I’ve been enjoying my writing lately. It’s been a sort of catharsis. It’s been a way to organise my thoughts and a sort of purging all at once. Getting rid of what I don’t need and keeping what I do need. Something like that anyway. But then, after a week or so of non-stop writing – like a new post every two days – I dried up a wee bit. It’s not that I’ve not wanted to write, it’s just that I couldn’t get through a post. As is evident, I’d imagine, from the fact that the only post I’ve uploaded in recent days has been one about our new feline friend. And that was a pretty short post.

It’s not something that I’ve been getting worked up over. If I’m gonna get worked up, I’ve got a handful of other things I could use as fodder for my crisis cannon. No, it’s just that I really like that moment when I click onto my site after I upload a new post and there, on the home page, is a new post. It’s a warm, fuzzy feeling. If you’re a blogger too, I’m sure you get something similar. Perhaps not. Perhaps it’s just me. Let me know in the comments if you get this feeling too. Along with the purging and the organising of my thoughts, it’s one of my favourite feelings when it comes to blogging.

Anyway, having not really felt the write-it vibe lately, I’ve just been writing in my journal/sketchpad/diary of a madman about all the things I’ve learned lately. It’s been a nice change of pace. But then, as the storm clouds descended on our little patch of the desert, it seems that the rarity of the rain and the rarity of my uploads of late were both at a point wherein the clouds would part and something would come forth. And so, here I am, in the dim synthetic light of our living room lamp, on this gloomy Saturday afternoon, writing a blog post.

It’s a funny sort of thing, the rain. It reminds me of home. A fact that will make any Englander laugh, I’m sure. Or, perhaps not laugh… But more… sort of half-grin and grunt with recognition of the shitty weather we’re all accustomed to in the land of sodden mud and damp air. It’s a rare thing here in Mexico though. And when it comes, I get a whole mixed bag of feelings. First, that warm homely, sort of nostalgic feeling. I love that one. Then, the slight itchiness of the skin that always comes with humidity – eczema. Less fond of that one. Then, there’s that almost melancholy sense that comes up like a soft cloud of benevolent smoke from the depths of my heart. It seems to be based on nothing and just sort of floats about the place aimlessly.

I’m sitting here on our sofa, legs-crossed, as Rosa mops up the water that has leaked in from outside, thanks to our desert home which is ill-equipped for the rain. The whirring of the laptop fan, the squelching of the mop on the ground as it moves from the air down to the ground and then from the dry floor to the wet… My breathing soft and irregular as I hold my breath involuntarily at intervals determined by how my subconscious patterns like or dislike what I’m writing out on the screen in front of my eyes. It’s all sort of swirling and twisting and turning around me. Things turning from one thing into another. Life swelling and lulling as effortlessly as the rain that tumbles down from the sky.

What do I do with this feeling? This strange, melancholy feeling that is not all together bad or uncomfortable but not exactly a treat to behold either. Nothing I suppose. Why do we always feel like we need to do something with it. Why not just leave it there? I, like so many others before me, have been trained to do something all the time. To always be busy doing something. Or, in most cases, to be busy doing nothing. And all the while, nothing or something alike, there’s this swirling and twisting and turning inside. However it comes, nice or nasty, it’s always there. This floundering of feelings, this eruption and evaporation of emotion. But why do I need to do something with it?

I don’t really. Do I? It’s just, there… Why make the jump to assume that something needs to be done with it. That’s my method. Just notice it, look at it… See it. Don’t mistreat it or embalm it with ideas or doctrine. Just watch it. Pay attention to its gentle ebb and flow. The distinctive calling card that makes a feeling pain or anguish or sadness or excitement or elation or compassion…

I was just chilling here earlier on, playing a bit of Minecraft – as you do – and I heard a cat meowing from outside. Thor had just clapped some thunder and a local cat had gotten scared. I went out, thinking the meowing was Mr. Tam but when I had closed the door and crouched down on the ground to follow the sound, I saw that it wasn’t him at all. There, eyes big and fearful, was another cat crouched under our car, sheltering from the rain. Doing what I could to help the growing number of cats who’ve taken to our home as a refuge, I put some more food out and made a sort of makeshift cat-bed for Mr. Tam – or anybody else he saw fit to share it with. I put out some more food too and left them to it.

It struck me a little later on that there had been another three different cats around near our house since Tam became more of a permanent resident here. There was the white-gray cat on the first day, the returning brown-grey cat with the red colour on several occasions, there was the local bruiser whom we’ve named “Muscular Cat” for obvious reasons and then there was this new timid cat who was clearly afraid of the thunder. My initial thought was “dear god what have we done! We’ve unleashed a mob of cats upon our home by taking in one very social cat pivotal to the local feline infrastructure.” And then I wondered further…

Cats, like humans, do seem to have a vibrant and complex social life. Going out nights, coming back late/early with some loose floozy who just seems to be in it for the free booze and catnip… Going on adventures into the local forest and fighting foxes or – sometimes – the neighbours more foolish dogs. I saw a fair bit of this of a documentary I watched a while ago where they put little cameras on cats and watched them get up to their various antics. All of this got me wondering… What is Tam’s role in the complex and intricate social world of our local animals?

Is he, like Rosa and I, one of the cunning folk – or cunning cats – who offering healing, aid and respite for his fellow sentients? Is he like a father figure? Or is he a joker that all the cats flock to because life on the streets of this cold/scorching harsh Mexican city is so brutal that they just can’t get by without the calming caressing tones of Mr. Tam’s stand-up routine? It’s hard to know really. But I can’t help but feel that the animal chooses the human(s). And that nothing is accidental. So, it must be – to some applicable degree – that Tam and Rosa and I are similar enough to be together.

Here’s another few pictures of Tam. I took them today. I don’t wanna get all “crazy cat man” on you but damn he’s so cute…

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Anyway! I think that about rounds up this post today! So, I’ll bit you adieu! Thanks for joining me! Sorry this post was a little light on the profundity, we can all be awesome lord of magic and wisdom every day. Joking. I can. But today it’s all for me. Mwahahah.

Keep it real, guys.

Live, love and play.

Andey x