In my pocket

 

 

In my pocket

As I wander round the house, I often find things in odd places. I usually put them in my pocket, thinking I’ll put them away where they belong, wherever that may be. Frequently, things remain in my pocket for quite a while, especially if the garment is not worn for a few days. The next time I wear it I am surprised all over again by the contents.

The finger puppet above is the sole survivor of a set of five. I’ve always liked puppets, although I’m not very adept at manipulating string puppets. Hand and finger puppets are fun for children.

We have many, many steel tape measures. A few years ago, I became so irritated by their propensity for disappearing that I bought half a dozen in bright colours and assorted sizes – 3m, 5m, 8m, 10m – and the problem was alleviated to some extent.

This one normally lives in a small cabinet on a shelf next to my chair in the sitting room, so that when the cry goes up, ‘Have you seen a tape measure anywhere?’ I can lay my hands on one instantly. If it is not returned to my care immediately it may then go walkabout and ultimately find its way to my pocket.

Nail files are another thing that seem to travel.

Replacement brush head for the electric toothbrush. The packaging is difficult to open and takes tamper and theft-proof design to new heights.

A model of an RNLI minibus, evidence that we have had young visitors.

Finally, odd buttons appear from time to time, small ones, from blouses, larger efforts from trousers. Until I am near my button tin, they remain in my pocket.

Button tins have a fond place in my memory. As a small child I played with my mother’s button tin, handling, sorting, grouping. Some of the buttons in my own tin came from my long-ago coats or dresses or from my children’s garments.

The collection varies from week to week. 

 What's in your pocket, if you have one?

Winston’s July blog

This is one of my July 2009 portraits

Winston here . . . p'rrrrr, p'rrrrr . . .
Well, it's busy here again don'tcha know. Gillian and the children came with their dogs for a couple of days.

On one of the days Gillian cuddled Monty while Marnie clipped his claws. Mrs Human sometimes clips them but says she hasn't got enough hands and Mr H says he'll help but then doesn't coz he gets wrapped up in other things. Then Marnie did mine and she was surprised coz I struggled and Monty didn't and I'm really a much more laid-back cat than him. Anyway, we don't click on the floor quite so much now.

Me and Monty are always pleased to see different visitors. We specially like Foxy coz she's ever so soft. She's almost the same colour as me but the humans say she's fox-red colour. I'm not – I'm hot chocolate. Anyway we look good together, her and me. I rubbed all round her face when she first arrived and she looked a bit confused. Then I heard Gillian telling Mr and Mrs H – they're her parents don'tcha know – anyway she told them that Mouse doesn't let Foxy do that to her. Me and Monty've never met Mouse. She lives in Dorset in Gillian and Paul's house and she's an old cat. Yes, that's right – she's a cat called Mouse.

I don't know – these humans, what would you do with them? Mouse had a sister called Buttons but she was killed on the road when she was very young. I'm glad me and Monty don't go out – well, only sometimes for a quick sniff round the garden. So – two cats, one called after something humans put on their clothes to stop them falling off and one named for a small wild animal us cats normally hunt. As if that's not enough they called one of their dogs Tia, short for Tia Maria – that's a drink – and the other one's dubbed Foxy after another bigger wild animal. I s'pose foxes do look a bit like dogs – we see them sometimes walking across the garden.

When Gillian and the children went home they left Tia and Foxy here. Apparently they're staying for about two weeks for their holiday. Monty's ever so pleased coz he really likes dogs and Foxy don't mind him padding her. She don't mind what he does – she just likes the attention.

Even with these extra mouths to feed it's pretty quiet. Mr H isn't feeling very well – something to do with pigs he thought but Mrs H says he's just under the weather. Funny that, last time I saw him he was under the duvet. Mrs H says he's caught Gillian's cold. Hope the hot sun in France is making her feel better.

I see it's nearly supper-time. Every time Mrs H has moved for the last hour all the dogs have leapt up and followed her, even Tia who's upstairs keeping Mr H company. She and Foxy aren't allowed on the beds in their house don'tcha know but as Mr and Mrs H said, they're on holiday too. It's a bit busy up there at night though and noisy too if they're snoring. Ooh supper – yum!

This is Monty and Jenna in July 2009 and for once Monty's kept his claws to himself

TTFN