A Game of Cat Math

Well lookie here! (Please read in the voice of genius Robin Williams as Genie…sod it, let’s link the song!)

I’m here to bother all who click on these posts with more wordworthing! I will get on some fiction soon (I’m actually needing to be on a lot of fiction since I plan to finally have my book out by the end of this month) but poetry was fun for a while so I’ll probably dip my toes back in that ink well in the near future.

I said yesterday that those on my Instagram would probably be able to guess what I’d be posting about today, but I don’t like leaving people out so here’s a clue!!

And another!

Can ye guess yet!

And this is just because I want to post more!

No, I haven’t finally become the wicked witch I always wanted to be and turned my ferrets into cats (not that I’d want to but I never said I’d be a very efficient witch)… I got kitties! Well, we got kitties… sod it, mine mine mine!

Or as anyone with cats will know, we’re actually owned by the kitties so the kitties got us!

For those of you who started following me back in August you’ll probably be aware I didn’t have the best time when I was last out here. I didn’t post details and as a rule of thumb I generally don’t talk in depth about my personal life (which is a shame because my life became a bloody soap opera) but it was bad. Honestly, I still haven’t exactly been brilliant and I’m surprised I made it back.

But cats though, cats.

I’ve always stood by that animals have an incredible healing ability for us. Whether it’s bringing laughter or happiness or a friend (as Roda pointed out, your best friend doesn’t need to be human) there’s a mutual bond with an animal. I say that last part and hope to emphasise the mutual part, I’d not get nor suggest getting a pet just to help heal, you give as much as you take.

And they can cost a fucking fortune. Let’s not forget that part!

Joey (also known as Handsome Jack) and Callie though, our new buddies, are bloody brilliant. If a tad, just a small bit, very very markedly insane. This post will mostly be about my experience at the shelter, you know, when I was a poor lonely kitten. Ahaha, where am I going with this and why am I laughing at my own jokes?

Yes, this post will be about the shelter and another will be more me bragging about my brat cats.

We discussed getting cats when I was last out here but fell in love with some mice and so left it at that. But this time it wasn’t too long after I got here (I’m talking days) that we headed out to see some cats. We hadn’t decided to definitely adopt that day but we had been discussing getting them for months.

I’d become a bit of an addict on the adoption website by this point and so when we were at the centre I sounded like quite the mad woman as I could name off cats that had been adopted months ago! – forever in my heart Starlord! –

I’ve never been to an adoption place before. I’ve always had rescue cats but with those you’d call the shelter and then make an appointment to go see the cats and be introduced. Here, when we arrived we were greeted by the really friendly volunteers and then I kind of just stood there.

“Uh what do we do?”
“Go walk around!”
“Okay, what don’t we do?”
“Set the cats free!”

So we set off on what was soon to be a very difficult task for me. Note for future self: never be put in a situation where you are in a room of cats and need to choose just one. It will not end well.

There were a couple of cat houses and a couple of dog houses and just like we had been told we could walk into a room (they had max people signs) and play with the cats. I was pretty torn on this. Some people were just there to see the cats and play with them but watching one be carted around by children (cat I’m talking about is actually joey!) and another pestered by some guy who didn’t seem to realise cat does not equal toy it just seemed a bit unfair on the cats at times. So it was both really cool being in a room of cats and a bit ruh roh.

Don’t get me wrong, there were volunteers around and they were watching so I’m sure something would have been said had it been too stressful for the cats and apart from a couple who were scared (cats not volunteers – although that image just made me snort with laughter – “oh God there are cats everywhere!”) most of them seemed pretty chill. I’m just, I dunno, I can’t fault the volunteers and it seems wrong to fault a shelter, I just felt a bit down seeing a kitten scurry away to hide when we walked in a room while a volunteer was trying to calm it.

That volunteer was awesome by the way and helped me be able to make the seriously tough decision between two cats: Jackson and Lucas. Well, kinda. More on that soon.

