I made a mental ‘to do’ list in my head for the evening. It’s quite unusual for me to do this as I’m not a list kind of girl. I’m envious of those who are.

Anyway, my list was

  • Make Tea
  • Make lunch for tomorrow
  • Change bedding and put pyjamas on before I…
  • Pull pretty much contents of wardrobe out and iron everything

1 – 3 went without a hitch. I then came to point 4. Ironing. I pulled everything out of the wardrobe, and I mean everything. Took it downstairs and made a big pile in the living room floor. I pulled out the ironing board and plugged in the iron….Nothing. I unplugged the iron, shook it about a bit, fiddled with the lead a bit, pressed every button and turned every knob. Plugged it back in… Nothing… I probably did that another 3 or 4 times before a voice in my head said…

Bethan, leave it go.. It’s gone… Time of iron death…8.21pm

I was livid!…Livid that I’d dragged everything downstairs, my plan for the evening had been ruined, I’d have to take everything unironed back upstairs, and the prospect of having to wear unironed clothes to work.

I was so frustrated that I gave the ironing board a little kick….. which instantly buckled and collapsed broken to the floor..

Thank you universe!, lesson learnt!.. I acknowledge the hideous overreaction, and consequences of said overreaction.

I didn’t realise you could feel embarrassment in an empty house when it’s only you who has witnessed the event..  But I did. When I told someone at work the next day about it, they genuinely looked at me in surprise and said “What the hell did you do that for, you’re usually so chilled about everything”

In contrast, today my kitchen light blew and the fitting crumbled when I took it out… Being without light in a room is a little more important than an iron breaking, but today I just thought ‘Oh well, I’ll buy another light fitting and fix it’…

So, my point is, I think my commitment to blogging is as much about my commitment to self exploration, discovery and self-development as much as it is to writing.. I wasn’t expecting that when I started to blog. That has crept in and taken me by surprise.

Looking at my past blog posts, the majority of them relate to having fun, to feeling good and thinking good… which brings me back (finally) to Charles Haanel!

This book is arguably one of the first of its kind to talk about harnessing the power of the subconscious and the law of attraction.

The book is split up into 24 parts, and suggests you should focus on them as weekly study courses. That’s what I intend to do. Over the next 24 weeks, I am going to study one per week, and post a weekly update on my progress.

By blogging about it, I’m committing myself to actually doing it, and by actually doing it, I’m committing myself to blogging about it..

It’s a win win situation!

How do you define a ‘friend’?

I got this topic from The Daily Post at WordPress.com. I signed up for the postaweek2011 challenge. This was yesterday’s topic, but, worthy of writing about on any day.

Inspired by all of the wonderful people I’m lucky enough to call friends, this is my answer…

Imagine a room. Imagine standing outside a window to that room on a bright, sunny day. All you can see is your reflection. You can’t see through the window, but you know the room beyond exists.

That’s as far as some people get. They stand outside your window and all they can see is themselves. Despite knowing the room beyond exists, despite seeing shadows moving in the room, they don’t quite understand what’s in there.

Others will be intrigued to know what exists in that room. So they go up close, they cup their hands around their face, peer through and knock on the window to show they are there. The room starts to take shape, shadows start to take form. They gain an understanding of the owner, and what’s beyond the window.

What’s beyond the window, what’s kept in that room, is the spirit and soul of a person. The room is full of energy, emotions, vulnerabilities and insecurities. The room is full of strength, knowledge, experience, wisdom and love. Riches so delicately precious and unique to it’s owner. Everything that makes a person the distinct person they are. They are the shapes and shadows that you see taking form when you peer in. They are what you become part of when you enter into that room yourself.

Guaranteed not everything in there will be to your taste, but you accept that. You accept it, because you know good friends will do the same when they look through your window too.

The only intentions are to handle the contents in the room with honesty, care and affection. To add to the treasures that already exist. The only request is that you do the same.

That’s how I’d define a good friend. They don’t stand back just to admire themselves in the reflection of your window, they move up close so they can see you too.

Will you write me a poem?

I work in Insurance. In fact, I work in Accounts in Insurance, so opportunities to write don’t come along very often. The day started like any other. Monday blues, polite but rushed conversations about the weekend just passed……..

Then an email pinged through from a friend in another department at about 9.30.

“Will you write me a poem?”

My email back…… “What?. Um, we haven’t got that sort of friendship have we?”

“They’re doing a little competition today. You have to write a poem about the events of 2010. Will you write one for me?”

My email back…… “Hell yeah! I’m in!”

So that is how I spent my morning break today. Writing a poem for my friend about the events of 2010. I’m loving the release I get from blogging, so I’ll exploit any opportunity to write these days. My only stipulation was, if it won, I got to post it on here…

It did!. It won!  So here it is. My light-hearted review of 2010 in a poetry nutshell..

The year 2010, started with a bang

We saw the coldest winter since all records began

February saw Katie Price marry Alex Reid

A marriage made in heaven, or a sham based on greed?

Spring arrived, and many thought ‘We’ll book a trip away’

Iceland put an end to that, as the ash cloud came our way

Then we had an election, live debates all full of lies

The result? The Coalition, which we could grow to despise

Vuvuzelas sounded the summer, Jules Rimet was lifted by Spain

Rumours emerged of an album recording, of Take That with Robbie again

The Autumn brought a story, of human survival and true grit

As the World watched the Chilean miners hoisted from the pit

News of a Royal Wedding next year, began to filter our way,

Great news for all us workers as there’s an extra bank holiday

Matt Cardle won the Xfactor, The bookie’s favourite from the start

Gillian Mckeith fainted daily, like she’d been shot with a poisoned dart

The year ended as it started, with ice and cold and snow

And the threat of Amazon ruining Christmas, for nearly everyone I know