I WAS SURPRISED to discover that pit ponies were still being used at the Warkworth mine during my working lifetime. They spent a 5-day working week in the mine, then on Friday afternoon were given a jolly good wash and turned out for the weekend. Part of the time they roamed free underground, and made themselves unpopular with the miners by biting and stealing lunches.
Today’s painting depicts the ‘ponies’ (actually horses) lining up to be harnessed, and tomorrow’s, if I can find it, will show them getting that welcome wash. The ground beneath their feet is presented in cross-section so that the layers of coal and rock are on view.
The short story describes a pivotal incident in a young man’s life, and the poem is my own take on a Shakespearian sonnet. (Every poet should attempt one – it’s mandatory!)
Diabolical Wakeup
IT WASN’T MY FIRST CHOICE for how to wake up. The sheets were damp with sweat and seemed to have developed snaky lives of their own, so tightly and uncomfortably were they wrapped around me. My hair felt like a greasy, knotted mass. There was a persistent ache down the right side of my face, beginning in the temple, circling exploratorily around the large sinus of the cheekbone, and culminating in an upper tooth I had cracked on an almond the day before.
But most diabolical of all my discomforts was a small, hot, furry weight at the top of my chest, just below the throat. Not content with just being heavy, it emitted sound, a throb, like a small, steady engine from a Lego toy.
Worst of all, I was gradually becoming aware of an assault on my nose which comes to a bit of a point at the tip and this tip was being sucked and slurped noisily by a small, wet, warm – mouth!
I reluctantly concluded that it was time to open my eyes. After some moments of unfocussed whirring they finally decided to settle down and cooperate with each other. They saw the same disordered room as yesterday, last night’s crumpled clothes on the floor, and close up, so that they were practically crossed, the incubus weighing upon my chest.
It was small, it was hairy, it was alive, it was … kitten!
White with some black bits, purring like a threshing machine, suckling determinedly on my nose.
Aaaagh. This required some kind of reluctant action on my part. I tried with my right hand to remove the creature, but it batted my hand with its paw and seemed to sink deeper and heavier into my chest. The nose tip received a hint of a nip, a kind of resist-and-you-will-be-sorry bitelet.
For once I regretted living alone. There was no-one I could call to for help. Would I be discovered in six days’ time by the cleaner, a collapsed bag of skin, all sustenance sucked out via the nose tip, kitten having moved on to the refrigerator?
I groaned in self-pity and rolled onto my side, whereupon the kitten slid off. It lay on its back on the bottom sheet, patchy black and white paws waving in the air, cute little round tummy exposed, pink and white mouth open emitting little squeaks.
Was I really intimidated by that? I asked myself as I addressed my most immediate needs of the moment, which included two strong painkillers.
It was now following me around squeaking, so I went into the kitchen and contemplated.
My miniscule knowledge of the animal world included that you shouldn’t keep giving milk to weaned cats, although the attention that this one gave my nose led me to conclude that it was not weaned at all. Sure enough it sucked up a saucer of milk no probs, and followed it up with half a small can of tuna. (The other half went on my toast.)
I had a shower and it waited by the door, purring mechanism at full throttle. We returned to the bedroom and it clung onto each item of clothing as I dressed. I decided that as it was a Saturday, we had a good chance of catching most of the neighbours at home, so I hunted out a six-beers bottle bag, put Adolph in and zipped it partly up. Did I mention it was a natural for the name, because it had a black spot beneath its nose, like a Hitler moustache?
I walked out onto the street carrying the bottle bag. A black and white paw waved through the space I’d left unzipped. I was searching for people in their front gardens and soon discovered a deaf old gentleman who was no help at all, then some giggling girls who didn’t know anyone with a cat, some intrigued children eager to hug the kitty (no chance), finally a sensible female person who thought that the girl who lived at the top of the apartment building right next to mine owned a black and white cat.
Ha, progress! Up in the lift I went, with a mewling bottle bag and a couple of interested fellow passengers, who confirmed that the lady at the top owned a cat. I was hot on the trail!
The door of the flat was open. The sun streamed out of it onto the landing via a large kitchen window. A young lady with longish honey blonde hair sticking out at all angles, and a very disreputable white terry robe covered in cat hair, was sitting on a kitchen chair with her feet on a second chair. In her lap was a skinny black and white cat on its back, with two rows of full boobs on display.
“Oh!” Exclaimed the dishevelled vision, jumping up and scattering the cat. “Sorry, I don’t get many people up here, and it’s a weekend, so I’m a bit messy. Are you here to see me?”
“Yes. I believe I have something of yours.”
I unzipped the bottle bag and the kitten’s head popped out.
“Adolph!” The cat lady leapt up, and pulling the kitten from the bag, held him to her cheek.
“You call it Adolph too!”
“He. He’s a him. And what else could you call him with this moustache?” (Tickles his upper lip.)
“Yes, true. So how did Adolph end up in my flat, trying to suck the end off my nose?”
“Well…Sooty is getting a bit tired of her kittens, and she’s been trying to give them away.”
“Sooty? She’s practically all white!”
“Oh, it’s kind of a joke. And she does have lovely sooty black ears and paws. Anyway, how could she have got into your place? Did you leave a door or window open?
Then I remembered the cleaner, who often worked with the door open.
“Yeah, okay, I know how it happened. I’m Noah, by the way.”
“And I’m Anna. Do you want me to take Adolph back? Sooty chose you for him, you know.”
Now, when I had set out with the kitten in the bottle bag, I had fully intended to hand him back indignantly to his rightful owner. But the thought of going back to my empty flat seemed strangely unappealing.
“Do you think I could take him on trial?” I asked while tickling his tummy and looking into Anna’s strangely feline green eyes. “I could bring him back for inspections, so you can see if I’m looking after him properly.”
“Yes, you could. And inspections come with free coffee. In fact I’m about to put the percolator on right now, if you’d like to stay.”
~END~
A Sonnet in the Shakespearian Style
In Praise of Lunch
Admit impediments. Lunch is not lunch
Which strives one’s burgeoning circumference to conceal
By offering no fair nutrition worth a munch.
Which alway leads one to temptation.
Never crippling diet nor deliberate fast
Should bend one’s mind to slimming contemplation.
While solving puzzles, chatting, or reading books.
When pastas have boiled, eggs been beaten,
Do not demean the cuisine with casual looks.
That ye of unfleshed bones have never truly eaten lunch.
~END~
