Fluttering Wings
Delilah just loves insects and plays cat-and-mouse with them. Having bopped a fly so that it lay at her feet, I thought she would crush and eat it… but she picked it up in her mouth and dropped it near Samson, alive and kicking, so that they could both bully it.
I don’t like to see anything tortured, so I scooped it up in my hands (it didn’t protest) and pushed it outside the door. The feeling of its wings fluttering against my palms made me frown for a moment… I was reminded of a dream I had a couple of nights earlier.
In this dream, I was living alone in London. I had lots of friends there but had withdrawn from their company for a little. I needed time on my own but felt guilty. One lovely sunny morning, the sky was blue and the breezes playing, and I was having a quiet little picnic on the grass well away from the crowds. There were trees heavy with pink blossom, and I stood beside them and tried to compose a little haiku.
“The may tree blooms… no, wait. The may tree blossoms…”
Pacian came up and stretched out on the grass beside my picnic basket, heaving a sigh. “What a day. So full of crowds in the Big Smoke. We haven’t seen you around for a while. You hibernating or sumpting?”
“Oh, you know me,” I said. “Just taking time out for a while. How is Geosomin?”
“Oh, fine, fine! She was asking after you too. Are you coming round to see the new baby?”
“Oh yes, the baby. I’ve not met him yet, have I? I will come round soon; just not today.”
“Don’t leave it too long.”
“I won’t. Well… I better be getting home now. Things to do.”
I stood up and packed the food away in my trolley. Sharky was in the park too, strolling around, so I popped him in the trolley and zipped up the lid. It was the best way to get him home through the streets. I was just about to set off when Pacian stopped me. “Sharky is kicking up a rumpus.”
I opened the trolley and peeked in… sure enough, Sharky wasn’t sitting purring as I had imagined – he was half standing, wailing anxiously at me, things falling on top of him.
“Oh,” I said, “I thought he was sitting comfortably on the rug, but he’s just jumbled up in there with the rest of my stuff.” I felt upset because he had been shouting inside the trolley and I didn’t hear… it took someone else to point it out.
I pulled everything straight so that the cat was sitting peaceably on the rug again, zipped up the trolley, and set off.
My way home lay through a market… it was half empty today, but I ran into an ex-colleague, Dick. He was packing up a stall.
“Nobody’s around,” he said. “I’m taking all this stuff back to the office.”
“It’s a nice day for it,” I said. “How’s Donna?”
“Donna’s her usual self.”
Once he told me Donna didn’t like the song ‘Oh Donna, you make me stand up; you make me sit down, Donna, sit down, Donna…’ I had grown up with the song, and didn’t sympathize – till I looked up the lyrics.
“How are things at work, Dick?”
“Oh, so-so. Every thing’s at sixes and sevens just now. We could do with more workers.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “But it’s a beautiful day and I’m enjoying my freedom. Have fun!”
I took off, leaving Dick labouring disconsolately.
Near the candyfloss stall, a large moth whirled round and round me, trying to escape the attentions of a large red-coloured rat. The rat ran round and round me, scrambling across my clothing. They were both moving very fast, and I caught the moth and held it between my hands, trying to protect it from the rat. My heart was in my mouth as I was worried the rat would get the moth anyway, and then I would feel terrible for trying to protect it and not succeeding. It was fine, though; I took the moth somewhere safe and let it fly away… and the rat never knew. It kept looking round for it, and eventually gave up and went to get some candyfloss instead.
Meanwhile, Samson and Delilah are still torturing all the flies they can catch. Those insects have no idea what it takes to stay out of the wee devils’ reach. I have rescued three so far, all lightly battering the palms of my hands. Yesterday when they were chasing one which was waving the white flag of surrender, I picked it up and popped it out of the window. The cats watched it zoom off into the blue, then turned and glared at me.
I don’t think I’m Person of Note around here at the moment…
1: Conversation notepad and my favourite pen (from Staples).
1: The bears. The white one sat with Fusspot the Siamese near the fire when he was unwell. The other softies belong to Mum, but they (and the black furry hat) sought sanctuary in here when she threatened to send them to charity. They are all quite big; the croc is over a metre long, but the brown bear is the biggest.
2: My bureau. I inherited it directly from a family member (that is, it wasn’t left to the family, it was left to me). I wish the kittens didn’t think it was brilliant fun to climb it by leaping on the shallow slope with all their claws out. Scratches are just about visible in the photo. The thing stuck on the glass is a monster cut from cheerful birthday paper. The monsters were blu-tacked to a door at my old house, and I’m not quite sure how they got over here.
3: Bluebird my trolley. Will go with me anywhere at any time without grumbling, and takes the weight of our shopping. On his own he is very lightweight, and can be collapsed flat when the car is full.
4: Disney print from The Jungle Book 1967. I bought it because it reminded me of my relationship with my sister. Which of us is which character, do you think? The answer is somewhere 
Jolly the Trolley spent his Christmas money on a young, strong apprentice.
It seems I’ve been mispronouncing the name for years. I rely heavily on TV subtitles and thought it was ‘Teal Cee’. Mum said she’s not certain but thinks they may have pronounced it ‘Tea Alk’. She adds that pronouncing it ‘Teal Cee’ the way I was doing sounds like Tender Loving Care (TLC). In her estimation, that doesn’t suit the real Teal’c – a grim warrior of very few words – but I’m not so sure: he’s a caring alien who loves his friends!
Some days ago I was in town with Jolly the Trolley. He is very noisy and can never tiptoe anywhere. I passed a couple who ‘froze’, and I turned to look at them, and the woman was glaring down as though to say “what is that AWFUL thing?” She probably knew I was looking at her, but that was the whole point – she didn’t want to catch my eye or speak to me, but she wanted me to see she thought Jolly shouldn’t be let loose on the streets – in fact she probably considered I shouldn’t be, either. Awful woman.
Living in Scotland, UK; I work from home as an editor and pet-minder. I was born profoundly deaf and am no stranger to agoraphobia. I began renting out my house and have moved upstairs at my mother’s place. I used to have an Oriental Ticked Tabby (