Now Lucas was the first cat I saw and was drawn to and I spent my time awkwardly petting him (he was hiding in a corner under a seat) while Snek had very quickly found his cat. She found him too and they quickly bonded. Within seconds I think we both knew Callie would be coming home with us. This part of the process was also pretty strange to me. Back home the rescues I’d had experience with in the past asked questions before adoptions but here it was “I want that cat” and then “Okay I’ll get a box”. I think i expected a couple of questions but at the same time I was grateful not to be grilled because I’m pretty sure anxiety would have made it go like this:

“I want that one”
“Have you had cats before?”
“No, yes, yes I mean yes”
“where did it live?”
“In an aquarium. Sorry that was my frogs. No wait I’ve never owned frogs. I meant axolotls.”
“I don’t think you’re a suitable fit…”
“Is it because I’ve never owned a frog? I can get frogs!”
“Please leave.”
“Axolotls are kind of like frogs. That’s if you stretched the frogs a bit. Not that I stretch frogs”
“No, damnit! I’ve never stretched a frog I swear!”

*no frogs were harmed in the writing of this blog post.

So Callie was taken for a blood test (we needed to make sure she didn’t have fiv or felv because she’s coming to England where I have Leo) and then put in a box while I decided on my cat.

Oh Lord the pressure.

I can not make decisions. I can’t even decide what sandwich I want or heck even packet of crisps to eat with a sandwich so deciding on a cat was like asking me, well, it was asking a lot of me!

Now what I said up there about a volunteer saying something actually happened to me. I asked if I could hold Lucas because I was interested in adopting him but hadn’t been able to interact with him too much because he was hiding and at this point he was curled up so I didn’t want to bother him without seeing if it was okay *breathes*. I was told no, which you know I thought fair enough about but also was a bit confused given the carting of cats around by children. So I sat around for a while to see if by magical brain powers I could lure him out to me. Sadly, I am not magneto. What? He could have been part robot cat.

I can’t actually remember the exact order of events with this but I know at some point we left the room and I ended up speaking to above volunteer who helped me make a decision. We’d been talking for a little while and I mentioned my predicament with Lucas. This girl said if we’re interested in adopting it’s better to know than not to, so a few minutes later we went back to him and after some strokes I picked him out. Yeah, he sat for a couple of seconds and then was not impressed. Turned out he was super shy! Which was fine and I decided I would adopt him, especially after bothering him.

If you’ve come this far and you’re wondering what happened to Joey he was there! Chilling out and being stroked while I got confused because I thought he was a boy but had been told he was a girl.

But I’d decided on Lucas so off we went to adopt him. That is until I spoke to another girl about him and after being told just how shy he was we thought he might not be the best fit for our house because I’d mentioned we could be loud. I think by this point or at some point (it’s a big stressful blur) I’d mentioned Jackson and now I’d learned he wasn’t a 1 year old female named Jackie but a 5 month old male name Jackson! Mistakes happen!

Honestly, I didn’t think I’d end up with a tuxedo cat but I was soon leaving with Jackson soon to be Joey! Just like he is now he’s home with us, he was a surly fella at the shelter too. I liked him a lot though so I was plenty happy taking him home.

But I was still hung up on Lucas!

Maybe some of you will get this, some won’t. But he looked so sad and had the little bite out of his ear and I felt such guilt for upsetting him and then, as I sat in a quiet house with two cats who had settled in amazingly, I wondered why the hell I had thought we wouldn’t be a good fit.

Long story and lots more discussing short we were going to go back to get Lucas. He was adopted a couple of days before we planned to get him though which I’m pleased about! I’m sure he’s gone to a great home. Not really. Lucas come back to me. Luuuuucccaaaaasssss!
This is a really long post, and I’m hoping it doesn’t come off like I’m bitching about the shelter. It’s not like cats were being swung around the rooms by their tails and made to rehearse dance moves to anime openings, it was just different and I was worried some of them might be unnecessarily bothered. But they were in nice cat happy decorated rooms, safe and fed and given most were simply being petted I’m sure enjoying tlc given some were strays (Callie included!).

I plan to write more about our cats in another post, but just to look back to how I started this, although we could say we gave these cats a home, I feel much more like they made it a home. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve always lived with cats but to me cats make things better. You could put me in a box and as long as I had a cat (and a ferret or two) it’d feel like home. On the flip side, put me in a beautifully furnished mansion but without animals the place would feel empty and cold. Even if I had kids… this is why I should never have kids.

Christ, doesn’t a mini version of me just strike fear in your heart anyway? I wouldn’t need a nanny I’d need an exorcist.

Are you still awake?

