The Travelling Wooden Cat and a large dose of Sentimentality
As some, or many, of you will know, we are in the throes of preparing for a move.
We have sold our beautiful guest house, having run it for five years, and are busy sorting and packing up all the bits and pieces that make up our lives.
I have found myself pausing for a moment, here and there, as I reminisce about something. A memory stirred as I find an old photograph, or ornament, and what it means to me.
It's not the big things in life that count, but the small things, for me, at least. I find it hard to let go of the past, don't want to, if I'm honest. I love that our home, wherever it is (and it's been in a number of places over the years, that North wind does tend to blow for us), is always filled with items that hold special memories for us.
And so it was today, as I sorted out more pieces to pack. I picked up the old wooden cat. She was bought somewhere in South Africa, on a trip down from Zambia, and came back with us to Chingola, where she looked very pretty sitting quietly on the floor, beside a server.
She has scuff marks, dents, scratches, and is even missing part of her ear. So why, you ask, do we keep her? Well, here's the thing, my precious little girl, Talitha, our beautiful Jack Russel, chewed that poor ear off.
Talitha was a naughty little girl when she came to live with us, not her fault, I hasten to add. She hadn't known a proper home, and it took some time to settle her in, but it was worth every moment!
Here's an excerpt from my little book 'The Little Cat who thought she was a Dog', which some of you may have read:
We have sold our beautiful guest house, having run it for five years, and are busy sorting and packing up all the bits and pieces that make up our lives.
I have found myself pausing for a moment, here and there, as I reminisce about something. A memory stirred as I find an old photograph, or ornament, and what it means to me.
It's not the big things in life that count, but the small things, for me, at least. I find it hard to let go of the past, don't want to, if I'm honest. I love that our home, wherever it is (and it's been in a number of places over the years, that North wind does tend to blow for us), is always filled with items that hold special memories for us.
And so it was today, as I sorted out more pieces to pack. I picked up the old wooden cat. She was bought somewhere in South Africa, on a trip down from Zambia, and came back with us to Chingola, where she looked very pretty sitting quietly on the floor, beside a server.
 |
| The Wooden Cat |
Talitha was a naughty little girl when she came to live with us, not her fault, I hasten to add. She hadn't known a proper home, and it took some time to settle her in, but it was worth every moment!
Here's an excerpt from my little book 'The Little Cat who thought she was a Dog', which some of you may have read:
"What fun it was having Talitha around! But what a lot of
trouble she got into! She attacked the broom with gusto every time Aunty swept
the floors and went crazy when Collins wheeled the wheelbarrow around in the
garden. “Die, Beast!” she would scream at it, before throwing herself at the
wheels in a frenzy. She chewed a hole in Mummy’s favourite dress and totally
ruined two different shoes! Everyone got used to hearing Mummy’s cross voice
telling Talitha off.
“I’m allowed to be naughty at the moment,” confided Talitha
to Gypsy, “I’m still a puppy. When I get a bit older I’ll have to behave
myself!"
Tali, as we generally called our little girl, had many names, as beloved pets tend to have. She was known as Tuna Fish, Little Girl, Sergeant Majoor (Sergeant Major, due to her bossiness), and Psycho Bitch.
Psycho Bitch was not meant in a cruel way, but came about due to her high levels of anxiety regarding her food bowl! Slowly she came to realise that food would never be in short supply again, and relaxed! Here's another excerpt from my book, where Tali exhibited said anxiety:
"I had to be pretty fierce at times, sometimes the others
would try to steal my food. I would warn them off like this,” Talitha suddenly
bared her teeth and growled scarily, looking at Ziggy and Gypsy with a crazed
expression on her face.
Gypsy was so scared that she hid behind Ziggy. Ziggy tried
to stay cool but he couldn’t help his fur bristling up a bit and his tail had
shot right up in the air.
“Talitha, stop that!” Mummy admonished, suddenly appearing.
“You don’t have to guard your food now, no-one’s trying to steal it from you,
there’s plenty for everyone.” “It’s alright you two,” she said to Ziggy and
Gypsy, picking Talitha up and cradling her in her arms, “Talitha’s just a big
baby aren’t you?” Talitha lay back contentedly in Mummy’s arms and made happy noises
until Mummy put her back down on the floor with the others."
Many years ago, to pass my time and amuse myself, in Zambia, I used to write a fun blog entitled 'The diary of a Zambian housewife'. Here's a link to a short post demonstrating Tali's concerns over anything food related, this time, the food in question being a bone she had buried in the garden:
Many years ago, to pass my time and amuse myself, in Zambia, I used to write a fun blog entitled 'The diary of a Zambian housewife'. Here's a link to a short post demonstrating Tali's concerns over anything food related, this time, the food in question being a bone she had buried in the garden:
Moving can be, and is, stressful, but those little moments, where one pauses for a sentimental moment, help remove a little of that stress, and give one a moment of peace, reflection, and the recollection of a happy and precious memory.
 |
| Our little girl, Tali |
And that's what life's about.
Comments