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Sunday 13 November 2011

Strange Encounter

Girding their loins, well, Josie girded what he hoped might be his loins, he and Potkin passed through the gateway and headed off into the wilderness.   They dropped down steeply into a small, wooded vale, eventually coming to a rustic spruce bridge across a splashing waterfall and clear, midge-speckled pool.
Potkin suddenly shot down a rough path that skirted the pool and tracked the sun-dappled stream that flowed from it.   Josie followed whilst formulating some very important questions to ask just as soon as he caught up.   Where were they going and was it really a good idea?
Tiny helicopters danced above the waters of the pool.   Josie was familiar with the Chinooks that flew over his cottage, bound for RAF Odiham, but these miniature craft shone with iridescent blues, sporting dark roundels on their transparent wings.   Meanwhile Potkin had come nose to nose with a very large dragonfly.   Josie was still absorbed with the flying jewels.
“Do you think they’re fairies?” he enquired.
“I don’t think so,” replied Potkin, “And this one looks bloody annoyed.”
Josie looked beyond Potkin and saw the large, winged creature with a billiard ball head and an angry, compound-eyed stare.   He sat down.   Then, rather unsteadily, he stood up again.
“Could we skirt round it and try not to look threatening?”
“I’m guessing that to him we don’t look at all threatening.”
They backed up gingerly and made a wide detour through the underbrush before rejoining their path. The dusty track was less used now and the trees grew closer together.   Blackberry bush and nettle tangles, tumbled onto the path.   Little sunlight penetrated the leaf cover, Josie and Potkin drew closer together as the shadows darkened and the boscage thickened.   There were some very strange noises coming from the undergrowth.
After a nerve wracking few minutes they rounded a gnarled and twisted old oak and found the river to be snaking in a lazy curve about a shingle beach.   Golden light dappled through the thinning foliage, leaves rustled and the water splashed in a friendly sort of way. The two cats became much more confident.
“This looks a nice spot,” said Josie, “Fancy a sandwich?”
- ~ -
Splot.   A dollop of water arrived on the tablecloth.   Potkin was peering upwards for signs of rain when the splot happened again.   Josie looked round and there in the river was a something.   Potkin could see it too, well almost.   It looked roughly humanoid, probably female and was possibly naked, but he could not properly focus on her.   It was as if she was not really where he was looking or he was not looking where she really was; and some of her bits were transforming.   She had been idly flicking water at them with a large fishy tail, but now she seemed to have developed legs, much too long and ending in slender feet, her peroxide sheep-shag of hair was morphing, to fall, blue-black and straight beyond her shoulders, and her skin was shimmering with milky, rainbow colours.
“What are you?” asked Potkin.
“Where are you?” asked Josie.
“I’m a water nymph,” she explained, “and I’m - er - between dimensions.”
Josie was getting his worried look. One more phrase he didn’t understand and he would have a panic attack.
“What’s dimensions?” from Potkin.
“Hmm…. you know what happens when cats walks through walls?”
“I do know it’s quite difficult,” said Potkin, “you have to concentrate very hard as you approach the wall and then at the last minute think of nothing; and whoosh, you’re on the other side.”
“Last time I tried that,” Josie joined in, “I bumped my nose”
“As you pass through the wall you are momentarily interdimensional; well, that’s where I am.   My friends and I are looking in on your world, sort of visiting.”
“Why?" asked Josie, "And what do you get up to while you’re here?”
“We observe, meditate, read poetry, indulge in frequent, uninhibited sex, grant wishes and splash passers by.”
“Would you like to expand on the, er, sex bit?” asked Potkin.
”And the wish granting,” chipped in Josie, optimistically, “Can you do anything about these? I’ve been saving them since I was very young.”   He took two small and very shrivelled objects from a threadbare velvet pouch and placed them in her outstretched, delicately elongated hand.
“I do tricks, not work miracles,” she said, casually tossing them over her shoulder into the water.   A snail, floating by on its upturned shell, slurped up one of the diminutive nuggets with a gulp and continued down stream.
Josie looked a little disappointed and sighed.
Potkin quickly changed the subject, “We’re on an adventure but at the moment it's all a bit random.   We don’t have a purpose.”
"Serendipity governs all." she replied with authority, "Embrace the chaos.   Your journey already is the purpose, follow your noses and your quest will be revealed.”
Apparently content with her reply, she rotated slowly in a non-dimensional sort of way and slid out of this reality.   A pair of dark, purple-blue beautiful demoiselles dog-fought above the spot where she had disappeared.   Just for a moment the recently vacated stream seemed to hold to her shape and then seeped back into place.
“Can we have our sandwiches now?” asked Josie.
“And the pop too,” added Potkin, “That was all a bit exhausting.”
They ate quickly, packed away the tablecloth and leftovers and resumed their journey down stream.
“I suppose she was quite nice really,” Josie mused.
“But what was she on about?   Was she being helpful?” said Potkin.
Josie was still being thoughtful, “She never claimed to be helpful.”

