The Cats Out of the Bag

 

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What can I say. I’m obsessed with cats. I’m surely not the only one to have been in love with these little balls of fluff since an early age. Whether it’s cat pictures, cat videos, cat memes, the sound of cats, the feel of cats…I am just a nutjob for our feline friends.

I have been graced with a couple of furry companions in my life.

The king of them all was Nelson, a beautiful brown tabby cat who we adopted when I was merely a kitten of 4 myself. Nelson was one of a kind. A classic tom cat with a chip on his shoulder and a holier than thou attitude. Did I care one bit that I was drastically allergic to my new best friend?

Not a whisker. He was my partner in crime. We cuddled together, sneezed together and plotted the demise of my elder brother together. He was priceless and irreplaceable. Unfortunately Nelson left me in the summer of 2000, after falling victim to the big C. Sleep tight, brother.

After that, I felt as though there was a void that couldn’t possibly be replaced. My mother for one swore never to let another paw step foot in the house again. A promise she kept to this day. (She did however attempt to keep budgies, which perished at the bottom of the cage after a failed attempt at coitus. It was a tragic affair worthy of Shakespeare himself).

Nelson definitely left one thing undying behind him. He had ignited in me a lifelong passion for these animals. As I previously mentioned, it is merely an inconvenience that I am terribly allergic. A cruel twist of fate that sees me sneeze painfully in succession until my brain threatens to dribble out of my nose, and my eyes itch to the point of blindess. Do I let this stop me from going googly over every pretty kitty I meet? Hell no.

In just over two weeks time me and my little girl bump will be greeting a new feline friend into the bosom of our family. Meet Dot.

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The only white kitty in an otherwise jet black litter. I’m sure Dot and I will get on famously.

Apart from taking this post as what it clearly is- a crazed rambling confession of love for cats- I guess you could also take a higher meaning from it if you were so inclined.

Sometimes you need to suffer a little to get the good things in life. Even if it means you will be on Benadryl for the rest of your life.

Paws out, kitten lovers.

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A little slice of paradise

This time two years ago I was dipping my feet into these crystal clear waters and escaping the rat race of UK life.

Well. That’s not entirely true. I went to work a summer season for a small sailing company on the Greek island of Lefkada…never having set foot on a boat, unless you count one moored up to Bristol Habour with a bar in it which brought about a whole new meaning to sea legs.

I applied for the administrators position after finding it advertised on an internet website, on the back of yet another argument with my boyfriend at the time. Two days and an awkward phone interview later I had been offered the position and had packed my bags. My parents and friends and family thought I was insane…in retrospect insane is a kind word.

The advertisement stated that the small but expanding English run family business was looking for an administrator to the principal of the sea school. Someone to help design websites, organize files and generally be the office dogsbody. Fantastic. Sign me up and call me Popeye. If I can be an office dogsbody in the UK sure as hell I can do it in 30 degree heat.

Oh, I thought my life was going to be a sea breeze.

The reality was quite different.

Do you know what they don’t tell you about working in the tourist sector abroad? It’s that you work ten times harder, do ten times the work and get paid ten times less. The luxury is the weather and…well. The weather and the cheap wine, which I can tell you is a lethal combination and was ultimately my downfall.

I have never been able to handle my drink well. Combine that with heat, with unlimited bar tabs and the holiday atmosphere, I was a catastrophic mess. I’d like to look back and think I was a brooding, dark and mysterious drunk genius, likened to Edgar Allen Poe. Spending hours alone at secluded table at the yacht club, whispering to myself. In reality however, I was a cross between Lindsay Lohan and Anna Nicole Smith, with probably less grace.

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See figure above. This was the beginning of the end. This particular night, I got so drunk on a mixture of Jaeger bombs and wine that I fell down concrete stairs, tried to sleep with my boss, adamantly refused to be taken home or subdued and tried to climb out of the car window, flashed my boobs and ordered a drink with such gusto that even Paula Abdul would be left red-faced. Rinse, repeat and puke again several more times in the next few months.

It really was the ultimate car crash of a holiday season that lead to a circling depression that eventually saw me running back to the UK on the next plane with my tail between my legs and a still ever present hangover.

I suppose on the two year anniversary of my Greek Island Dream Death it has left me feeling a little nostalgic and a little bit…entirely baffled by the whole experience. Especially now, with my own little girl rapidly growing in my buddha belly…I can only think one thing.

I wish I’d stayed at bloody home and just spent the summer reading Homer’s Odyssey instead.

 

An Introduction of sorts

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I suppose this calls for a polite How do you do. I’m Kate, I’m 23 going on 40 and at this moment in time it is mid-afternoon, I am five months pregnant and a bit uncomfortable on the dining chair I chose as my ill advised perch. So. This is blogging. I’ve always wanted a blog- a rather ‘self indulgent exercise’ as a friend of mine once stated. But I figure I talk to myself enough on a day to day basis- why shouldn’t I write it all done in an organised fashion for once?

At this particular moment in time I am trying to establish some sort of theme for this blog…I bake a lot. Could I do a baking blog? Maybe. I’m certainly opinionated, could I use this as a medium to express that? I’m expecting my first child as a single mother. There’s something to be said on that subject too one supposes.

The more I think about pigeon holing myself the more I seem to be repelled to do the opposite. In school they always teach you to write with a clear and focused purpose, to be concise with your points and aim to deliver a well defined message.

Well, I can be clear enough in saying that certainly isn’t me. I definitely am not clear or defined in anything I do- my actions don’t really have any particular pattern, let alone my writing. I hop needlessly and endlessly from one subject to another in between taking gigantic sips of Yogi Tea (of which I am hopelessly obsessed).

Yes. I think that will be the theme of this blog…to simply have no theme at all. Isn’t it supposed to be enjoyable after all? And I don’t know about you, but refinement has never been enjoyable to me.