Boldly Going Where No Katt Has Gone for Six Years!

It would probably be appropriate to start the first entry of 2009 with a Happy New Year to one and all.  Hopefully everyone I know in cyberspace had a most excellent time and that are all safely back in your respective homes and tackling the shiny new month and year with great gusto (or hangovers).

If one could assign a date to the start of Silly Season, which I am obviously about to do, 1st December would seem like a good date to stick on the label.  So, for the sake of clarity and your sanity, let’s say my Silly Season started on 1st December.  Of course, being me, I can’t just turn my life around, upside down, give it a good shake and bang its head a couple of times like normal people do.  Nope, I’ve got to through in a few disasters as well.

Bright and early on the 1st I drove to Port Lizzie and collected two bodies, live ones I might add, to keep me company on the trip up to The Land of Putting Pieces Back Together.  It was great fun, road trips always are.  But, of course, disasters always demand their share of attention and this particular one struck with a vengeance.

Somewhere in the Free State I finally paid attention to another driver who was frantically hooting and flashing lights at me.  Pulling over to the side of the road and doing a cursory inspection of Metallica revealed a rather impressive, ominous cloud of black smoke billowing out from one of her tyres.  Of course, we were not alone in our little nightmare.  A very sweet farmer pulled off to check if we were okay.  And he kindly hung around while I organised a tow truck.  And then things went pear shaped…

You see, it’s like this.  I was under the impression the kindly man had left.  And I was sort of close to a minor nervous breakdown (primarily because we all know the stories about how people get ripped off by tow truck drivers and I had two people in the car with me who had obligations to other people too).  And I was sort of in tears too.  And I sort of dug into the file labelled Choice Words NOT to be Uttered in Polite Conversation and started swearing at my car.

Through a lachrymose induced blur I saw the farmer, still very much in our midst and looking highly embarrassed, digging into his pocket.  Despite my protestations, notes came floating passed me as the wind whipped them out of his hands.

All in all, a very embarrassing moment.  And NO, I don’t look pretty when I cry but then no one does (I hope).  The good part was that we got to ride in Metallica while she was being towed on top of a flatbed truck, in a Free State rain storm.  Hey, new experiences are always good.  Fortunately, the mechanic who rescued us was an absolute gentleman about it and the repairs sort of fell within my price range.  About two hours later Metallica was back on the highway, heading to our destination.

We related this tale to a very close friend of mind who shall be henceforth be known as Teddy Bear.  One of my Road Trip companions, let’s just call him The Highlander, ends it with “See, people throw money at her.”   Teddy Bear responds, without missing a beat, ”Ooooh, don’t you want to go and stand on Oxford Road with me?  We could make a fortune.”

No one has any respect for the fact that I was highly embarrassed and would have preferred to FORGET the entire incident.

However, Teddy Bear’s suggestion is beginning to sound rather lucrative.  The hunt for some form of legal income has proven just as frustrating as Metallica’s PMS.  Could someone please explain why you send off your CV to a position advertised in the JobMail, via e-mail and then get an automated response that reads “Thank you so much for applying.  NOW, please send us your CV (again), a copy of your ID, birth certificate, death certificate, marriage certificate, divorce certificate, vaccination certificates, letter of introduction telling us how wonderful you are (written by yourself, naturally – not everyone is Narcissistic) and all certificates proving your qualification BY FAX!

Okay, some points on that.

Why did I bother e-mailing you my CV in the first place?

If I am e-mailing you my CV (as requested in your ad), there is a very strong possibility I DON’T have access to a fax machine.

Why would I want to send you a copy of my ID if I have never met you face to face?  Do you know what people do with copies of IDs, ID numbers, etc?  Better yet, why don’t I just give you my credit card details?

So, to make a long story short (and making you realise you basically just had to skip to the last paragraph or two), I’m up north, looking for a job and Oxford Road is beginning to look VERY lucrative.

Anyone got a job for me?

Requiem

In all honesty, this blog entry is probably not going to be the usual upbeat, humorous one that anyone would expect from me.  Bear with me, normal viewing will resume soon.

Apart from Nano, life has taken a dramatic turn, by my own hand.

Without going into a long winded explanation I will say this.  After six years together, I ended my relationship with the man known as Flyboy on this blog.

In essence, this entry is supposed to be some kind of release for me and at the same time serve as a tribute to the last six years of my life and a tribute to the relationship that dominated those six years.

The break hasn’t been as amicable as I would have liked it to be.  From my side I know I made mistakes, bad ones, and probably unforgivable ones too.

It’s been a long process of introspection, exactly when this process commenced I am not entirely sure but it has been a painful one for me.  You don’t always like what you see when you look inside yourself.

