Cats

Cats

This is not a photo of me nor is it a photo of the cats I am going to write about here.

If you want to have a photo taken of yourself pursing your lips as this young lady is doing then all you have to do is to say, 'prunes'.

I used to have hair longer and blonder than this.

I also used to wear my hair in two plaits.  A friend cut one plait off right next to my scalp!  That is another story that maybe told on another blog!

When I was about three years of age we had a few cats.  Mainly they were big and white and fluffy.  I recall them being very soft and cuddly.  We also had one or two smooth coated ones.  They must have bred either by accident or on purpose as I also remember there being at least one smooth coated one and lots of fluffy ones in the same litter.

Our house was one of many terraced houses.  The front door opened out onto the pavement.  The street was a cul-de-sac.

There was a passage between some of the houses so that you could get round the back and even up more passages to the street at the top of the hill.

I could not say passage.  I said pashid.

I could not say sausage.  I said soshid.

Each house had a yard at the back in which there was the one and only toilet.  We used newspaper and magazine paper! There was also a coal barn.  You put one lump of coal on the fire and made it last all day and all night.

Nearly everyone in the street kept their back door and their front door either open or unlocked.  All the local children just freely went in and out of anyone's house either looking for their mum who had quickly dissapeared to the shops while their offspring were playing with friends, or would seek out companionship along with sustenance.

I used to seek out all the cats and kittens that my mum had either given away or sold.  I would carry them back home again.  I did not understand that the cats now belonged to someone else.

One of our cats sat on the wall and had a very bad leg.  The cat must have been missing for a few days and the leg was all matted with blood and fur.  The vet said it had most likely been bitten by a rat, although it could have been bitten by a dog.  In the end the cat had to be put to sleep.

One day my mum was in bed feeling poorly and my five year old brother brought her a handful of flowers - roots and all!

Next door was a large family and all the kids obviously called dad, dad.  I too called this man dad.  I copied the other children.

Two years after the end of the war my own dad came home.  Previous to that he had been sent to Germany.  A man with a wife and three children sent off to Germany at the end of the war and not allowed home!

When my own dad came home I called him dad as well.  I must have been very confused!

Image courtesy of imagerymajestic / FreeDigitalPhotos.net