Blue and Gold eyed beasts

I might possibly be a reindeer or a caribou. It's the knee clicking thing that has convinced me. Apparently caribou's knees click as they walk and can be heard about 100 meters away. Well, maybe my creaking bones can't be heard at such a distance, but pretty close. And did you know that reindeer eyes change colour with the seasons. Gold in Summer when there is lots of light and Blue in Winter because apparently blue eyes see better in snow conditions. 95% of light is reflected in Summer from the gold eyes and only 40% of light in the Winter blue eyed season. Those caribou eyes can also see in the ultraviolet range of light. Now wouldn't that be fun. I could see where that pesky cat has been peeing just by using my blue ultraviolet sight. Oh yes, I can dream of a carpet that smells like roses and lavender instead of urine and yuk. Electric wires would sparkle with energy and I could see at a glance if an appliance is switched on or not. Reindeer have been around since time immemorial and are named "Rein" by the Norsemen and "Der" by the English. "Der" means any animal that is wild and not a cow. The only rein I know of is the rein you use to lead an animal with, but who knows what the Norse equivalent means? Something exotic? Something mundane? Although there is very little history of Reindeer in Britain, I am thinking that the "Der" part of the name was tagged on after a British explorer saw the animals? Maybe? The word Caribou is a french derivative and means "Snow shoveller" due to their propensity to paw through snow to find food. And Reindeer are the main food source of many of the bears in the far north, but did you know that a whole reindeer carcass was found inside the stomach of a Greenland shark? Reindeer can swim and obviously that particular Reindeer could not outswim the very large shark and its teeth. As our non-existent Summer slides into Autumn, I will not complain about the size of my nose, because it actually warms the cold air before I inhale it into my lungs. Which makes no sense that African tribes have large noses and Northern European people have smaller ones. There seems to be a slight discrepancy about the efficacy of having a large nose like a Reindeer to warm the air in Africa. Because I can promise you that the air in Africa does not require any warming at all. I can remember standing with my mouth open gasping for oxygen in the overheated African Summer because my nose was not up to the job. So, Darwin says that the narrow European noses channel the cold air over exposed blood vessels in the nose to warm it up. West African tribes have the widest noses in the World, so I am confused. Am I supposed to believe that in Caribou the large nose warms the air, but in Europeans, a small nose does the same. These scientists do boggle the brain with their conclusions. I think I will be happy with the nose I am currently blessed with and stop complaining. It's that or plastic surgery, and that would be a no, never going to happen. Actually, let me rephrase that, it would be a no, not even if Hell freezes over, which brings up the thought that Hell must have boundaries for the idea that Hell can freeze over. Maybe the Caribou will be there before me and I can snuggle up to a fur covered behemoth and not worry about the temperature of the nether regions of Heaven or Hell.

Yesterday was an interesting day. I went to the library with my bag of books to replace and replenish. Outside were a few police personnel with stab vests and tasers arresting a young man. I presume for shop- lifting because they were talking about CCTV footage and looking through a bag he had with him. Him and his cohorts were teenagers and from their appearance, they did not seem like library users. I know I shouldn't judge a child by its clothes and attitude, but I made a calculated guess as to the reason they were outside the library, and it was nothing to do with reading and books. I used my invisibility to walk past the groups and into the actual library. Yes, I am invisible to teenagers and young people alike, including the police because as you age, that automatically happens whether you want it to or not. A policeman almost walked straight into me so I know my magic invisibility was working fine. And anyhow, I am not too worried about a few light fingered teenagers doing me any harm. After all, I was born in Africa where guns and knives are on display in all sorts of situations. Then one policeman called out "Ammo in the bag." And it was all excitement from then on. More vehicles appeared and disgorged uniformed folks who proceeded to search bags and bushes for the gun the ammo was used for. I must say though, that no one seemed stressed at all. The discussion with the handcuffed young man and his friends was quite genial, as if these particular teenagers were on familiar footing with the uniformed troops. I sidestepped the policeman and got in my car and drove off, none the wiser to if the gun was ever found, or even if there was a gun. Later that evening I was thinking about the episode and wondering which new library book to read, when there was a rat a tat tat at my front door. Yes, I do have a doorbell, but no one seems to understand how to use it. Ten o'clock at night and I know my family can find the doorbell, so, obviously not family. Is it the police? Do they want a statement from me about said teenagers, but no, I was invisible. Anyhow, wearing my best nightie, I walked to the front door and it was a pizza delivery person. "Hi Miss, did you order pizza?" No. I never eat after dinner. Never been a snacker or a grazer and certainly not pizza. And I didn't order a pizza inadvertently because I am not that way inclined. The delivery was for number 153 Mumble mumble street, and we are 15 Mumble mumble street. The funny thing is that the Pizza shop address is 303 Mumble mumble street. Did that poor delivery person drive right past the address where hungry pizza eaters were waiting? Was it a mother who had finally got the baby to bed and needed a meal to tide her through the night? Or a dope smoker who got the munchies and couldn't be bothered to walk the five minutes to the shop? Who knows, but police and pizza, in one day was more than my brain could handle and I snuggled down to sleep.

BUT. Did I tell you that we have an end of life kitty? She eats like a horse and is just skin and bone. She is really old and none of us care to euthanize her just yet. She sits on the deck during the day to warm up in the sun and at night she snuggles onto my lap and uses my body heat as a hot water bottle while I watch TV or read. When I get into bed, she clambers up the duvet and with much complaints, she waits for me to lie down and then plonks herself between my shoulder blades and starts to purr. Her bones stick out and she is not the most comfortable bed mate. If I move, and Heaven help me if I do, because her arthritic bones are too sore for me to manually move her, she cries. Yup, cries until I settle once more and she can find another spot for her warming needs. I must move slightly during my sleep because by morning, I am sleeping on a sliver of mattress and she is curled up against my spine. Her slow move into each and every warm spot is insidious and one night I am sure she will push me all the way to the floor. So, my sleep is never one continuous block of rem and dreams, nope, it is broken up with soft kitty complaints and me trying to position myself to benefit us both. My husband hated the cats sleeping on the bed and couldn't understand my ability to co-exist with fluffy creatures. His autism disliked being crowded by anything or anyone and even my enjoying pregnancy was a mystery to him. How could I not be bothered by having another human so close to me all day and all night and still enjoy the experience? But my husband is no longer around to complain, and I don't mind cats invading my space. Even old and decrepit ones. I did tell her quite firmly that she was not, under any circumstances, allowed to die on my back during the night. No final breaths while snuggling between my shoulder blades, no stiff cold body allowed. My great grandmother died in her sleep while my cousin was lying next to her, and that gave me nightmares for ages. I was prone to sleepwalking during stressful times in my childhood and I know Grandma's death did that for me. I hid in cupboards at times and my parents would have to coax me out and back into bed. Not that I remember those moments of course, I was asleep. I have also been known to have full blown conversations while fast asleep. Intelligent conversations that the other participant swear I should be aware of, but, no. I'm a fluent conversationalist in between soft snores. I have dreams that come true, and visit people who are on the other side of the planet, but those I do remember vividly. Sitting next to my brother as he flew over Switzerland, commenting on my cousin's new baby boy, you name it, I have done it in my sleep. Weird, I know.

I started making simple TikTok videos this week. I am always up for a challenge. Well, no, not really, but I do try at times. I didn't expect any sort of response to my attempts, but yay, I got 787 people who watched it. I am blown away by the support. Thank you to the followers and the watchers and the people who clicked like and sent a comment.