In a land far far away

Good evening everyone! This post will be slightly long, however it won’t be a ramble this time! I mean, of course it will be, but a more structured ramble. A ramble with a gps point of interest we’ll eventually get to. Yes. We are now on a road trip together. Woohoo! Did you bring the snacks and are you ready to sing along to Journey?! Awesome!

I’m in Hawaii!

I might have mentioned in past posts that my fiance lives here. I’m not sure! I’m back out here though so hopefully I’ll have some interesting pictures for you. Not Dee Dee quality (I mean, seriously!) but some photos and hopefully posts that talk about more than feet or whatever it is I normally post about.

Firstly, let me just share this.

Oh ho! I’m sure some of you might have seen it in the news last week and might be bored of it by now but ah well, serves me right for starting this post then and not finishing it! Let me just start by saying, I am not as brave as imaginary me likes to think she is. Join me in story time. I call this – ffs I just got here (also known as ffs I just woke up in other languages).

I arrived in Hawaii Friday night and so me and… I wonder if he’ll let me use his real name. Let’s give him one. Chad? Hey Chad. No, not Chad. Kevin? Hey Kevin. We need to talk about Kevin. Okay, no. Oh! He has a wp account. Okay. So me and Snek went to sleep soon after we got home. Saturday morning rolls around and we’re awake by 8. A few minutes later, the familiar Hawaii woowoo phone alert sound went off.
I’m actually used to this sound. It’s the flash flood warning sound that snek would always joke was north Korea attacking. Eh heh heh, yeah…

Buzzz buzzzz
“ruh roh, north Korea is attacking”
*snek picks up phone and opens message*
“what is it?”
“they really are attacking”

Have you ever imagined how you’d react in a situation where you had just received a message you were about to be bombed? Well no, me neither. But I’ve had my fair share of other heroic imaginary moments in imaginary disasters. You know, aliens attack and you save the day with your amazing diplomatic skills? As far as I know however, you can’t dissuade a missile not to kill you. Not even bullet bill. Anyway, he’s on our side from those blue shell fuckers.

We froze. It was surreal. We’re fortunate enough not to have experienced this before, but unfortunate in that we don’t know what to do when we’re about to. Snek was a hell of a lot better at reacting than me and he got lots of + points in the respect department from me that day. You need to realize, it wasn’t real. No attack launched. But for a however long it was, however short, we thought something was about to happen.

So while Snek is figuring out what we should do, telling me to call my parents and let them know I’m safe, comforting me about the mice and what we’re going to do with them (“what are we going to do about the meeces?” “they’re coming with us!”), trying to contact work and neighbours for advice, do you know what I was doing? No? Me neither. I do know I started preparing us a bag to leave with. I also know that for some reason I kept walking up and down the stairs. I also for some absolutely unknown reason started to apply make up. They won’t hit me if I have eyebrows, right? And then I remember breaking and yeah, I admit, I cried. I won’t say it was just jet lag and all the anxiety from the flight the night before built up. I just had no idea what to do and so when Snek said we need to stay put I got upset. Then called my parents. I mean, not that it helped that we saw fighter jets fly over a few minutes later and then a few minutes after that a small explosion! Who sets off fireworks in the morning, come on people! Dag nabbit!

Now, my folks are English. And Maybe that means nothing to some but I swear we play down everything we hear but 2 inches of snow. Maybe it’s some kind of genetic cynicism. I have to say I was also cynical, but I was also there!

When I called to say we’ve had a message and the island is about to be hit there was no panic. There was, “are you sure?” “yes, very sure” “but it’s not on the bbc” I’m laughing retelling this story, but at the time I was mildly frustrated! “it might not be but we’ve had the message come through and it’s not a drill” “well from who?” (as though there’s some mad man running around the island collecting phone numbers and sending out missile alerts to strangers) in the end I put them on to super snek (he wanted me to write that – he also saved the day by telling the missile “go home you’re drunk” – supposedly!) who explained it all much better than I could and then some as by this point we’d received the news it wasn’t being taken seriously.

Oh dear, someone’s work day was about to get a lot worse!

When the news did reach the bbc that a false alarm had been sent out I was sure told! Haha! I can’t blame my parents for not knowing what on earth was going on and for wanting to sure before panicking. Well it’s either that or I’m the youngest of four so not a huge loss. I’m joking I’m joking! I’m the only girl. One of the others can go. Go on! Get!

