Hunger (Adult Content)

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He hungered. He burned. He – lusted. No other word for it.

Unsatisfied by his pretty, clever wife he took to late nights and sleazy pubs, ever on the lookout, the hunt, seeking that special something that would soothe the ache in his loins.

His wife didn’t know – how could she, occupied as she was with their children, their perfect home, their lovely life, their status.

He wanted them all and so he took them, and yes, they were willing enough. The shy and the wanton – both could be bought for the right price and often it was no more than a couple of kind words. Behind the pub, dark corners in slimy side streets, their own rooms or flats – he wasn’t bothered, searching as he was for something to stop the hunger.

He sank himself between the loins of thin, hungry young men who writhed beneath him like buckets of eels; women, drawn to him by the unspoken promise of something dark in his eyes. He rubbed and fawned and licked and chatted – still he burned.

One evening, after a particularly stressful day, he found he couldn’t face the faintly accusing face of his wife and thought he would spend a pleasant hour or so fishing in a pub he had noticed earlier on in the day. Tucked away down a cobbled alley, it seemed cheery enough with an old-world ambience and plenty of cosy booths for an intimate moment.

He collected his drink and turned towards the formerly empty booth he had chose, only to find it taken.

And how… the voluptuous woman was, at best, kindly described as overflowing. Pillowy breasts threatened to spill from her low cut, frilled top. Above her cavernous cleavage, a wide, generous face, blue eyes with heavy lashes and plump, succulent lips that were ripe for biting.

He inserted himself onto the bench next to her and placed a hand on the broad, sumptuous flesh of her thigh – such legs, wide, cushiony. All at once it became the most urgent priority, the most important thing in the world that he should bury himself in her folds of flesh, grasp her and inhale her.

Later – but not much later, they hadn’t got beyond a mutual sigh of consent between sucking kisses – in her bed he rolled and fondled and fumbled, sweating and slippery as she moaned above him, beneath him, around him.

He pushed between her eager legs and pushed. He pushed and thrust and at the height of his pleasure – nothing. He awoke, it seemed, only moments later to find himself in unfamiliar, yet strangely recognisable surroundings.

A dark corridor stretched before him, ridged and heaving, pulsating with every step he took. He put a hand out to the wall, strangely slick and warm, and jerked back sharply as it shuddered beneath his touch. All around him in the stifling warmth, the walls, ceiling, floor heaved and contracted while a low moaning filled his ears.

He wiped his hand against his leg and began to run.

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Sad Cats And Mournful Mummys…

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“Perhaps if I just wait a little longer… “

Well, that’s it. Another Easter holiday over – Alex was back from university and it was wonderful to see him and have him home, although the time passed too quickly. I saw him off at the train station, doing my best to choke back tears… ( I do cry a lot anyway… even adverts can set me off…) and returned home to a row of accusing faces.

Ting and Charlie had actually started running towards me, but when they saw I was by myself, they stopped. Abruptly.

Oh. He’s gone again… might just go and check this corner of the garden – just in case…”

Ting is particularly persistent in her search for Alex, looking in completely ridiculous places that he wouldn’t even hide in if he were here – like behind the rubbish bin… in my handbag… the laundry basket… behind the books on the shelves… and all the time she will maintain a constant chat:

Oh – not under here…wahhh! So sad… perhaps here? Naa-oohhh! Where’s he gone, Mummy?!”

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Sad sunshine Siamese… 

Charlie reclaims Alex’s empty bedroom as her throne room and gradually the cats come to accept that he really won’t be back for a while. And Lily starts bringing the mice in again….

Uh-oh the sensible one’s gone off – better start providing for the older couple, they just don’t have a clue…”

Motherhood is a funny old thing. To be honest, I never expected to be a mother and I hated being pregnant… what is it about the pregnancy bulge that gives random strangers leave to come up and lay their hands on you?! But once your children are out in the world, it’s a constant worry… an ache… like prodding a gap in your mouth where a tooth used to be with your tongue.

Before Alex left, we were waiting at the bus stop to catch the bus into town for his train when a young woman we both knew who had recently had another baby, the older child now being about three, stopped to chat.

We talked about our respective children’s doing, an older lady overhearing and joining in the conversation – her son was in his last year at university – and we all shared that one common thing. Just how much we will and do miss our children when they have to go away, and I felt a lovely moment of unity, joined with these other mothers, proud of our children, missing them, yet supporting them all the way.

