It was the cat's fault

It was the cat’s fault.
It’s 2am when I’m woken up by the cat. Hmm. Unusual. So I turn on the light. And there’s the cat. With a rat in its mouth. A large, large rat. I stare, astonished. Why has the cat decided that our bedroom, on the ground floor, is the obvious place to store a rat?
The cat is impressed that I am impressed. She smiles at me, and starts purring. Her mouth opens. The rat escapes.
The cat is so pleased with me that she takes no notice.
Now there is a rat on the loose. In the bedroom.
I leap out of bed and start chasing the rat. Under no circumstances must I allow it to get under the bed. I am not wearing any clothes, but that doesn’t matter. At first.
Then I think to myself, maybe chasing a rat, stark naked, is perhaps not the best idea. So I put on some shoes.
The rat is still on the loose. I’m shouting at Jenny to block the door so it can’t escape. Jen is shrieking.
Eventually, I chase it over to the window – the low, floor to ceiling window. I throw the window open so the rat jumps out.
I notice the lights on in the house opposite. Mrs Jenkins, woken by the screaming, is staring at me. I am floor to ceiling naked. Apart from my shoes.
“It was a rat,” I mouth. She smiles at me, and winks. Oh dear.

Grandchild, grandmother

The baby snuffled in her sleep;
sighed, then wriggled.
Wakeful, the grandmother
heaved her body from the chair,
wrinkled eyes creasing with worry
watching the soft eyelids

flutter. The child stirred again,
murmuring softly, tiny lips sucking.
The old woman soothed the girl
with song, breathing below her breath,
forgotten melodies revived
unbidden.

The baby smiled; sweet mouth
curved up, contented
in the warmth of the crib.
It was cold in the room; the
grandmother hugged herself
against the chill

as she reached for her shawl.
Carefully, she lifted the baby,
Snuggling her against her breast
wrapping her tightly.
Now both of them would be warm again.
Together.

Just like Grandmama

Lucy could read when she was four, but she was very short-sighted.
"So like her grandmother," her parents sighed.
Clever Grandmama had been nearly blind for most of her life.

At eleven, Lucy had protruding front teeth, large feet and sturdy limbs.
"So like her grandmother," proclaimed Lucy's aunt.
"Grandmama looks so much better now that she has false teeth."
Lucy drew the correct inference.

Lucy endured the many, unflattering, comparisons until she went to teaching college.
"A teacher, just like Grandmama," muttered Lucy's mother
as she washed the old lady's underwear for the third time that day.
"Not like Grandmama," thought Lucy. Grandmama graduated top of the class. At the Sorbonne.
Lucy did well, but not well enough. She didn't achieve a First.

Aged thirty, Lucy's Grandmama was given her own school to run.
Aged thirty, Lucy was still teaching nine year olds in the same classroom where she had begun.

"These career girls miss out on having a family," said her mother meaningfully.
"Your grandmama, of course, had a wonderful career as well."
Lucy gritted her teeth. She handed in her notice.
She applied to teach as a volunteer, going to Uganda. Far, but not far enough.

"When are you coming home?" asked her parents.
"I hope you're not going to marry a black man," said her grandmother.

Lucy ignored them all.
She met a Ugandan, the son of a tribal chief. Married him - very happily.
Had two children - a boy and a girl.
Eventually, she had four perfect grandchildren. Just like her grandmother.

The Naked Runners Club

It started quite innocently. The morning jog through the fields down to the river, a quick dip, then a gentle jog back. Sally loved the sense of freedom she got from being up so early, before anyone was even thinking about breakfast.
One morning, she wondered what it would be like to feel the dew between her toes. She ran back home carrying her trainers. After that, she found it easy enough to run barefoot over the grass.
She jogged with a swimsuit beneath her shorts, but it was a bit of a chore carrying a towel to dry herself off with after her swim. She started leaving the towel at home, drying her body with her T shirt. The T-shirt was too wet to put back on, so she carried it, enjoying the feel of the breeze on her skin. One morning, she forgot to put the swimsuit on. There was no one around, so she skinny-dipped. T shirt and shorts were soaking wet, so Sally trailed them behind her as she sprinted carefully home, sure no one was watching her.
It became a habit. The sense of freedom when running completely naked was addictive.
So was the sight of her. Joe had always been an early riser. All that summer, he never missed seeing Sally in all her glory.
One day, he joined her. Naked. Sally smiled and took his hand. And so the Naked Runners Club was born.
Me too. Nine months later.

Running Bare

What happened last night is the stuff of films. Really. You know, where the heroine just happens to go outside wearing only a towel, then she loses it, gets locked out of the house…you know.
It doesn’t happen in real life now, does it?
Except it did. Sort of.
I live in a nice semi-detached in a fairly quiet road. I cycle to work, go jogging twice a week.
I’d just got out of the shower after my run when I remembered I’d left my running shoes outside the front door. Why didn’t I wait to get dressed before I went to fetch them? Who knows? Anyway, I didn’t. I despair of myself sometimes. I nipped downstairs, towel tightly wrapped around me. Opened the door, only to see next door’s Golden Retriever making off down the garden with one of my trainers (brand new, top of the range Nike) in his slobbery mouth. So of course I took off after him.
I caught him before he reached the gate. There was a brief tussle, then victory. I had my shoe.
Unfortunately, my towel had slipped off in the process. Caesar grabbed it, charged out of the gate and off down the road.
What’s a girl to do? Yes, you guessed it. I streaked around the side of the house, clutching a strategically placed shoe and threw myself through the back door.
That dog certainly lived up to his name this morning: Seizer.
I might suggest he is renamed. And rehomed.

So it began...

The whispers, coming from nowhere
caught fire, raged furious, growing
as real as flames.

The rumours, coming from nowhere
grew greater, greedily sucking
reputations, destroying character.

The tears, coming from nowhere
took the village by surprise, shocked
into silence.

Whispers.
Rumour.
Tears.

Whispering in the trees

A sudden murmuring in the trees
jerked my heart.
Fear gripped
I stood still.
Listening.

A wind howled silently,
cold claws clutching
dripping dread.
I heard
nothing
as the whispers
faded away.