So yes. If you want to survive a zombie apocalypse don’t have me on your team. Not unless you want poorly timed jokes and eyebrows on fleek.

I’m posting this from my phone so I apologize if it’s a bit jumbled and some extra strange and special typos appear. I had planned to write about more than just the false alert but this post has become quite long as it is so I’ll end here and pick back up tomorrow! If you follow me on Instagram you’ll probably be able to guess what I’m next going to talk about.

I hope you’re all doing well!

It was Vanilla Flavour

I just got myself a yoghurt and although I don’t think this is of any importance to you I need to start this post somewhere.

I’ve really fallen out of touch with writing lately. I actually made an audio, uh, audio thing, but then realized it didn’t do much other than sound like rambling from a faraway land (the mic was next to my mouth but there we have it). In the audio though I spoke about writing.

Writing is hard. What? It is. I find it really hard. Then again, I also find it ridiculously easy. You get me? I’m sure some will. There are times, like these past couple of months, where even the thought of trying to structure a sentence or even write drivel like this was exhausting. However, in there, there was also the time that I wrote Those with the Fear of Drowning. That was a line and from that line a few more frantically scrawled down pages. Is that the muse? Is the muse really that much of a mystery?

I was thinking more about this recently when I was in the shower. The shower: the place where all lifes mysteries are solved. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know what makes me click. The sudden burst of words that comes forth, flowing one after another, and I’m the dog finally getting the maple kind of bacon.


It’s the rhythm. It’s hearing your own song and thinking “Oh yes, I like this” as you tap your feet or wave your arms around, or do both and look a little crazy, but sod it, all the romantic comedies say that’s sexy, right? Crazy girls are better in bed and all that. They’re also damn good at screaming and crying on the bed but they tend to miss out those scenes. Only quirky crazy that benefits the discoverer of said person allowed! All other crazy must report to the deleted sections of the script.

Another time.

The melody, that’s the muse that gets me writing. A line that goes do do do do ba do, and from there I hold every instrument in that orchestra. I need that line though, and I don’t know where it comes from. You know what? Probably no where. Well, apart from my brain and most likely a few overheard conversations and written pieces that I’ve then merged together. All the lines that came before it and didn’t get to grow, those lines were also the muse but they were the muse driving down a dead end road because it didn’t sound right.

Ehehe, the muse is the writer and I’m some bastard editor “Oh nooooo, that’s frightful! Try again ol’ chap!”

Have I written this before?

Maybe all the times I got stumped writing. All the times I had a line in my head but I wasn’t yet ready to take it forward, and every idea half formed but another universe away from becoming a story, perhaps I just needed to turn the music up. I know that if we want to be productive as writers (by that I mean write often or whatever – do you only have to be productive as a writer until you’ve “made it”? Then I mean one book is fine, right? What was I…oh yes,) we’re supposed to take a business-like approach to it. Some things I can do that with, but it doesn’t mean anything will be any good. Other things, those are when I say writing is really bloody hard.

I must admit, I often wait for the high because the high means whatever I’m working on can be written in minutes whereas another approach means I’m sitting around twiddling my thumbs and looking for things that don’t need doing. Do you know how many cups of tea I made while writing my book? Too many. A shameful amount. I wasn’t even thirsty, I just wanted to do something other than stare at that damn screen. Go away flashy stick, be gone unfinished sentence that reading back makes no sense, aaaahhh screw it all!

I’m certain I’ve written this before.

What is this post even about anymore? I don’t know. I’ll probably change my mind on a lot of it. At least I’m writing though, write? Write…ahah, I meant right. See, I’m actually a really lazy writer. Editing is boring. That’s a really hard part of it isn’t it? I think when people say perseverance is the key they mean “Editing will make you want to eat your own book but you know keep going and maybe someone will take a shine to it!”

In the end, I hate writing. It does something for me nothing else can though, it gives me a sense of power. And with this power, I will take over the world! Mwahaha. Not really, not for any moral reason though, I mean I absolutely would if I could, but I just mean there is something about writing.

It’s not just a power though, it’s a sense of calm. A playground for all the characters I play make believe with, somewhere for them to come to life.