In conclusion then, on behalf of mothers everywhere (and their sad cats) I would like to end on an extremely relevant message…

Will you PLEASE remember to text me when you get there so I know you’re all right!”

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“Do you have an appointment?”

Tektites And Tabby Cats.

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It is a crystal. Really. Not a …whatever you were thinking…

Something from the depths of space… containing echoes of black holes, galaxies and meteors. Tektite. An unassuming crystal to look at, but my very own piece of the Universe with which to conjure…

Tektites were made when meteorites hit the Earth and send debris back up into the atmosphere – the impact and heat melt and fuse pieces of earth and rock, that have a brief moment in time visiting the outer limits and then returning to Mother Earth, bringing a glimpse back from Far Beyond.

Tektite is used to bridge the gap between humanity and knowledge, enabling us to accept and retain the wisdom received from these Higher realms. It is also said to enhance the absorption of healing energies and open our channels of communication with other dimensions.

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Doesn’t look much better with a different background… sorry… 

It’s a wonderful crystal to use for expanding consciousness and working towards your own spiritual advancement. Tektites are said to strengthen the aura and speed up the physical healing process and essentially as a crystal between the worlds they can help us to link the physical and spiritual.

I recently watched a television programme where advances in technology had allowed a team of archaeologists to re-examine some of the artefacts that were buried with Tutankhamun; most particularly a dagger that had been smelted from iron that had been extracted from a meteor.

Great reverence was attached to this dagger in ancient times, and of course I happen to share my life with four other very important and revered Egyptian symbols – cats.

Number One cat is most definitely Charlie, and as regular readers know, she is a tabby cat. Here’s another picture anyway…

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“I’m just beautiful… “

Now, tabby cat markings are allegedly the oldest cat “design” in history, thought to have originated in Africa, with the little Sand Cat. There are variations within this colouration, for example, my old cat, Walter, was a grey tabby while Madame La Princesse is brown.

Most tabbies have an “M” marking on their foreheads and there is a wealth of folklore behind this fact, from it being a symbol of honour from Mary, Jesus’s mother, for saving Him from a snake to it being a blessing from Mohammed, the imprint of his thumb. Even Lily, a supposedly black cat, has a shadowy “M” on her little forehead…

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The word “tabby” itself is thought to derive from a mediaeval Latin word, “attabi”, meaning “fabric” and while we no longer really use the material – I think it was a kind of watered silk – the word “tabby” has remained.

As has the cat. Indeed, tabby cats and their variants are world-wide, from the Scottish wildcat to the Pallas cat to the Abyssinian… bridging gaps across continents with their stripy fur and ineffable cattishness.

My little cat – she may be the smallest but her attitude would grace the largest Bengal tiger. And of course she is extremely beautiful too!

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Circle

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Hers was the religion of flower and tree, beetle, bird and dew. In every raindrop she saw the smile of the Goddess, in the curve of every branch, the arms of the Mother.

Barefoot, she wandered through the forest, rejoicing in the feel of moss and twig underfoot. Hers were the old ways, lessons learned when the world was young and still learning itself.

The earth sang and thrummed beneath her feet, the wet and the glory filled with a buzzing life, an energy that could be found in the curl of every leaf, a wholeness in every pebble, every rock; the sometimes wildness and cruelty tempered by the knowledge of a never-ending cycle of life and renewal.

She saw the birds hatch their young and the wild cats nurse their kits, hidden away in dens. She witnessed death, brought by swift fang and slashing claw and accepted it as part of the Mother’s ever-turning wheel; watching as remains turned to bones and scraps, carried away by worms, to be returned to the warm wet earth.

She lived in harmony, balance, showing them how to take no more than they needed, always giving thanks and gratitude and love to the Mother.

Then others came.

From far away, they came with crushing foot and rending hand, ripping and tearing the very heart from the land she loved, the trees she cared for. They came, bringing strange bright gods from hot dusty lands, gods that conquered and devoured.

She watched and wept as they cut down the trees, chained her land in stone and iron. People fled, animals died, and there was no renewal, no honour.

Exhausted, depleted, afraid and angry, she fled, deeper into the wild places where the savage side still dwelt. Finally she found what she was looking for, a rent, a natural cleft in the wet red earth.

She crawled inside, deeper and deeper, till the blood pounded in her ears, her head sang and the arms of the Mother enfolded her in the warm red earth. She closed her eyes and waited.

