Come up ten years, is, at this house and last night at just after midnight I saw the first fox I ever saw in the street there. Young one. All lithe and limber, springy. Black socks, high ears. Up over the bridge right at us, then followed the pavement where it bends around and away. I texted B., though it was late, and she got that in the morning when she woke in London anyway. A trotty fox message, I think, is a nice thing to wake up to.
Whizz Cats come again. I was drawing in the afternoon and they emerged in the big drawing book I use sometimes, with the pens from B.’s sister. Stretchy long, wild and whizzy cats, some fearsome unpredictable. All reacting to something in their galaxies and in their whizzy ways. There’s a picture, here – below, you know.
New cat in the garden here and hereabouts, a new visitor one. Black and broad of face and neck, and with a lurvly curve to his sitting-down back, although he’s a clumper and a thumper if ever there was or were. Fighter too. Bless, he’s all sweet on Catfayce, our more resident visitor. He’s not the first. Pumpkin Head chased her for weeks and he’s now scrapping with the new big cat, daily, who is as yet unnamed as is evident. I don’t mind him being about, big old clumping and piddling, long as he don’t pooping on the grass. And it’s nice he’s in love. I wonder if he lives anywhere in particulars.
Ongoing story with B. about an unsociable mouse. I made notes of how the story’s unfolding with a view to writing in full – so many illustrations, obv. Bargaining for bacon; Leaving the party early (with party food); Wotsits in bed (just the one); Colouring-in books; Drawing a self-portrait to send in for the Countryfile competition; Eating a meatball; Being serene.
He’s unnamed as yet.
Continuing to speak of the unnamed: in writing, I’m into Part 3 of Understand Me (‘a story of a life’s intimacies, vaguely shared in some detail’). She, the narrator of a life, is still without a name, though the cast of very-named persons is growing around her. Started this over a year ago; my morning writing. Its two main threads are: 1) Depeche Mode, and 2) Talking cats. There’s a funny bit I like where a neighbour has a cat called Vince, which she just assumes is short for Vincent Van Gogh. Like his friends ever called him Vince. I made a note last night about being actually excited about two new characters introduced, now that she’s got a job.
It’s important to be excited by something. Like the first little fox. Or cats going off like whizzfangles. Love. Or a cheesy Wotsit.