Well, Jesus in a chicken suit… power + life? I’m Victor Frankenstein.

Okay, there we have it. This post went from something to nothing to not much of anything to my grand personal revelation that I am Frankenstein.

I always thought of myself more like Dracula.


I’d promise you the next post will be more worthwhile to read, but you know I only lie on a Tuesday. It’s such a weird thing, when I first started writing on this blog again I wrote anything because I never expected anyone to read it. Now some people do, I feel guilty about writing the rambles I write. I mean don’t they say (who are “they”? the royal writers society who will behead all who use adverbs and tell don’t show?) write what you’d want to read? I think you know where I’m going with this.

I guess I just like you.

Nagisa, aishiteru!

If you know what that is from, you are probably now one of my favourite people.




Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

This year I will make it my mission to…no, wait. Back up! It’s New Years when we make promises we know we won’t keep isn’t it? Or is it New Years Eve? Please help, I don’t know when I’m supposed to try convince myself that I’ll take up Pilates and run a mile a week!

From what I recall of maybe the book but possibly the film the ghost of Christmas future takes Scrooge on the pleasant journey of witnessing his own death. That’s rather grim, I know. It’s supposed to be Christmas, the ghost could have at least popped a mince pie in the mix somewhere.

“Here is your gravestone but look someone put a mince pie on it.”

It was very hard not to write McDuck on this.

See, it’s not that hard! He could have pretended it was on purpose and not everyone hated him but then I suppose scrooge wouldn’t have changed his ways…oh, so what! He made a damn more interesting character before the ghosts. Wasn’t nice scrooge that said bah humbug was it? No, nice scrooge just danced with a turkey or something.

But what would the ghost of Christmas future have in store for me? Those bony hands, all curled round except a single finger, pointing forth to signal my fate.

It’s unfinished novels
Freewriting after freewriting
What is any other kind of writing
I hear ostriches are kindest in March
It’s writing words to shroud thoughts
It’s being honest without the full story
Because that story is boring
It’s more interesting when red riding hood befriends the wolf
I’d name him Peaches

I’ve always been candid in my rambling posts. Is candid the right word? Perhaps. I don’t know, I’m not the dictionary. Fuck, I don’t even know how to punctuate! How the hell would I know what I was doing with anything else? I just write as it comes. I get something sometimes and other times we get this because what I’m trying to say is that in our ghost of Christmas future I will be posting more about mental health, I will be posting more about writing, I will be posting for the sake of posting, I will be doing what I can to distract myself, I will be a ball of misery and sometimes that goop will get on you but if you’ve been here a while you’ll know that this one trick pony will also want to entertain you and make you smile – despite what bulbasaur might say it’s not all about me except when it is- and possibly make you want to hug a ferret or something, I don’t know, I do know there’ll be ferrets, and there will also be fiction. Ferrets and fiction, well that’s something I could have sold my soul for.

Have you ever heard of ASMR? It’s really good. I get to go to the dentist whenever I want and the doctors and because I supposedly always have lice these asmrists are kind enough to check my scalp constantly!

Why am I talking about lice?

I hope you all had a great boxing day! Stuffed your face with food and sat around like a potato in pajamas!

Oh! And here is my call to arms. I haven’t been on here a lot lately and so I’m struggling to play catch up. So! I’d like to ask that if any of you have a couple of posts that you’re pleased with or proud of or would just bloody like to share then please feel free to post them in the comment section.

This is a short post because of something I’ll explain another day that isn’t this one. So here’s a picture of me in the snow. I love snow.

This isn’t filtered. It really is that blue…or grey, or something cold! Perfect for a sherk!

Ghost of Christmas Present

I can’t remember this ghost, what does it do? Does it show scrooge the poor? Am I thinking of Muppets Christmas Carol? Are you now thinking of Muppets Christmas carol? Which song do you have stuck in your head? This one?

Ehehe, I hope you do now! What do you mean you didn’t click it? Fine. I’m eating your cake.

I think at Christmas I’m supposed to write something about gratitude. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for a lot. I’m grateful that I know it’s Christmas time because other people don’t and it’s very important because I get chocolate. I’m grateful that the weather outside may be frightful but my dear the fire is rather hot so please don’t stand next to it in that dressing gown, god damnit Maura I warned you! I’m grateful that bells ring and if I love someone I get to sing to Santa and he then puts them in a box under the tree with the chocolates and remains or Maura. What? If Maura was still around I wouldn’t be singing to Santa would I?

