SnotCat

SnotCat, like everything, one and being, had a talent.
A talent that not many possessed.
A talent that not many understood.
A talent, in fact, that not many thought was actually a talent.

But it DEFFINATELY is.

SnotCat was a very ordinary cat.
A lovely cat, obviously, as are all cats. But otherwise he was quite ordinary.
He has this long whippy tail.
And these sticky-up ears.
And this fur that is all orange and brown and white and black.
All quite usual.
But on his face, his cheeky little face, is always something that's not always on a cat's face.
It's sometimes green
Or yellow or brown or black.
It's sometimes dribbly
Or sticky or crunchy or hard.

It's snot.
(Which is why SnotCat has such a name by the way).

But the thing with this snot on SnotCat's face is this: it does fantastic things.
Well, SnotCat is always very proud of it anyway.
And if he thinks it does fantastic things, well then, of course it does.

The other day Fox, having a little wander about, bumped into SnotCat in the green behind Tesco.
"Allo SnotCat" says Fox.
At first SnotCat didn't reply because, at that moment, he was very much enjoying dribbling his snot up and down in one big, long, bright green spiral.
Fox hesitated for a second, then nudged SnotCat again.
"Oi"
"Oh i'm so sorry Fox, hiyah how are you today?"
"Why you so fascinated by your snot, SnotCat?"
SnotCat was a little confused by Fox's behaviour. As well as not answering his question, Fox seemed to be staring a bit too hard at his snot spiral. With a look of, was it disgust?
SnotCat, because he has manners, replied to Fox quickly.
"I am fascinated by my snot, Fox, because it is what i do best. And one should always enjoy what one does best."
Fox thought for a moment.
Considering.
Wandering.
And contemplating.
"Yeah, but snot isn't anything special really is it? Everyone gets it from time to time don't they?"

SnotCat, to be honest, was growing faintly irratated by Fox at this stage, so he thought for a moment about how it would be best to put forward his argument when considering his snot.
SnotCat didnt have to think for long as, firstly, snot is really one of the most exciting, wonderous and usefull things in the world. Secondly, SnotCat didnt have to think for long because he is very smart (like all cats).
"I am a SnotCat, Fox, and it is fun, but very busy work. Let me tell you my average week."

-On Monday's i have great fun climbing to the top of a lovely big tree and letting my snot dangle as far as it can dangle. Sometimes it nearly brushes the ground (or someone's head), but i snip it straight back up again before it does.

-On Tuesday's, it's always a good idea to remind myself where i've been (i do love to explore). So i shoot out little yellow drops of snot every so often.

-On a Wednesday i blow snot bubbles. One day i will blow a bubble so big that i can fly above the stars.

-Thursday is my combat training day, so i swing from branch to lamp post, from lamp post to bin (and so on) on my extra strong, elastic snot.

-Friday's are good for artistic fullfilment, so i scatter and dip, swirl and nip my snot all over (prefferably) the sofa. One day my work will be in a gallery and it will cross boundaries.

-On a Saturday i like to do the household cleaning. I snot all over the place and the next day, when i get home from one of my nightly escapades, the snot has vanished and all the surfaces and floors and doors and things are all sparkly and clean.

-Sunday's are a lazy day for everybody, obviously. So i generally like stretching back and having the moment to just enjoy being a SnotCat.

Fox was silent for a while.
SnotCat was full of content and calm, gently smiling to himself.

Fox's brow furrowed.
His snout slightly open.
His front paw poised in the air (as if to point something out).
And then Fox admitted,
"...Well SnotCat, i must say...you've got it right dontcha? Gotta do what you do best dontcha?"
"Oh yes Fox. Being a SnotCat is who i am, and that is most deffinately what i do best".

And with that, off popped SnotCat.
A dark yellow dribble of snot hanging from each nostril.
(One was dragging along the ground,
One was stuck to his ear).
And a very big and joyous grin spread across his cheeky little face.

He is SnotCat.

Tree Climber

He sat and looked.

he drank it in.

watched it shimmer.