Thursday 3 November 2011

A Very English Odyssey

...Best we move quickly on to a proper story.   This is a tale of Potkin, who you have met before, and Posie (or Josie) who was as old as Catmethuselah when I knew him, but is much younger in this adventure.   It's a sort of coming of age road story kind of thing. 

Josephine was a sandy, longhaired tabby; not long haired like an over designed pedigree, but practically, tastefully and elegantly longhaired.   There had been a misunderstanding in his early youth and in fact he preferred to be called Jo when he was out with his pals.   Most people called him Josie, which was alright he supposed.   He lived in an Edwardian cottage in a very civilised part of England; and life was good.
Today though, he was bored.   He had eaten all his food, cleaned thoroughly between his toes, sculpted his litter into fanciful landscapes and explored behind the sofa.   He decided to wake Potkin.
Potkin, a solid, black and white London longhair had come to their new home with Richard on the same day that he and Joy had moved in.   He and Potkin were still a bit wary of each other, but when it came to mischief Potkin was definitely the expert.
“I’m bored,” said Josie.   Potkin pricked an ear and opened one amber eye.
“It just so happens I’ve been planning an adventure.
“Pack for a long journey,” advised Potkin.
Josie carefully buttered sixteen slices of bread and then layered them generously with shrimp paste.   He doubled them over, stacked them neatly corner to corner and placed them in an airtight box.   Next he looked out several tins of tuna, but they seemed inconveniently heavy and were discarded.   This left space in his box so he made more sandwiches filled with the smoked mackerel remnants left over from Richard's breakfast.   He shared out some biscuit snacks and after a little thought spread the last of the paste on them.   From the fridge he took two small bottles of pop, he folded a tablecloth and looked out their boonie sun hats and wellingtons.   The load was divided equally between two small but capacious rucksacks.
“What now?” he asked.
Through the cat flap, left down the close, across the lane and down a gentle slope to the corner, here at the busy main road they were at the limit of their territory.   They waited patiently for a gap in the traffic, crossed carefully and headed down Nutshell Lane.   It was a pretty lane, winding lazily between flint and brick cottages and lined with wild flowers and trees.    The sun was shining, a light breeze rustled the leaves, the air was fresh with country smells and they were both feeling pretty good about their adventure.   Ahead of them the lane dipped down, then climbed, twisted to left, then right.   Insects buzzed around their heads and bird twitter filled the air.   Josie chatted excitedly at Potkin until a gaudy tan bird with a crested head and black and white striped wings barred their way.   It was ramming acorns into the gaps between the cobblestones.
“Are you watching my nuts?” demanded the bird.
“We rarely concern ourselves with items so small..." (There was a short pause.) "...and vegetarian,” replied Potkin as he stalked past.   Josie scampered to catch up.   The bird watched them pass with obvious annoyance; then disinterred his stash and moved it to somewhere less public.
Further down the lane they came to a chocolate box, flint built cottage, its frontage festooned with pink dog roses.   'Rose Cottage' proclaimed a carved sign hanging in the porch where a kindly and rotund old lady in a wrap round pinny was standing before the door.
“Would you two little kitties like some milk?” she asked, popping briefly indoors and emerging with a bowl and jug.   Josie was about to decline on account of milk making him excessively regular, but Potkin plunged head first into the bowl the instant it was put down.   Fearful of being left out, or appearing rude, Josie joined in.   As they drank they were petted and cooed over.
“Very nice,” Potkin thanked her as a last drip of milk ran to the end of a whisker and fell off.   “We’ll be sure to call again on our way back.”
They departed, tails high, the lane ascending yet again.   On rounding a bend they came to a weathered and rickety wooden gate.   The duo stopped to take in the view.   Ahead, unkempt fields and blue-green woods fell away from them, stretching across a wide, sun drenched valley to a hilly horizon way in the misty distance.
“Where have the houses gone?” asked Josie
“There aren’t any.”
“I’ve never been anywhere were there weren’t houses.   What is it for?”
“It’s country,” explained Potkin.