A very Happy New Year to one and all! Belated perhaps but sincerely meant.

Shingalana, circa 2006. The peeping pawn star in person.

I’m going to borrow bits from my two other blogs. What! So shoot me! I’m bloody exhausted. Yesterday I was working all day on my six websites. My eyes still look like those of a cartoon character after he’s been hypnotised whilst somewhere along the way my brain was swapped with mashed potato at which point this occurred I can’t say for sure. And for a good part of the morning I was doing battle with my juicer. It won. Say no more. Except, always remember to have the waste bin in place prior to juicing.

As we go forward into a new year I wish everyone out there a great 2014. I’m looking back with fond memories and some not so… such as the time I had on my head the entire contents of a tin of organic tomatoes flavoured with basil blinking furiously as it ran down my face and into my eyes, in a pathetic attempt to correct my hair colour which had gone disastrously wrong. Yes, absolutely brilliant, I always wanted to look half human half yellow canary.

May 2014 be happy and healthy and full of fun and how about those New Year resolutions, hmm?

Yes, I will be nicer to next door’s cat even if he does relieve himself all over my roses.

No, I won’t swear and wish horrible things on the driver who nips in front of me without so much of a flash of an indicator instead of waiting patiently in line like everyone else.

Actually, cut that one. As for the first resolution personally I have no problem with any animal in my garden but I do wish dog owners would clean up after the poor thing has done its business in public. The animal would if it could and whilst dog owners have this ability many choose not to exercise it.

And finally, yes, I will endeavour to stick to my New Year resolution list for at least six months if not the whole year.

And I have one more to add to that. Why not make it your resolution to read more? And I know just the books telling of hair disasters and a pawnographic cat! These and other daft real-life essays can be found in “Musings Amusing”… what! Again? So double shoot me.

Happy New Year to one and all and let’s wish the same to everyone else.

Peace and Happiness.

Rosie.

Rosie Wordpress blog: http://rbachholzer.wordpress.com/

Wolf Black Wordpress blog: http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/

Rosie working website listing all blogs and websites: http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

Can I really be podcasting?

Hello!

Have been having great fun delivering my podcast for my soon to be released ebook “Bach’s the name: Survival’s my game”!I have to admit, I did find it bloody hard going, but it was fun delivering it. Especially when doing the different voices! Bit off with the accents now and then, Texas instead of Brisbane, but one got the gist - that it was someone else speaking.

Going into discussions about an eye-catching ebook cover is imminent and hopefully within the next few weeks “Bach’s the name: Survival’s my game” will be available. Exciting innit! So, I’ll be keeping this blog updated come rain or shine: interpretation - fitting in with the ME - even if I have to get Shingy to do it… aah, we’ll manage between us what with our British bulldog spirit and Margaret Rutherford-type gumption, yes, indeedy, we’ll keep on top of it.

For further information visit my website.

La rue Morgue

What to do when your cat dies?

A cat dying can be controversial. And if you’re expecting to read about a magical procedure and what to do when your cat dies - you’re going to be disappointed.

So! Well-loved feline is dead and buried. But then, cats don’t live that long, do they? And you can always get another. After all, and don’t get me wrong, I love animals, but it was only a cat so let’s keep things in perspective. It’s for the best. Although, if you’re that upset, can’t understand it personally but it takes all sorts, then call up a friend or something!

Cry on their shoulder. Hug them close to you, so close that you feel the warmth of their body searing through your clothes, so close, that you feel the steady beat of their heart, the smell of their skin... the smell of their fur, the softness of their fur, so close, the vibration of their gentle purr fills your head and your heart, so close, that even death doesn’t mean goodbye.

I know what you’re thinking, what am I playing at? Do I care, don’t I? It’s just an animal. A cat. Get over it. They are only opinions but not necessarily my own.

It doesn’t matter what’s expected of you. Does anyone ever consider how the death of your cat is affecting you and does it matter what anyone else is expecting or thinks. No, of course it doesn’t matter. It’s nobody’s business but your own. Whether you are mourning the death of a human or an animal, how you feel, think and behave is entirely up to you. It happens to millions of people and that’s all you have in common because death is a personal affair. Cry if you want to, shout or be silent, but simply deal with it in your own way. Whatever that is. There are no rules.

Yes, it’s an animal, a cat, but it’s my cat. She belongs to me, as far as other living creatures can belong, be it human or animal, and I love her with every breath. We don’t have to speak to communicate. We can do that simply by looking at each other. She knows my looks, my moods and responds accordingly. She’s smart. She’s intelligent. She’ll get me out of a bad mood quicker than anyone I know and refuses to put up with any nonsense and quite right too. Although, that can work both ways, I decided, why should I be made to feel like the one who gets it wrong? Except, I never get the chance to put that into practice and for two good reasons. I excel at getting it wrong. So shoot me! I am only human. And secondly, she never gets it wrong.

At least, she never used to. Past tense.

Many years ago I was visited by a sensation I never wanted to experience again, but I knew I would, and that I would loathe it to an even greater degree. Many years ago a skeletal type hand was thrust into my chest in its feverish search for something with which to hurt me. It found its target without too much difficulty because the hand, which had since grown long jagged nails, latched onto it and I felt my heart being ripped, torn and gutted from my chest in such a manner only seen by Vincent Price. Except this was no film and it was really happening and I had to deal with it. And I did. It’s incredible what strength we have inside us when we least expect it.

That’s why I know how you feel. What I don’t know is how you’ll deal with it. But that doesn’t matter. Like those off-hand remarks you may or may not hear being spoken to you, “You can always get another one,” with the best of intentions at heart. I like to think. However, a few months later that’s exactly what I did. It wasn’t planned and it wasn’t a conscious decision either, but aren’t they the best ones?

That’s how I knew in years to come I was going to be visited by that bony hand again with its serrated claws - but I was prepared this time... as well as I can be. It means I treasured (all the more) every second she was with me. Each moment was a gift and it was priceless. I sincerely hope all the companionship and pleasure she gave me over the years - and I truly hope I gave her - will take precedence over her actual death.

One last thought. I firmly believe, when the time comes for that bony hand to reach into someone else’s chest... I have to believe a few familiar (furry) faces will be waiting to greet me amongst the less hairy ones.

It’s never goodbye between us, my darling, only à bientôt.


Ninja Bach-Holzer
19 July 1994 - 1 February 2010

I’m not a masochist!

It’s so long ago. Or is it? Get depressed. Don’t ask. Get flack full in the face if you do. I’m sitting here listening to Christmas songs. The jingle bells are jingling and the choir (probably the local orphanage for that added effect) is in full voice doing a wonderful job. Don’t snicker. Eleven months of the year have already vanished. I’m only just getting used to the year 2009 by the time I’m comfortable with it we’ll be halfway through 2010. What’s so long ago or not? I'll tell you. A time when my forties still seemed a reasonable way off and now here I am looking forward (a somewhat exaggeration) to the next decade. Blurgh! And don’t give me all that pony about “30 is the new 40” therefore 50 must be the new 40! Not working out how I’d imagined. Does anything ever? Got the blues. Perhaps I should sing them? It might help... yes! Excellent idea. Why don’t I remind myself that’s one other thing I cannot do with any degree of talent or finesse. Bad idea. Can’t stand the looks of horror emanating in my direction from both cats every time I do vocalise. Watching them make a valiant attempt at covering their ears with their paws but don’t ever quite manage it. That’s it. Enough of the aural mince pies and jolly old Crimble. Blues it is. Listening only. I’m not a masochist. I need cheering up. I need a cuddle. I need to clutch something close to my aching bosom...something dear to me... where’d I leave that darling Prada handbag of mine?