When you constantly find yourself having to pull your being back from the brink of making those same mistakes over and over again, you eventually sit back and take a long hard look at yourself.  The reflection I saw in my own mirror wasn’t pretty.  It hurts to find yourself looking at the person you’ve become and loathing what you see.

That self-loathing was probably the primary reason I came to the conclusion that something has to change.

About the man I spent the last six years of my life with…

Despite all the anger and what probably amounts to loathing that has been exchanged over the passed few days, it wasn’t all bad.  My only sadness is that the negative emotions that have surfaced have robbed the last six years of the moments of happiness.  Perhaps, with luck and in time we will both be able to remember the happy times.

In many ways I have to thank him.  He exposed me to worlds and experiences which I would never have had if he had never been a part of my life.  We worked well as a team, often instinctively knowing what the other was thinking without words having been exchanged.  We were a well oiled machine.

He taught me many things, not only practicalities but also about myself.

My only hope and wish is that perhaps one day the anger will subside and that maybe, just perhaps, he will be able to look at our time together and see that in my own way, I tried contribute to six years of his life in a positive way too.

After six years together, it is impossible to walk away and not have regrets.  Regrets for the things I did wrong, regrets for the things that went wrong.  Regrets for my hand in those things going wrong.

At the end of the day, as much as a Virgo hates to admit this to themselves, we are all only human and therefor grossly imperfect.

You live, you learn.  I most certainly have.

This Blogger Was Swallowed By A Dairy Cow!

Well, not quite but I had to try and come up with something dramatic.

I apologise for a) not keeping up to date with all my blog reading and b) not blogging myself, especially since Tamara gave me an award and issued a rave review.

You see, it’s like this.  I have a little secret to share.  Despite what my English teachers at school wrote on my essay papers and the marks they gave me, I love writing.  While I was waiting in anticipation of Nano 2008 I realised that I’m a bit daft.  Why do I have to wait for November to write a book?

So, that’s what I have been doing, I’ve been writing a book.

And I am loving it.  Writer’s block has been a myth and I struggle with too much content instead of a lack thereof.  For the first time in a very long time I don’t have to be nagged to do something, I honestly look forward to the moment I sit down in front of the laptop and I’m transported into another world.  I really feel like I have found my space in life.

Having said that, I am by no means under any illusions that what I am writing is any good.  The one person I have tortured with the rough draft of the first few chapters was impressed.  Seeing as he is male and I am writing romance fiction (you are given permission to laugh/puke as you see fit) maybe, just maybe there is a teeny tiny bit of hope for me.

Of course, being me, I have to complicate things for myself.  I am trying very hard to write romance fiction that a man would actually consider reading.  Yes, I am creating a world of ‘realistic’ romance for myself and staying away from the ‘bodice rippers’ and impossibly perfect men and women who star in most of the romance novels floating around in the literosphere.

So, if I am not around for the next month and a bit, it is because I am busy researching things like what the range of a Cessna 182 with full tanks is and wading through a 51 page document of aviation search and rescue procedures.

I know, it doesn’t sound very romantic but that’s the whole point. 

The Madness Will Comence Soon!

If you are reading this it means you are either a blogger or you found The Katt Box because you ran a search on Google or something else, the possible option that springs to mind is “insane woman who lives on a farm.”  That however is besides the point.

If you are a blogger it means you probably enjoy writing.  And, if that is the case, then I have a challenge for you.

If you enjoy writing, then I invite you to take part in the madness that swings around once a year during the month of November.  You have the fantastic opportunity to join like-minded guys and gals from South Africa and the rest of the world to take a stab at writing a novel in a month.

WAIT!  Don’t surf off to another site yet.  There are no prizes, no one is going to read your novel and scream “What was this person thinking?”  It’s a challenge, to yourself and an opportunity to laugh, cry and swap ideas with thousands of people who are sharing your pain and successes.

Why you should join the madness:

• It’s free!
• It’s fun!
• It is your license to write crap and enjoy it!
• You get to go to really cool kick off parties and TGIO parties, complete with goody bags.
• When you hit the target word count and upload it to the site, you are given access to the magical hallowed halls of winner certificates and badges.
• It could be start of wonderful things in your life.

So, without further ado, I give you what is now fondly called Nano.  In its full form it is known as National Novel Writing Month.

Where insanity is fun!

The website contains all you need to know about Nano and lots of information about how to go about the planning of your literary masterpiece.

If you do join, please check out the regional lounges on the forums and join the one relevant to you.  If you are a South African, you need to click here.  Go and say hello, mentioning that Tyger Katt sent you – the mods usually toss me a virtual cookie when I drag another one into the insanity.

So, come on, I want cookies!  Pretty please!

