...of Cats

For all of those who know me, I am the son of a teacher from a family of teachers. Please if you notice anything wrong about my grammar or punctuation, let me know before mummy sees it.

LETTING CATS RAIN REIGN

I recently heard an interview on Radio 4 by Paul McCartney of how he and Linda finally became vegetarians. The way he tells it, there was roast lamb for dinner on the dining table and they both looked outside the window and watched the lambkins jump about happily. Straight away, they made that decision to go vegetarian. They only farmed for sheep shearing and their flock die of old age, instead of being dinner. I am not going into the ins and outs of vegetarianism here (I will not change, though I have cut down on my meat intake recently). It is with this interesting take of when a pet takes over your life and influences life choices that I am going to talk about my relationship with cats.

I do not have a relationship with cats.I don't like them very much and they do not care for me either, the very fact that the feeling is mutual absolves me of any accusations of my being evil towards cats. It is said that dogs are man's best fiend. I presently do not own a dog but from what I can see from my neighbours and their relationships with their dogs, that is quite true. I myself have had dogs and as I remember Duke, Honey, Sugar, Terror, Pogo and others, I have pleasant memories of walks, being licked, feeding, fleas and de-worming. There was companionship as well but relationships are not just fun and games - its hard work. In all of this though, the dogs remained faithful, until they died.

Cats on the other hand are firstly, women's best friend. Then men come in a distant second. Actually, I lie. A cat's best friend is itself. Women tend to be their second best friend. And then  ... erm, there's me. I always get snarled at when I try to gently stroke these supposedly genteel creatures, and on more than one occasion  I have been undeservedly scratched and/or spat at. I have clothing that bear talon marks which I can no longer wear. A dog will hump you. A cat will shred your clothing to bits. Cats take great delight in proving that I have no redeeming characteristics and always show me up in public.

I visited a friend once who had a black feline called Kat. My friend is a university lecturer as well as a consultant in medicine, so when she explained the rationale behind her pet's name I started to question the wisdom of my choice of friends. Apparently, she had to choose between calling the mangy clawy, furrball "Cat" or "Kat", but then decided on the latter because the animal responded better to that name. Go figure.

My neighbours were going away for 3 weeks and left their keys so that I could feed their cat in their absence.  Everyday, twice a day for 3 weeks  I would go and change the feeding bowl of uneaten cat food and replace it with fresh, but I never saw a sign of the animal. That is, of course, until the day that my neighbours returned. As fate would have it, it was a cold wet, windy day. I told my neighbour how I had not seen the cat for a while, and they said, "Don't worry, she does that quite often." So the idiot cat crawled in wet and bedraggled that evening with scratches and briers in its fur and and had to be taken to the vet because it had an infection. My relationship with my neighbours was never the same after that and when the family moved to Brighton the following spring, the man said it was because West Ham had been relegated. Ok.

My other neighbour caught me chasing his cat out of our garden into his. I was holding a rake at the time. I was NOT going to use the rake, it was purely coincidental that I was chasing the cat. (Because the resourceful predator, instead of hunting mice and rats in the neighbouring allotment had entered my kitchen and helped himself to some freshly fried fish that did not belong to him). Anyway, that winter, after very heavy snow, I woke up one white morning and opened my front door to find the pesky thief stretched out, frozen on my door mat. I panicked (as you do) but just as I bent over to examine the unsightly carcass,  my neighbour came out and saw me with his dead cat. On my door mat. Without a word, I picked up the hardened criminal (he was a thief!!! he stole my fish and my reputation!!!) and handed him back to his owner and returned indoors, waiting for the police and the ensuing investigation. Which did not happen.

So you see, I do not like cats.

I usually have a biblical slant to my musings, but not today because cats are not mentioned in the Bible, apart from Jesus being the Lion of Judah in most prophecies. All the other lions (cats) mentioned were killed by David or Samson. Enough said.

The long Road to Wembley (or redemption)

For all of those who know me, I am the son of a teacher from a family of teachers. Please if you notice anything wrong about my grammar or punctuation, let me know before mummy sees it.

WEMBLEY BLUES (or Reds or Cockerels or Canaries...)

So football fans across the country are licking their respective wounds as they feel they have been unjustly treated by the teams they support, especially if you support one of the big teams with players who have to justify the huge weekly wages and adoration they receive. It is a scene that is repeated year after year (since 2005, in my case  but you all already knew that). As an Arsenal supporter, I can only commiserate with the losers, whilst I look forward to my team falling at the next hurdle. It is an odd time in particular for me as I also watch Ghana make it through to the knock out stage of the African Cup of Nations. Can I just say that if I have to make a pledge to my parents as their dying wish, that it would not be as profound as the one that Asamoah Gyan made to his mother i.e. never to take a penalty kick for Ghana ever again - in case he misses. Thankfully, there were others  who took their place and put away the penalty shots as required. After his recent performances, I wish his mother had told him to play in a better league to enhance his skills by playing against the best, and also to stop taking free kicks.

As I look at the comments of all the experienced football pundits (yours truly included), I can't help but wonder about what a unifying effect that football has on people all over the world. The only international language that does not require a Google translator. A good friend of mine always maintains that when life from beyond the stars arrives, all we need to give them is the FA rule book - and then try to explain why Afghanistani,  Bulgarians, Brazilians, South Africans, Kuwaitis, English, Germans, Togolese have a passion for a kickabout with a leather bound case five.