The thing is, a more serious me (she exists) can sum up what I’m grateful for very quickly. My family, my fiance, my ferrets, my fence (dont ask me, ask my phone because it really wanted it to be included), my pets (even my super bad cat), tea bags, salad cream, and the occasional YouTube binge into the 90s. Or any era for that matter. And sometimes just videos of fires crackling. That’s my catnip. Oh and rain, I really like rain. And Christmas music! How great is this? See I can be nice. I need to be or else I won’t get the remote control car I asked for.

But now that I’m done with that, what’s left? Stop typing you say? Or at least write something useful. Write about writing! Hmm, what do I know? Oh I’ll tell you what I know…psst, I’ll tell you all my writing secrets. So be prepared. You will need: a beautiful black mane; a dozen or more hyenas; a cave (green strobe lighting optional); and to have murdered your brother. Don’t scoff at me! I don’t know what I’m talking about. If you do then 10 points to Slytherin! Yes, even if you’re not in Slytherin.

I’m sleepy from food and sleepy from bad nights sleep and I hope they got coal because you know if people can be put on the naughty list then so can nights and days.

I’m tapping my nails on the arm of the couch. Or at least I was. I’m writing this on my phone so that would be very difficult but saying I was tapping my nails on the arm of the couch doesn’t have the same image attached to it. I’m trying to be pensive not whatevermajig.

If I were as gremlin the kind of children I would eat would be:

You know those asshole kids that are really arrogant because they’ve been trained from very young to memorise a bunch of facts from books and stare at globes so they think they’re super smart? Yeah I wouldn’t eat them. They’ve probably read about me in myths and know that to defeat me you just have to know not to feed me after…ehehe, I know what you thought I was going to say. You’re wrong. It’s mid November.

I wouldn’t eat the scrawny ones because given I can’t eat after mid November I’m going to need fat supplies for my hibernation period. That’s right, gremlins hibernate. It’s why you see so many more traffic accidents this time of year. We moonlight as traffic wardens.

I think I would eat the kind of kids you see on Stranger Things. Those would give you a sense of accomplishment. They’re smart, determined kids. Not too cocky, not too dull. I wouldn’t eat Eleven though. I would steal Eleven away into my labyrinth where I would convince her I was a very important and noble gremlin and she can be my bff. It might take some time to get over the whole me eating all her friends thing but I think she’d understand about Will.

I’m sorry. Is Christmas not the time of year to talk about eating children? I’ve written it now though and I’m too lazy to delete it and start again. Anyway, I’m not a gremlin. I’m a Bendigo. I actually meant to write wendigo but my phone says Bendigo so let’s find out what that is. Okay Bendigo is a city in Australia. Damnit! Why couldn’t I have been trained the ways of the globe as a small thing. Now I don’t know my bendigos from my wendigos! You failed me parents! I should have been playing *insert your own composer* by the time I was 5! I bet I’d have been good at the piano. I have long gangly fingers. Now all I can do is scare children.

For the love of sweet gingerbread cookies I was so desperate to put an image here of some ice monster thing from some beer or something forest advert and I can’t remember what it was for. If you can, please tell me!

Christmas has been a tiring one though, and not just for the nights of anti-sleepmatter. It’s exhausting being around family ain’t it? I have a twitch at the moment, not sure I’ve mentioned that, so it’s also quite awkward because mid sentence if I’m getting too anxious trying to behave like a human my shoulder will jerk up and my head will twitch to the left. I’m basically a lick of the tongue away from being barty crouch. This is what I get for placing Slytherin isn’t it? I knew that awesome uniform would come with it’s downsides!


It’s been good though because it’s not often I see all of my family together and you know I have no idea why I said that because I didn’t see all of them, but I will tomorrow. Just pretend you’re seeing into my future with this. Looka that, you’re all non-unicorns now!

I hope you had a most brilliant and Merry Christmas! If I were a gremlin the kind of adults I’d eat would definitely be all of you! …that was supposed to be sweet but now I’m not so sure.

Going to sneak out if here…

Merry Christmas!

I told you I used to want to be a cat. Don’t let your dreams be dreams!