Reversing the Ageing Process!

Please permit me to fake profound intelligence and start with a quote:

“Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty.  Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.”  Franz Kafka

Well, I’m not sure if what Mr Kafka said then is applicable to the day and age we live in.  These days it generally seems that Youth believes beauty is attainable with the swipe of a credit card.  I’m also not entirely convinced that seeing beauty will prevent wrinkles, gray hair and dementia but if I may twist it a bit, I do believe in the beauty of the small things in life.  You know, stopping to smell the roses and cheesy things like that.

More and more I am beginning to realise how lucky I am to live where I do.  Oh, there is no doubt about it, it has taken me ages to come to this conclusion and there are still days when I want to scream “Where is the life, where is the excitement?”  However, after more than five years in the boonies, I am really comfortable with my surroundings – with the exception of the extremely rotten weather.

Yesterday we had a bit of a break in the standard rotten weather pattern.  It was gloriously sunny, the wind had blown itself to parts unknown and the choked garden’s begging and pleading for some attention finally got to me.  Attacking the concrete-like soil with a tiny little garden fork seemed like a good way to get in some of the exercise I have been told I need, to relieve my phantom stress.

So, I weeded, avoided the cat poo, weeded, disturbed an ants nest, apologised to the ants and tried to work around them, weeded, avoided more cat poo, pondered what the hell I am feeding my cats that it stinks so much, and then weeded some more.  While trying to work around the irate ants, I noticed a spider which I had obviously disturbed as well.  When I noticed the egg sac attached to her abdomen, the guilt set in and I felt so bad because I had ripped this mother to be from her safe haven.  No amount of apologising could make me feel better.  The best course of action was to try and leave her in peace and let her find a new spot to make her hidey hole.

The guilt gods were out to get me because a few minutes later I noticed that Mrs Spider had fallen into a hole made by the garden fork and couldn’t get out.  Of course, I had to save her and I dug a little furrow for her to be able to climb out of the hole.  No, the guilt wasn’t going to end there, it was going to be compounded by the fact that Mrs Spider had now lost her egg sac in the struggle to get out the hole (which I made so it is all my fault).

There was one more course of action left and if that didn’t work, I was going to go into the house and slit my wrists (figuratively).

I returned to the Hole of Guilt and searched for the little white egg sac which I found.  Then I searched for Mrs Spider who had finally stopped her panicked flee from the Garden Fork from Hell and was taking a rest under a weed (she had a wide variety of options I might add).  As carefully as I could I put the little egg sac down close to her but not too close to scare her.  Unfortunately she was indeed frightened by this hulking hand coming down towards her and she started her panicked run again.  Her path of flight took her straight passed her lost egg sac.  And then something really incredible happened.

She stopped, mid-stride, had a look at the sac and it was almost as if she said “Oh, that’s mine!”  Quickly, she gathered it up with her front legs and scuttled away on her remaining six.

I thought that was pretty awesomely cool!  I won’t mention that later, when I had moved on to another section of the flower bed to start weeding I disturbed Mrs Spider again.  Watching her carrying her rather grubby looking egg sac reminded me of refugees fleeing a war zone… oh, wait, I did just mention it.  Well, in the end I decided to call it a day and really leave her in peace.

This passed weekend I was lucky to have another “Aw Shucks!” moment.  On Saturday Flyboy and I were indulging in our favourite past-times – he was surfing the sexy chicks thread on his aviation forum and the feline furries and I were sitting in the sun in the bar/braai/library, me with a book.

Anyone who has cats or is familiar with their behaviour will know what I am talking about when I say Hades Cat, the old hag, suddenly started with the Kitty Has Spotted Birdie noises.  These noises are difficult to explain, they aren’t a meow, more like a croaky ee-ee-ee-ee, as if the cat has got a rubber band around the muzzle and can’t open its mouth fully.  This is a common occurrence when sitting the bar/braai/library because there are usually a number of birdies sitting on the balcony – swallows, martins, wagtails, the works.  So, I looked up to see which feathered friend was gracing us with its presence and giving Hades Cats the Feline Fits.

A very large Steppe Buzzard was perched rather arrogantly on the railing, surveying its territory.  It was about four metres away from me, if not less.  Yes, I do have a rather ambitious cat!

Naturally I froze, hoping the bird would stay a while, while Hades Cat serenaded me with those strangled sounds.  Then, just as I was wondering how I am going to manage to get my camera, with a big swoop, it flew off.  I know I am one of those people who go gooey when it comes to animals but this was one of those moments when you feel honoured.  How often do you get a large bird of prey sitting right outside your window?

Farm life can really be special at times.  And, if Mr Kafka is on the money, I will hopefully never grow old.