New Life

A few weeks ago at the cat shelter I was cleaning one of the rooms which had a Mum in, Cleo, and her daughter of 6 months, Bonnie. Cleo was pregnant and she quietly gave birth to one of her kittens whilst I was cleaning the room. A lovely and special thing, I thought and still think. I felt honoured to have been there at the time. Afterward Cleo gave birth, Bonnie went and curled up with Mum and her new sibling. I only witnessed one kitten - as apparently sometimes cats won't give birth to the rest til the next day.

I returned to the cat shelter and Cleo had 3 kittens altogether. When I entered their room, I discovered them in their basket cuddling up together. They are mostly black so they almost blur into one other. Bonnie kept going over to give them a lick, as I was told that if the older siblings are around, they help raise the young. It's very sweet and touching to watch. I think when being with kittens you cannot help but be overwhelmed with their playful innocence, their implicit trust in you, and preciousness.

Big sister Bonnie looking after her new siblings:

Party in Skegness

I love Flickr as you can browse through so many different photographs of all sorts of places, things, stuff.

As a child, I used to visit Chapel St. Leonards yearly, which is quite close to Skegness-the seaside, chips, the repetative songs that blare out of arcades, market stalls selling sticks of rock and I Love Skeggy keyrings.

For nostalgic purposes, I searched "Skegness" on Flickr. I came across these really interesting photographs and it reminded me of the magic a photograph can hold. "Old photographs" seem to have a mystical quality about them. They way they capture a time and how you can see how much things have changed.

I wonder if in 20 years time I will feel the same feeling looking at photographs taken today.

I look at these photographs and they are capturing a moment. It is something about how every snap taken had to be developed with no clue what they would look like and no option to disregard a dodgy one. And after, they may sit in a frame, in a photograph album or hidden away in a drawer but not many people would see them.

Sometimes with pictures I see today, on Facebook and whatnot, it feels like the moment is the taking the picture, and whatever is happening inside that picture is irrelivant. I browse Facebook and I see many samey drunken photographs, self-taken photographs, lots of smiling faces and it feels too self conscious, as if they are not connoting a good time but "Hello, I am very normal and appearing on Facebook"

Anyway, these photographs are posted by a man trying to find the names of the people in them: "40 + years ago I was in Skegness for the summer season as an assistant manager with Woolworths. I took these photos at a party in my flat on Drummond Road. I remember the faces, but the names escape me ... does anyone know? They will all be in their mid-60s now."

They look full of happiness and romance, who knows what life was holding for them:

Bedtime

Polly is delicate, ladylike and quite small. It adds to her preciousness and how delicate and small she is was magnified after Alfie had been here yesterday. I kept awaking last night every few hours for a few minutes, for unknown reasons, and I didn't mind as Polly was there, so peaceful, so asleep.





Alfie followed me in today. He sauntered around the house and then went upstairs. He slept on my bed and as I was sitting with him a thud of tiredness hit me and I fell asleep too.

I managed to take some pictures of Alfie before and after my nap. He looks so peaceful. :(

Alfet

Alfie is such good company. It is a warm feeling I get when I am walking up the street to find Alfie waiting for me. Today as I came home from work I discovered him sitting on my fence and then he followed me inside my house for some food, attention and a nap.

How big you are, I thought to myself, as he stretched out whilst he was sleeping. I was squished on the end of the settee as he took over half of it up.

Polly isn't very fond of Alfie. She ranges from reserved and awkward to vicious and angry when he is near. It might be something to do with fact he is in her house, but he is harmless. I recently found out Alfie is a M a i n e C o o n cat and according to Wikipedia they are colloquially known as "gentle giants" and that is so true with him.

He is handsome, quiet, patient and loving. He has smooth and thick fur, which smells like the outside air in a musty way, and one of my favourite things are his big and chunky paws. He likes attention and being fussed over.

Polly is slightly different. She is more independant and has my endless affections, love and guidance and so she never has to want for it. I don't mind though. Someone once said to me that cats need you more when they're older, and I think that's true, and so I am happy she is enjoying her youth sitting on sheds and running through bushes.

The English Dream

Sat with Mum the other evening watching Britain's Got Talent. It didn't have my full attention but I felt really blue watching it. There is something so lonely about loud cheering and endless clapping. Booing and hissing. Ringing up and voting. Britain's Got More Talent on ITV2. Emptiness and loneliness.

It looks like a distorted view of happiness people have - as if people have been told this is what it is to be successful. The lightbulbs, the audience, being on the telly. Glaring into the screen saying "I want this more than anything" and begging to be saved.

Someone once said to me "If you could be famous just like that, wouldn't you want to be?"

Confetti rained on everyone once the winner was announced

And then once they have won it will just be more clapping and loud music and more eye squinting lightbulbs.

I know some people need a platform to "make it" but those brutal yet empty television shows like that should not be the way to do it.