Waited to be reborn.

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Trust.

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Walkies! Great! Let’s go! What? In the car? All right then… but wait. Stop. Please. Where are you going? Don’t leave me! Gone.

Dark. Alone. Afraid. Where am I? Home. Want to go home – what’s that? Frightened. Noisy. Run. Run. Run.

Hurt. Paws hurt. Tired. Alone. Afraid. Hungry. Afraid. Sad.

Dark. So tired. Sleep.

Gerrout! Go on! Gerrout of it!”

Run. Oh – that hurt! Run. Lost. What did I do?

Bad dog!”

Run.

Tired. Frightened. Alone. Sad. I’m not a bad dog. Just old.

What – run!

Shouting, throwing things and not to play.

Here – quiet, lie down…

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The old dog jumped, startled awake at the gentle touch on his head, and struggled to sit up on tired old haunches, ready to run at a moment’s notice on cracked sore paws.

It’s all right, boy, don’t be scared…”

The young man reached out a hand to the old dog who looked up into his face; and consideringly, carefully, he lifted his paw and put it in the young man’s hand.

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Silver And Sweet Cats

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These positive vibrations are absorbed by the wearer/owner and brings both perseverance and patience. Obviously it is a popular metal to use in combination with gemstones and crystals because its empathetic absorption encourages the best qualities from the crystals, retains them and passes them onto the wearer.

Silver can also bring increased perception and awareness of the world and those around you; whilst maintaining emotional and intuitive balance. In times past, polished silver was used as a mirror and can still be used in this way to view your spiritual self as well as your physical self – linking the two together.

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Silver is known for having antibacterial properties, being used to coat surgical instruments, but it also has a unique healing energy, which can help with overall health. It’s a generally feel-good substance that’s beneficial to have around – just like cats.

I don’t often write about Tooty, Ting’s sister, which is unfair really, as she is the nicest natured cat of all my four. She has a beauty all her own, greeny-golden eyes, soft thick fur and a purr like a little engine.

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She doesn’t have much of a meow, unlike her sister, who will quite happily provide a running commentary on whatever she’s doing. Tooty can manage a “mah!” if she requires food or a strangled honk like an angry goose if you pick her up when she doesn’t want to be handled, or sometimes a “brrp!” of greeting.

She loves the sun and unusually for a black cat, she has no ghost stripes, just a faint chocolate gleam to her undercoat. Lily is a dark tiger… full of stripes and whorls.

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Tooty is a kind cat too – even Ting is not above giving someone a swift slap if they are imposing on her – but Tooty is always ready to sit on your knee or cuddle with her sister.

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I love all of my cats, obviously, but I would have to say Tooty is the sweetest natured… shhh….don’t tell the others!

K.O’d By Cauliflower…

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Honestly. In the almost two years since I’ve given up smoking, my body seems to have become horribly temperamental. I have accepted with what I hope is good grace, my middle-aged body’s inability to do certain things any more – like leaping up steps two at a time without a cacophony of knee clicks and back crunches… or staying up beyond half past ten without succumbing to watery eyed yawns and next morning grumpiness.

No. What grieves me is the never-ending list of foods I appear unable to tolerate, that previously did me no harm whatsoever. Like garlic – raging indigestion. Pickled onions – pretty much the same. Chocolate – this is quite upsetting… a headache and increased tooth sensitivity, but a very special headache of the variety where you feel like ratchets have been inserted at the corners of your eyes and are slowly being tightened with every breath you take. (Should have been a torturer for the Spanish Inquisition, me.)

And of course, there’s cheese. Formerly a favourite, now it is to be avoided the way a vampire avoids garlic… I am aware of all these things and have taken steps to avoid them, even going to the lengths of running past the cheese counter in our local shop.

Things were ticking over nicely – I cut these trigger foods mostly out of my diet as that seemed most practical… I hadn’t accounted for my mother. With ninja-like stealth she surprised me with a cauliflower cheese. I wasn’t aware she was making this dish, but it would take a braver woman than me to tell her I couldn’t possibly eat it. It took me twenty years to tell her I hate Brussels sprouts.

I thought I could handle it. After all, it was more cauliflower than it was cheese. But no. I made it home, but then spent the next twenty four hours in the grip of a cheese-intolerant headache and stomach upset.

So. Beware the cauliflower. It may look innocent enough, but when in combination with cheese, it’s a lethal, incapacitating weapon.