Last winter was cold. This winter was colder - in both the figurative sense of last year - but also in the literal sense. It took a while to arrive, but when she did, it was with a vengeance. And she chose The Husband's birthday weekend; the weekend that we'd have usually had some sort of gathering and the weekend I had chosen to maintain that tradition - for people to say a final good bye.
It was so cold, wet and windy that The Husband's daughter and grandson almost didn't come: they had major storm damage at home. Among other things.
A day before, longstanding friend, visiting from Johannesburg, made the fatal mistake of confusing a feline interloper for Princess Pearli.
I'll come back to Mr Richard Parker.
The following day dawned, as I mentioned, cold, wet and windy. We were not sure that we would be able to get our vehicles to the top of the mountain. I asked D2 if he'd lead the convoy: as an experienced driver who would not risk others (actually he rescues people), I trusted his judgement. He got us to the top.
We walked to the spot I'd chosen: it is wide open space and you can see forever. The Husband loved that spot.
Miraculously there was a little lull in the wind.
The Husband returned to the earth he loved, at the top of the mountain with views forever.
Back to the (other) black cat
This fellow has long lurked around The Sandbag House. As I mentioned, and about six weeks ago, someone confused him for Pearli (no names, no pack drill), invited him in, and gave him breakfast. He not only stayed for the weekend - uninvited - but charmed my other guests.
Subsequently, two things: nothing I could do, persuaded him to move on, and his original owner had not only left the village but suggested I catch him and send him to the SPCA.
Anyway, after some agonising and a discussion with said someone - a friend - I decided that if he has chosen me and The Sandbag House, it just confirms The Husband's theory: I have witchy tendencies.
So, I introduce Mr Richard Parker. The friend's not so sure about that appellation, but I shall stick with it for the moment. It may well morph as we all settle into feline familiarity.
Let's just say that there's a lot of pussy-footing, growling and hissing going on. So far, and for the last three or so weeks, all three felines have been under the same roof. If not in the same room. Big baby steps in feline family integration. I decided that he would not end up as a rescue - again.
Mr Richard Parker is very much at home. The Princess tolerates him. Just. Gandalf vascilates between sulking and singing his great displeasure.
He tells me when it's time to call it a day!
He is rather handsome.
Perhaps there's a reason that D1 made that mistake. That particular weekend. Now, they say, I really am The Cats' Mother, not just to three, but to two black cats.
I leave you to draw your own conclusions
Until next time
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa
Photo: Selma
Post script
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