It's gold and sparkling, brown and green.

standing very tall and impressive, a show off really, but subtly.

limbs falling and scattering, twisting, reaching and swaying.

tumbling across the sky.

up and down. accross and through itself.

pushing away from him.

toward him as well, which is odd.

He was cross-legged. sat amongst the grass.

a hand gently picking at

the dandelions and sticks and dirt.

(twirling them amogst his fingers and

stopping every so often to tear them in two or three or four).

a glance toward it's trunk.

it's so thick!

it's so rough!

it's so...

eyes wondering across it and up it and then down it again.

concerning and discerning and calculating and diliberating.

He patted the grass goodbye.

And replaced the torn dandelion heads next to their old bodies.

His eyes focused.

Where to start?

A foot, a hand, a finger, and knee.

Slowly and carefully he began to climb.

I'm so high!

I'm so far!

He stopped. And looked.

Everything has changed, everything is different.

What if i fall? What if i break my leg? Or Back? Or face?

Nerves. And fear. Sudden terror and a hint of a question of

what exactly he was thinking of before he started this awful business.

oh my! oh my! oh no! oh my!

Legs quivering. And arms. And head.

(He was a foot from the ground at this point).

A second. A moment.

The wind touched his face.

feathered his lips and smoothed his cheeks.

Virtigo over, he carried on climbing.

Persepective altering.

Brain focused.

Arms and Legs moving on, up and along and sometimes.

A bit down again which was quite annoying.

The trunk gave way to branches.

Clutching and hugging, he side stepped across.

He saw his destination.

It was perfect.

Perfect for sitting (just don't look down quite yet).

Closer and closer, a leg trembled. An arm twitched.

Fingers clasping, then sliding.

Stop.

He sat down again.

But this time it wasn't with the dandelions.

He looked through the branches and the leaves.

His fingers clasped the trunk (just checking it was still there).

The sun warmed his forehead.

His nose, his neck, and a bit of his left shoulder.

The leaves cast patterns and shapes all over the rest of him.

They looked a bit like hands, which is nice.

And then the wind washed his face.

Cooled his body and his mind.

His heart raced when he took it all in.

Everything. All of it.

It really is all much more different, he thought.

When your'e sat up in a tree.

Michelle had a Birthday

I met you when i was understanding.

You met me when you were understanding.

We met eachother, and that was it.

To the friend in my life that can make me laugh without doing anything at all.

Who is many things and words and colours and songs and voices.

Who i love beyond and forever.

Mole

Birthday's are really in this year.

Happy Birthday Kate.

Thirty years of being lovely on this world.
Twenty Three years of being a big sister to me.
Four years of being "Naughty Auntie Katie".
Many more years to come of being a MB.

Map

My sense of direction is terrible.

And so I would forever be getting lost.

One day, when I was little, my oldest sister sat me down and told me-

"Jimmy, love, why don’t you draw maps of the places you are going to go?
Then you wouldn’t get lost all the time!"

Well.

I was stunned. What a simple and fantastic way to prevent being a lost boy!

So whenever I would venture out to somewhere new.

A place unknown.

To have my adventures….

(Like to the shops or "the garages"-where-the-cool-kids-were)

…I would draw a little map, with a little me
and a little route of how to get to where I wanted to go.

I’d clutch this colourful and highly detailed drawing
(I’d have ALL the bins and even get our cat Smudge on there too)
so tight within my fingers that my pokey knuckles would turn so white.

This map wasn’t a map. It was my talisman. My saviour. My truth.

It’d calm me down, like a warm and complete and sudden hug
from one of my big sisters or brother.

I don’t need to draw little maps as much anymore.

But I’ve always kept the ones I made.

A nice box of safe keepers. A box of hugs.

Something to calm me down.

So just in case, when I’m on an adventure,

I won’t get lost on the way.

Tree

Another birthday in my rediculously massive family. So another brilliant excuse to MAKE me finish something, and here it is.

Happy.
Birthday.
Han.