I maintain that if we did not have football, there would probably be more wars than we have now, South Korea would probably have already been bombed by the North. No evidence, just gut feeling.

DAVID (a man after God's own heart)

Somebody asked me once which one male figure had influenced my life. I asked if I could have two people instead. My dad was the first person. The second was King David. I seriously believe that King David was the forbear of Jazz. In the Bible, there are many instances which show not just his skills as a lyricist (see the Psalms), an accomplished instrumentalist (1 Samuel 16:16-23; 2 Samuel 6:5),  but also a free-style jazz dancer (2 Samuel 6:14, 15). The influence on generations of flawed characters who left a legacy of beautiful music.

AND FINALLY....

In August last year, I went to Ghana on a long overdue visit. I enjoyed the sights, sounds, re-established relationships, put my heart through its paces with dare-devil driving (as a passenger);  but nothing had a more profound effect on me than the sound of silence. In the early hours of the morning, before my neighbour's cockerel (I will tell you about that and my love/hate relationship with cats and other pets), there was perfect silence except for the sound of insects in the distance, or the single rogue mosquito that had found its way past my full defences of nets, spray, coil and un-coordinated hand claps. And self-abuse in the form of slaps.

But the silence that occurs before daybreak made me sometimes question if I was alive. Perhaps, someday, as I am laid to rest, that will be the feeling of complete peace I will enjoy, whilst I wait for my call-up to heaven. I hope when the trumpet sounds, it will be music like David played, to soothe the soul so that I am not awakened in fright and frustration - like my alarm clock does; but rather in assurance and the knowledge that the sound of jazz I hear is the shape of things to come - forever.

Being prodigal..

This will be the standard start to all my postings. For all of those who know me, I am the son of a teacher from a family of teachers. Please if you notice anything wrong about my grammar or punctuation, let me know before mummy sees it. Thanks.

For years, I had wrongly assumed that the prodigal son referred to in the Luke 15 was "Prodigal" because he left home and came back penniless "after returning to his senses". The story of a young man who asks for his inheritance, well in advance of his father's death always used to strike me with a mixture of horror, amazement and begrudging admiration. It just showed a young man who had what it takes to grab life by the horns, take advantage of his opportunities and make a mark on this world. Or did it?

The word "prodigal" is an adjective meaning "spending money or resources freely and recklessly; wastefully extravagant". As a noun, it is used to describe "a person who spends money in a recklessly extravagant way". So really, this young man could already have had a prodigal nature, but lacked the means to practice.

There is something wonderful about spending somebody else's money, whether it be MasterCard or Visa (I always have to remember that I am borrowing from them two!!!!), your parents, spouse etc. I have seen project managers splash the cash in ways they would not have dared had the money come from their own pockets. (How many times have we unofficially "borrowed" office supplies, used the printer, phone, internet etc with that wonderful justification,  'they do not pay me enough in this place....')

So young prodigal, (for the sake of simplicity, let us call him Sam), young Sam had a nature that needed a bit of cash to be unleashed to its full potential, even before he stepped out of his Papa's mansion. This realisation then led me to my next mis-assumption.

I always assumed that Sam made a decision to return home because he was broke and eating pig food. However v 14 (NKJV) states that, "When he had (a) spent all, (b) there arose a great famine in that land and  (c), he began to want." Verse 15 goes on to say "he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country and he (the citizen) sent (Sam, my man) into his fields to feed swine."  Verse 16 "And he would gladly have filled his stomach with the pods that the swine ate, and no one gave him anything."

Sam would probably not have returned home if had not spent all his money; if there had not been a great famine; and if he had not begun to want. Hard economy means no jobs (sound familiar?). It is never said (or even implied) that he ate pig food, though he was sorely tempted. (When I am more rehabilitated than I currently am, I shall tell a story about this). The other important point for me was that noone gave him anything. Where were all his mates who helped him spend his fortune? (Sidebar. I am reminded of a story which could be urban myth, of a group of (illegal?) immigrants who were flat sharing. One of the flat mates dropped dead whilst she was cooking. Her colleagues called the ambulance and after the body was removed, they proceeded to tuck into the meal that their ex-flatmate had been cooking after a hard day's work. Well, I suppose life must go on. But I digress...)

So if someone had given him something (a loan, a gift), if he had got a better job (Senior Procurement Officer - Pig Division), and most important of all, if there had not been a severe famine, Sam might never have fashioned the reasonable plan in verses 17 to 19: "But when he came to himself, he said, 'How many of my father's hired servants have bread enough and to spare - there's nothing like hardship to remind you of how wasteful others can be - and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say to him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, and I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants'." Being broke is no joke.

I have become more sympathetic of Sam's plight now than when I was younger, possibly because I may have lived part of his dream. Isn't it wonderful though that as a Christian, God is willing to look beyond all that and without asking where I had been, what I had squandered his inheritance on and why I had decided to return home, showered me with His Grace, v 20 "And he arose and came to his father. But when he was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him." How long had this old man been looking off into the distance, day after day, week after week, month after month? How did he recognise that presumably emaciated individual from afar off, who would have looked nothing like the well-fed young man in finery who left the family home ages before? Had he heard of the great famine in the neighbouring lands and therefore was expecting his son to return?

I thank God for His grace, mercy and favour.